by Tina Pilonetti
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Abundance and Loss by Tina Pilonetti |
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"No one knows our name until our last breath goes
out." Rumi Jeanette Winterson asks in
the first line of her novel Written on the Body, "Why is the
measure of love loss?" The event that occurred Like the tragedy of Last night I dreamt that
she was with me again. The truth reads like a
horror story. Grotesque, violent, nightmarish. My best friend and soulmate for
the past 10 years was brought to her death at the hands of a stranger, or so
the story goes. Stabbed. To death. Blunt injuries to the face, neck, and chest.
There are so few details at this point in the story that the mind begins to
create answers for itself, to picture the possibilities, to imagine repeatedly
what might have happened. To continue turning roadblocks and dead-ends into
other imaginings of what might have been. The facts as I know them have been
told me by the only person her friend talked to before calling the police. Police and media reports
say that on the morning of Friday, April 26th, 2002, Jocelyn B
Sandberg was returning home from a concert in Boulder, CO with a friend. Not
half a block from her house, a man supposedly walked in front of the car
Jocelyn was driving. She many have almost clipped him. She may have had to stop
short. A neighbor says she heard loud car brakes that woke her from sleep. Not
unusual in the busy college area of downtown Colorado Springs. Not unusual on a
late Thursday night, Friday morning. It had to have been after 2:30 a.m. and
before 4:30 a.m. An altercation allegedly ensued at the car. My friend,
Jocelyn, would have first apologized or tried to de-escalate the situation, I
believe. The stranger threw a rock at the car. Jocelyn got out. There was a
confrontation. Maybe the dialogue was, "Listen motherfucker, don’t take
this out on my friends’ car, if you have a problem with me, deal with me, not
the car." I was told he pushed her down outside the car. She supposedly
ran after him, a chase ensued. I bring to the story my own
ideas of my closest friend. She hated running. She was a large-bosomed woman
who never ran. She wasn’t built for speed, she was built for comfort. I have
rarely, if ever seen my friend run. Anyone who knows her recognizes this truth.
In her anger at being pushed down, though, this warrior-strong woman, may have felt
incited to run. All possibilities exist when the story has so few answers, so
few explanations. How does one explain the inexplicable? How does one prepare
for a death so shocking? The friend jumped into the
driver’s seat, turned the car around, and went looking for Jocelyn and the man
(men? Could there have been more than one I wonder?) who had just accosted her.
Not being able to find them, the friend returned to Jocelyn’s house. Jocelyn
had two huge newfoundland/ newfie mix "dawgs" as she called them. The
friend took Juno and Auggie and went looking for Joc. She did this several
times. The friend finally spoke to
an upstairs neighbor at 5:45 or so in the morning as the neighbor was coming
downstairs to take her dog out. The neighbor couldn’t exact what had happened
from what the friend was saying. The neighbor told her to call the police. And
this neighbor went to look for Jocelyn. Two and a half blocks from the house
she saw police cars and yellow tape and realized what was going on. Jocelyn was
hurt, Jocelyn had been murdered. I flew from Seattle back to
Colorado Springs as soon as was physically and psychically possible. There, her
many friends walked through an open house, her roommate wanted this to be
possible for everyone. Her friends, and community, waited for Joc’s parents and
one of her brothers to arrive from Salt Lake City, UT. It has been said that
waiting may be the most difficult part. There is so little preparation to be
done when waiting to prepare. Just a lot of confusion, anger, crying, shock,
numbness, denial, and grief. It’s hard to begin to sort out all of the emotions
of death and dying when a tragedy like this occurs. Jocelyn was the 8th
of 9 children, born to Harley and Evalyn Sandberg on December 2, 1960. Although
41 years of age, this soul sister of mine, was ageless. Jocelyn was strongly
opinionated and unafraid to speak vociferously. She was able still to find
common ground with many different types of people. Jocelyn lived a very bold,
vibrant, unapologetic existence. She was rather unconcerned with the
