The Constellation
It is once upon a time, 34 Septembers ago, and a woman with apple cheeks and Pantene-commercial hair goes into labor. Her husband puts down the beer, sells a shotgun, and uses the $40 to drive 50 miles to the nearest hospital. They bring their baby Girl home to a cabin built by their unpracticed hands on a deep, black lake choked with lily pads, place her gently in a cardboard box crib and go on about the business of living on love, if nothing else.
422 miles away a six-year-old boy palms treasures of frogs and fish, proudly presents them to his mother between distracted back-of-the-wrist swipes to his runny nose, already looking so much like the daughters he is yet to have.
*
The Girl grows. She endures many little things and a couple of bigger, unwritten things. Her parents keep the love but opt for money, and the family, now three-children large, moves to Wisconsin. The Girl gets glasses. She earns the best friends she still banks to this day. She dances in Russia, she travels to Europe, she learns to ski, to get good grades, to get along. She plays basketball because all of her friends do, where she covets the hair of a stranger. She yearns for the breezy charm of other girls. Her self-esteem is a fresh-born fawn on shaky, slimy legs. She gives her heart (among other things) for the first time to a boy not equipped to hold it, a boy who crushes it inside his fist with a series of surprisingly gentle squeezes. The next time she gives her heart it is to a Boy who works with the Girl’s aunt, a Boy whose hands once held frogs and fish. He cups her face with the same gentle wonder. Five years later, they marry.
*
Life swirls in magnetic, unpredictable eddies. The Boy sells auto parts, builds roofs, manages tenants, walks tall. The Girl goes to college, sells advertising, makes babies, makes a home. There is love, there is loss, there is growth, there are births. When the Girl learns she can make a living writing, she does–article after article, some fascinating, some droll, all necessary. It is the right-est thing she has ever known and she’s not sure how she ever lived before, if she ever lived before. She starts blogging–at first hesitantly (okay, fine, dammit), then fervently. She finds her tribe, builds a community, watches strangers shape-shift into friends, feels her voice rising louder, braver. At her day job she works hard, builds loyalty and trust, earns the gift of an exclusive interview with an icon, learns. The icon is coming to town to celebrate the 30th anniversary of Domestic Abuse Intervention Services, a place the Girl has only heard of in passing. She is inspired. She is made different. She fights for a story, a story giving domestic violence survivors a voice, a fight that takes a year, an article that forever changes her map. She follows the new purple line.
Nothing can go back to the way it was before. It’s not enough. With the help of her blogging community she then creates a site. Survivors speak out and are changed, affect change. The executive director of DAIS–the same woman who helped the Girl find survivors for her magazine article–embraces the new venture, sings its praises, links it up, bestows a community award at a big, terrifying banquet. It is all thrilling and celebratory except when it isn’t, except when there are defeats, losses that defy comprehension, like the day the stranger girl with the pretty hair from 8th grade basketball and her tiny daughter are brutally murdered by their abuser. Turns out she wasn’t a stranger after all, because her cousin dated the Girl’s Boy back in the day and the Boy has known their family for 20-some years. At the funeral, mother and daughter are buried together. The Boy says to the Girl, “That was hands-down the hardest thing I have ever seen in my life.”
The Girl stops for a beat, sits, tries to remember her purpose, searches for her strength. Her community bolsters. The family of the slain girl discovers Violence UnSilenced, writes the Girl kind emails even in their pain, posts comments in support of survivors. Lisa posts on VU a letter to her slain sister that cracks the Girl’s soul wide open.
The Girl’s heart is swollen, bruised. Sometimes she feels too small. Sometimes she wants to pull the plug, to hide, to duck on out. Then she spends a magical weekend with 25 women eating cupcakes and shifting paradigms. She is rejuvenated, filled to brimming with a love for this art, for these people, for this purpose. They feast, and she is full.
*
It is last night and the Boy and Girl drop the kids off at grandma’s and go to a party. Except it’s not a party, it’s a fundraiser for DAIS, the place that has been so kind to the Girl, the place that the family of the slain girl and her daughter are now working with in their memory. The event is held on what should have been the girl with the pretty hair’s 34th birthday. There are hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of people there.