acquisition of stuff, more concerned with human interactions and events. A
music appassionato, she was unequivocally generous in sharing free concert
tickets scored through KRCC, or WCBE in Columbus, OH another public radio station
she worked for. After getting a cd burner, I think her goal was to burn all of
the 12, 000 cd’s at KRCC. Her own music library consisted of over 1300 cd’s at
last count in 2000. I’m sure it was closer to 1500 after getting back on with
KRCC in that same year and working her way back through the ranks to become
operations manager. KRCC had recently lost their O.M., Lynn Akers, to cancer
and Jocelyn rose to fill the empty space Lynn left. Her job was a source of
pride and worth to her. Jocelyn was rather a "jill-of-all-trades"
this lifetime. Her sources of income included doughmaker (she developed the
city-wide choice for best pizza crust at Poor Richard’s restaurant), produce
goddess/manager, bakery manager for Panera Breads in Columbus, appliance
repairer, factory worker, UPS truckloader, worker with the developmentally
disabled, Denver Post deliverer, truck driver, volunteer at a local theatre;
she was a self proclaimed "self-starter". Jocelyn was a lesbian
feminist activist. When I first met her in 1992, she was working with New
Phazes, Colorado Springs lesbian publication. We were 2 of 3 or 4 Lesbian
Avengers in the Springs at the time. We worked against Amendment 2, which was
enacted in conservative El Paso County, and denied equal rights to gays, lesbians,
bisexuals, and transgendered people. This amendment was eventually overturned
by the Supreme Court. Although she was not a rich woman, not really even that
great at managing money, she donated to all sorts of wonderful organizations,
including NGLTF, PETA, A.I.D.S. organizations and many others. Julia Butterfly
was one of her inspirations. Jocelyn was trying to, and succeeding at living a
simple, uncluttered, earth-friendly, harm-none sort of existence. She was an
incredibly conscious person. She made choices in regards to her own
consumerism, to buy green and environmentally friendly products and towards
natural foods and natural living. Jocelyn was a vegetarian for 20 years and a
vegan for the past few. A young gay male friend in Columbus turned her on to
going completely vegan. One thing I loved about my
dear friend was the allowances she gave herself. Just recently she was giving
herself permission to indulge in a few non-vegan delicacies, but mostly only on
Sunday’s. Like Alice Walker says in her poem Be Nobody’s Darling, "Take
the contradictions of your life and wrap round you like a shawl, to parry
stones, to keep you warm." This she did. To be aware of one’s own
contradictions, to embrace those even, is to me, a sign of enlightenment, of
higher consciousness. Jocelyn more than occasionally enjoyed a good cigar on
her porch with friends. Jocelyn indulged in a clove cigarette or two on a nice
night, or…a rainy night. Although she wouldn’t consider herself a heavy
drinker, many who knew her have seen her over-indulge/imbibe in a few alcoholic
beverages. This too she was conscious of. Jocelyn was a person who was always
analyzing her motivations, her own intentions for her behavior. She sought
clarity about herself and the world around her. She was a woman who found joy
in indulgence who would also reign herself in. According to police
reports, there were no alcohol or drugs in her system at the time that she was
murdered. This does not surprise me. The one time I saw her attempt to smoke
pot, between snacks, she kept repeating, "Pot doesn’t affect me." And
"This stuff doesn’t work." I have seen my beautiful,
strong friend very angry. Although a strong woman myself, I used to feel very
protected by Jocelyn when we’d be out. If anyone disrespected either of us, she
took care of things. If a man on the street made an obscene comment about her
chest, she yelled. Loudly. She was certainly not one to let anyone disrespect
her. I feel that she was
defending her life on the night she was murdered. Why the altercation went from
her car, so close to home, another 2 blocks away to the Colorado College
campus, we do not know. I know that she worked 2 jobs very close to her home,
walked her dogs around that neighborhood regularly, did her laundry at the
laundromat, in front of which she apparently cut this man off on that fateful
night. I do not propose to understand the criminal mind. What would incite this