The Girl finally holds in her arms Lisa, the sister of the slain woman, the one who posted the letter. They cry. This sister holds the Boy, too, because they are classmates, they graduated from the same small high school together. The Boy and Girl see and hug the cousin of the victim, the Boy’s ex-girlfriend. They see and hug the executive director of DAIS, the woman who works so hard to save lives, the woman who works so hard to help VU. They watch that executive director hug that sister.
They see and hug the Girl’s former coworker from her advertising career, because she is the lifelong friend of the mother of the slain woman. Another woman approaches tentatively and introduces herself to the Girl–they are Twitter and Facebook friends, knitting comrades, and they hug though they have never met in person before, because that’s what bloggers do. The Girl is astonished the woman found her in this sea of faces. Her worlds smash and collide like meteors.
The Girl looks around the room, draws line after line after line but soon grows dizzy with it all. She has never in her life felt so solidly in the right place at the right time, though exactly when and where that is feels slightly fuzzy right now, cosmically smudged. It is hard to swallow the lump in her throat back down where it belongs. She stares instead into her drink, pinches the slim straw and stirs the ice around and around and around, infinite motion.
There are $20,000 worth of donated raffle items. When the numbers are called the Girl who never wins anything like this blinks stupidly at her ticket. She has won the cupcake package.
*
The Boy carries one sleepy potato-sack child over each shoulder, just as the Girl has seen him do on so many nights before. They move past each other in the dark with an easy precision. Dogs go in and out, beds are turned down, fires are stoked, face cream is applied in short, certain swipes. They lay their heads on pillows of down beneath a window framing crisp stars. They rest.
Seventeen years now and the Boy’s and Girl’s connections are a constellation; vast, exquisite, inextricably tethered, impossible to fully know, too many hot prick-points of light to count.
Major Bedhead says:
Once again, your writing leaves me gobsmacked. You are doing amazing things and I’m more than a little in awe of you.
January 15th, 2010 at 9:54 am
Adventures In Babywearing says:
You won the cupcake package. Amazing how this crazy life plays with us sometimes.
Maggie, you are incredibly inspiring.
Steph
January 15th, 2010 at 9:54 am
Chibi Jeebs says:
I think my heart just shattered into a million pieces – I don’t know how you do this. Your strength and passion astound and amaze me. *big, squishy hugs*
January 15th, 2010 at 9:56 am
Darlene says:
Oh Maggie, tears well up in my eyes. The blessings you have shown give me such joy and hope. It is possible to survive and rise above the pain and we are so blessed to have you on our side. I am honored and humbled to know you.
January 15th, 2010 at 9:56 am
Jay Schryer says:
Beautiful. Just…beautiful. As always. As beautiful as your heart, as powerful as your spirit.
January 15th, 2010 at 9:56 am
Nicole says:
You, are a writer’s writer. I am moved by the imagery your words make me see and I simultaneously covet your ability to do it.
The part you’ve left out is how much the Girl has done for countless people she doesn’t even know, except in the blogosphere.
I know because I’m one of them.
January 15th, 2010 at 9:57 am
Tricia (irishsamom) says:
WOW. That is amazingly written. You are an amazing writer, in that you describe the feelings the way people (or at least I) feel them. That is a gift. To write beautifully about pain. Thank you for writing this. It is inspirational, if tragic.
Tricia
January 15th, 2010 at 9:57 am
Issa says:
I know I say this often, but this was a beautiful post Maggie. You are amazing. Absolutely amazing.
January 15th, 2010 at 9:57 am
amy2boys says:
love this.
January 15th, 2010 at 9:59 am
Becky (Princess Mikkimoto) says:
Amazing. Loved this post. Not sure what else to say (as she looks down at her Goosebumped arms)
Love love love you girl!
January 15th, 2010 at 9:59 am
Eternal Lizdom says:
Beauty. I can say nothing further- just that this is beautiful.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:03 am
Mr Lady says:
And with this, you become a god. In my book, at least.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:08 am
Kirsten says:
Oh I love this post. Such a beautiful story.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:08 am
kelly says:
Stars. Oh my god, yes. Stars!
January 15th, 2010 at 10:11 am
amber says:
So glad that the Girl found her way into blogging, because you are a gift to us all.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:28 am
nic @mybottlesup says:
can’t see my keyboard due to the tears in my eyes, dammit.
the impact you make on numerous lives is astounding.
thank you for consistently restoring my faith in humanity.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:31 am
V-Grrrl @ Compost Studios says:
I love how you’ve framed and told this story.
It’s a wondrous feeling when we can see the big picture among all the details.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:33 am
Titanium says:
Beautiful- just like you, Maggie. That was incredible.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:44 am
Crystal D says:
I totally admire you and your great big heart.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:46 am
Barbara Hart says:
You are amazing. Thank you.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:54 am
Sue says:
I sure do miss you guys. And I wish i could have been there.
January 15th, 2010 at 10:59 am
Maria says:
And the hug bank keeps filling up.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:09 am
headbang8 says:
That this is exquisitely written should come as no surprise to those of us who have read you.
That you have shown us, so profoundly, the importance of being fully present in the world that surrounds us, is astonishing.
I have lived on four continents over the last decade. I have made a point of cultivating friends form every place I’ve lived, and keeping in touch with them. But none of them knows each other.
Do I actually have a community? Stability? Does my life mean something to anyone but myself?
You’ve caused me to ask these questions, Maggie. They are not comfortable questions. But I’m grateful to you.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:09 am
Kate @burnsy06 says:
I have never been to this blog – it was sent out over the twitterverse – but thank God it was. Puts many things into perspective and, yes, brought a tear (or two or three) to my eyes. Thank you. For your writing, and all that you do for the community.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:11 am
Jenn says:
Absolutely beautiful! I am in awe of your talent, and inspired by your work for others. Simply amazing!
January 15th, 2010 at 11:14 am
Sadie at heymamas says:
That was amazing, as usual.
Sadie
January 15th, 2010 at 11:16 am
Ann says:
Not just tears. Crying.
I’m beginning to prefer commenting to the real live Maggie.
So later.
And I know I am so lucky, fellow commentors, I know.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:18 am
cyndi says:
I simply love visualizing the pictures you paint with words, Maggie. Thanks.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:29 am
Arkie Mama says:
Beautiful.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:30 am
racheld says:
You open hearts, grab them and turn them inside out, then smooth them back into stronger muscles and feelings.
Now you know how it is to see your light flash on, to come here for these words, to feast and be full.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:37 am
MK says:
Your first commenter has the perfect word – Gobsmacked.
You’re beautiful. Truly amazing piece.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:40 am
Arby says:
Keep up the excellent work!
January 15th, 2010 at 11:46 am
Kelly says:
You are a blessing to us, to survivors, to the world. I am inspired and in awe, and I feel a renewed and buoyant desire to keep working with my local domestic violence group — because we all can (and should) be driving the same change you are.
January 15th, 2010 at 12:03 pm
Chris says:
It is hard to think of a better feeling than realizing that you are (finally) in the right place. And you are definitely in the right place.
January 15th, 2010 at 12:04 pm
moonspun says:
Um yea, you write amazingly well, this nearly took my breath away…
yea for you and your constellations…and straight and crooked lines!
January 15th, 2010 at 1:13 pm
Kim says:
Wow, this is just so powerful. Thank you for your words and your deeds. Amazing.
January 15th, 2010 at 1:35 pm
krista says:
ohmygod.
that was beautiful.
January 15th, 2010 at 1:50 pm
Debbie in Memphis says:
A beautiful post which brings tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing your words, thoughts, feelings with us. You inspire me.
January 15th, 2010 at 1:53 pm
Tweets that mention Okay, Fine, Dammit » The Constellation -- Topsy.com says:
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by MaggieDammit, nic, Barbara Hart, Melissa, OpenBookJen and others. OpenBookJen said: This woman is my real life hero. @MaggieDammit http://bit.ly/4YlmRm [...]
January 15th, 2010 at 2:34 pm
Corinne says:
Absolutely incredible Maggie.
January 15th, 2010 at 2:59 pm
Karen Sugarpants says:
You astound and inspire me. Love.
January 15th, 2010 at 3:15 pm
magpie says:
this took my breath away.
January 15th, 2010 at 3:16 pm
ramble says:
Oh how gorgeous.
January 15th, 2010 at 5:09 pm
Erin says:
I’m breathless and I have a lump in my throat the size of a cupcake. You are amazing.
January 15th, 2010 at 6:05 pm
Amy says:
Powerful. Moving. Beautiful. Like you, and your life.