man, this stranger, to murder? I cannot pretend to figure out the horrid
details of this case. I strongly hope the Colorado Springs Police Department
and Homicide Unit are able to unravel this mystery. It is now almost 3 months
later and the murder of my best friend is still unresolved. The two biggest mysteries
being love and death. I am beyond anger about this murder. I also have to quest
to live in love. To have some sort of faith that this happened the way it was
supposed to, for a reason?, that Jocelyn’s purpose on this planet had been
fulfilled. That this sick tragedy was somehow part of her destiny. I do not want
to believe that my girl Joc died with anger as her last emotion. She had to
have been fucking pissed as fuck though. Her blood must have been boiling. I
will go towards the spiritual and believe her warrior-spirit released itself so
it could pass to the other side free of deep-seated anger. If we don’t do the
work here, in Buddhist belief, it may be possible to clear some of our debts
anyway. Maybe her work here was done. For the 600 or so people
that attended the Memorial Service at Shove Chapel on Monday, April 29th,
our work has just begun. We are still living in this physical realm, on this
earthly plane. We feel deeply. Georgia O’Keefe said, "I’m glad I want
everything in the world—good and bad—bitter and sweet—I want it all." I was finally able to take
a walk on the most beautiful day this year in Seattle. My pain and suffering is
immense. The beauty I see all around me is so great as to almost be
uncontainable. It is Spring in Seattle and a pleasure to live here. A pleasure
to live. To continue to learn how much depth we can seek out and find during a
lifetime. I’m saying nothing new, but not one of us truly knows when her time
is up. It’s been my struggle for the past 13 years to begin to project a future
for myself. My friend’s love and support was unconditional and immeasurable in
regards to my own personal growth over the past 10 years. To see my life going
beyond age 38 or 42, (when I was 18 and 19 I was fully convinced I’d die young,
right? I was also depressed and suicidal at that time). I am a survivor. My
friend Jocelyn is a survivor. In the last letter I wrote to her in March of
2002 (for Valentine’s day) I asked "I believe our warrior spirits needed
to meet each other this lifetime, yes?" In the last email I wrote to her a
few days before she died I queried "I wonder what I did last lifetime to
deserve your friendship in this one? musta been some real good stuff, like a
mother teresa I suppose." My twin spirit is missing.
She has gone lost and I don’t know where to find her. She has come to me many
times in dreams since her murder, not in image always, but in feeling. I am
helping her get ready in one dream. In the other I see a photograph of myself
with two small breasts. Then an image of a ripped photo. Then a photo with
myself, only one small breast left. Mastectomy. Part of myself has gone
missing. Part of myself has been torn away from me without my permission. In my
latest dream we are both doing kung fu outside in Colorado Springs. We are both
happy and having fun. In this dream I have her long hair, 2 long braids, as she
does. I also have her bosoms, yet they are still my own, with my own
idiosyncrasies. We are performing and are bare-breasted. Men are watching, but
this is not threatening. We are unconcerned with their presence. I am slowly
learning something about not being in control of things. As hard as we all try,
we really have very little control. It’s only make-believe. I make believe that she is
still with me. An intersection this strong in life, does not cancel itself out
by the virtue of the cycle of life and death. The cycle that also follows is
birth and rebirth. I will find a way to be born again unto myself. Jocelyn
lives inside of me. I have told her that her friendship is a precious stone I
carry inside of me. There is a place she exists deep in my psyche that one
man’s own suffering and destruction cannot destroy. The impulses to call her
and tell her about everything that’s been going on in the past two weeks have
begun. (and continues as strongly 2 ½ months later, especially in light of
another family crisis, my father's death). I thought I could somehow escape the
"extra placesetting at the table" feeling. We haven’t lived together
since I moved to Seattle in 2001. Since Jocelyn drove the truck full of my and
my partner’s stuff to Seattle with us. She has been here to visit twice since.