January 15th, 2010 at 6:20 pm
Sarcastica says:
I don’t want to sound like everyone else, but really…how can I not? You truly ARE inspiring, powerful, and amazing. I’ve posted the Violence UnSilenced several times on my Facebook, among other things.
This post made me tear up, my heart hurts for that poor woman and her daughter, and her family, and you guys too.
::::
For all the cruelty and evil in the world, there is good too, and that’s what keeps us going…watching our true loves, the GOOD men, carrying our precious children.
Keep being amazing Maggie! xoxo
January 15th, 2010 at 8:02 pm
Hyacynth says:
Maggie, you have such a beautiful heart, and I love how that beauty comes pouring out of your finger tips onto the page.
Not nearly often enough but at the same time quite often, I find myself thankingthankingthanking God for the gentle yet strong man I married.
Though I’m the daughter of a DV police officer, my family was scarred by a man’s strong hands when I was a teenager. It’s a long road to healing, and agencies as well as people like you who work to unsilence DV provide the first stepping stone for healing.
This post resonates with me deeply for so many reason, but
I’ll leave it at this so I don’t end up writing a novel here in your comments. Thank you.
January 15th, 2010 at 8:10 pm
Sarah Viola says:
Maggie, you are an amazing woman, and an amazing storyteller. I’m so inspired by you.
January 15th, 2010 at 8:22 pm
heather says:
Wonderful. Also cupcakes make everything perfect.
January 15th, 2010 at 9:41 pm
Neil says:
Not bad! Keep writing. You’re getting a lot better.
maggie, dammit Reply:
January 16th, 2010 at 6:04 am
Goofball.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:06 pm
Mojo,NC,USA says:
Indeed… it’s all connected, everything. As it should be. As it’s always been.
Tell me something, though. Was there an uber-bright star shining down on that Girl in the cardboard crib. And maybe three guys that brought some ultra-cool swag in the trunk of their Oldsmobile? Maybe some angels singing and a kid beating on a drum?
None of this would surprise me at all you know.
Much love mah sistah.
January 15th, 2010 at 11:29 pm
maggie, dammit says:
Thank you all so much. I hope you’ll see this comment–the only alternative is to reply “thank you” to each of your comments and that seems so silly, even though it’s true.
This post was a strange experience for me. I came home from the event feeling very disoriented, almost sick, and the feeling didn’t let up until I finally sat down in the morning to write this. It was such a sensation of relief. Very hard to describe.
Anyway, thank you all for your support and kindness and continued generosity toward both me and VU. You guys are the tops, as my hippie parents would have said.
Have I mentioned my middle name is Snow? Not kidding.
January 16th, 2010 at 6:09 am
pgoodness says:
This is gorgeous, you are amazing – person and writer.
January 16th, 2010 at 7:42 am
deb says:
I don’t even know what to say.
but the silence is singing
how you must feel on this mountain top, and thank you for breathing into us.
that was a gift of a river…..
thank you , Maggie.
January 16th, 2010 at 7:52 am
jenn says:
my eyes began to water, my heart raced, i wanted to read this faster..then slower. you are simply an amazing woman, writer, mother, wife, daughter, and an absolute friend, helper, giver. well done snow
January 16th, 2010 at 8:05 am
Elizabeth (@claritychaos) says:
I’m with Ann. I love reading what you write, but some of these call for an in person hug.
January 16th, 2010 at 8:13 am
furiousball says:
I had a brilliant freakin’ comment ready until I ready the first comment and they used the word gobsmacked. that word is awesome.
January 16th, 2010 at 8:17 am
Melissa says:
That was beautiful M. Thank you.
January 16th, 2010 at 1:15 pm
sam {temptingmama} says:
I am in awe of you. Daily. Your heart is so huge and your passion is inspiring. Thank you for all that you do.
XO
January 16th, 2010 at 3:35 pm
Jack says:
As a writer I am very appreciative of how you craft your posts.
January 19th, 2010 at 8:56 am
Marc Daniloff says:
Oh my god, this was one of your absolute best.
Everything everyone commented above me is so true and more.
I always treasure everything you choose to share with us. It is at the same time so private and yet willingly so public, so out there. This was a beautiful way of telling your story, so sweet, oh so romantic, oh so real, and yet–and I love this about you and your causes, we keep reading because we want to know where it ends present day–you manage to remind us of what is so very important, what has saved you, what has saved others, what must go on.
Those of us who have loved deeply know of what you write…..Just beautiful.
PS: Loved the potato sack part…..so true!
January 19th, 2010 at 9:29 am
Kelley @ Magnetoboldtoo says:
you are amazing.
But you don’t need me telling you that.
But I will.
And I did.
Because, well, amazing.
January 19th, 2010 at 1:39 pm
ZenMom says:
Powerful. Beautiful. Moving. Thank you. Really. Thank you so much.
January 19th, 2010 at 2:53 pm
D says:
That, my dear, was spectacular. So glad to share the same piece of sky with you, scrumptious soul-sister. Big love.
January 19th, 2010 at 3:09 pm
Aunt Jenn says:
Love you.
January 19th, 2010 at 8:08 pm
Lisa (Judd) Blanchard says:
Tears, tears and more tears!! As everyone has said before me, YOU ARE AMAZING!! I’m so glad YOU won the cupcakes!!
Thank you!
January 20th, 2010 at 9:19 am
Zak says:
I’m glad you are you.
And you rock.
January 20th, 2010 at 1:42 pm
Amy says:
Maggie, You truly are an amazing writer (TEARS). I would have never seen it this way until you wrote it down.
God has plans for us all – the Girl playing basketball with the 8th grade girl, the boy who dated the cousin of the 8th grade girl and the sister Lisa. The boy and cousin breaking up in high school and then the Girl and Boy meet. God put us in all of these situations and brought it full circle so that the 8th grade girls family could be so blessed with a wonderful person, the Girl.
I feel that God has brought this full circle so that together we can fight harder for the women who are too afraid to fight for them self. I only wish Tracy was here to meet you now.
Thank you so much for all that you have done.
Much love,
The Ex-Girlfriend
January 20th, 2010 at 4:41 pm
muskrat says:
This reminds me of the time I went to a chili supper in the 7th grade and won a raffle prize–the “Top Gun” soundtrack on cassette. In fact, I think that experience was identical to the one you describe above!
January 20th, 2010 at 6:24 pm
Heather of the EO says:
I’m still a bit freaked out at your winning of the cupcake package. Love it.
And I love this. All of it. Your story-telling and your view on the inter-weaving of things. There is so so much beauty in the overlapping and the just the right moment and the connection.
I love you more and more all the time.
January 20th, 2010 at 7:59 pm
Tracey says:
What an incredible life you’ve led so far, Maggie… I am so happy that the fundraiser went so well.
January 21st, 2010 at 7:18 am
Kate Coveny Hood says:
I love this one. I love how it speaks to everyone because we have all known someone or been someone connected to abuse. I love how the connections make the world small. And I love how the pin points of this constellation look so clear – even though there are billions of other people, moments, connections that are hidden in the glow. That’s a life. And yours shines bright.
January 23rd, 2010 at 6:52 pm
Amanda says:
So many women now, yearning for the dancing her fingers do on the keys to share the beautiful lyrics inside her head.
January 24th, 2010 at 6:53 pm
Postmarc says:
And at least one boy…
January 26th, 2010 at 12:05 am
just-beth says:
I came over here to giggle with you over Ms. Britt’s video and am left absolutely breathless. You never cease to amaze me.
xo
b.
January 26th, 2010 at 1:42 am
Bejewell says:
No words, just love and a profound respect for all that you do.
January 26th, 2010 at 9:31 am
heidi says:
Just look at these markers and milestones! Constellation is the perfect description.
This isn’t just a beautiful post, it’s a beautiful life.
January 26th, 2010 at 12:09 pm
Coco says:
What a lovely, luminous and heart-wrenching post.
January 27th, 2010 at 11:42 am
Cat says:
GREAT blog~
January 27th, 2010 at 11:32 pm
Caroline says:
This was amazing. I also read about the crab. You are such a talented writer.
January 31st, 2010 at 7:45 pm
Jenny says:
I’ve never been here before, but I’ll be back. I keep coming across blogs lately that push me towards becoming the blogger I should be rather than the one I am. Maybe yours is the final push that I’ve needed.
February 2nd, 2010 at 6:37 am
Al_Pal says:
Wow, this is beautiful and sad and lovely and happy and hopeful and… yeah. Constellations.
February 9th, 2010 at 4:00 pm