This is where and how I feel very lucky. Some relations end with
regret, with words unsaid. Both Jocelyn and I had all of our cards out on the
table, save maybe one. I am so very thankful to have told her so many times
through the years how much I loved, respected, and admired her. She was my
hero. She still is. "It is in speaking that ideas come to us-words-and
then we, in our own words, find perhaps everything, the city, the garden too and
then we are orphans no longer." –Ionesco. I am grateful for the many
letters written over the years. I am so thankful for the cards, quotes, and
tangible pieces of my best friend that I have to reflect on. So many of her
words, in those letters, are helping me now through this terrific and terrible
pain. Things once considered good memories or mementos, are now considered
treasures. I think, too, that regret and guilt must end when the wall, the
boundary of death is imposed. This is the work, a continual letting go, a
shedding of the old, to find 'new skin stretched across these old bones' sky
cries mary. I have a deep and strong
intuition that we have a deeper knowing. Jocelyn has been getting her life in
order for years. Simplifying, extracting, distilling. She wanted to get to the
essence of her life. No bullshit. No time for bullshit. She has said "Fuck
you!" to more than one employer this lifetime. She has walked away from
relations and business interactions that did not have integrity and honor. After
9/11 and having seen my mentor and teacher live her life in such a way for
years, I was able to walk away from a particularly bad employer/landlord
situation, which was subtly controlling, manipulative, and unhealthy. This is
bold. This is freedom. "I want freedom for the full expression of my
personality," too, like Gandhi said. Although not an
"artist" as such, Jocelyn was an arts appreciator and inspirer. She
encouraged my artistic pursuits with devotion. She has seen me dance in Ohio,
Colorado, and Washington. She was my support in this way and so many others. We
were each other’s "#1 fan". I have seen her, heard her, encourage
other young artists to follow their passions, follow their dreams. She was a
collector of local art. She was a collector of wisdom, of quotes, of books.
Never having gotten her college degree, she considered herself self-taught and
I considered her learned. She gleaned an articulation and love of vocabulary
and language from her mother, who is a writer. She was "her mother’s daughter".
And from her father a love and appreciation of music. Jocelyn was wildly
independent. Leaving home at 18. Moving to the San Francisco/Bay area for at
least 8 years. Living in Ventura and Santa Barbara, CA for 2 more years. Moving
out to Colorado for 6 years. Moving to Columbus, OH for 5, and back to the
Springs to finish out her life. An avid reader, she enjoyed quiet and solitude
at times, and balanced this out with strong social connections, often involving
entertaining at her house, music, theatre, dance, and nature. She felt closest
to her spirit-self when she was outside hiking, spending time alone or with
others close to the earth. Hers was an eclectic spirituality; self-created like
the rest of her life. She was most recently interested in Buddhism and was high
and excited after hearing a Buddhist nun speak. Jocelyn cared so deeply for
her world and the world at large. After just watching a public television
documentary on genocide, she was outraged and saddened to a point of wanting to
draw herself back in. She wanted to re-examine her own life and ways of being
in the world. I believe she found some balance between her internal and
external self before the morning of April 26, 2002. I have to believe she found
her peace. We may never know the
"facts" about her murder. We may never fill in all of the empty
spaces or find the answers we seek. We may never know what we really want to
know; what she was thinking and feeling that night, what she said to/yelled at
her murderer, what really went on. Jocelyn’s dreams for the future included
attending the Lavender Film Festival in San Francisco in June. We were going to
ride to California on a yet to be garnered motorcycle that she just found out
she could finance (the only person I’d consider riding "bitch" with),
we were going to camp and visit 2 of her sisters in the Bay area. Having
already met 5 members of her immediate family it was my goal to meet the other
4 siblings. Sadly, I met her brother Tim after her death. We were going to
visit a friend in Alaska. We were going to travel to Japan together. This is
the loss. The things that can never be said or done. The things the living
still want from the dead. Jocelyn gave so much during
her life. Her love and strong sense of self help lead those she left behind
along. She lived an impassioned existence. This truth, this integrity, is what
there is to live for. The abundance that was Jocelyn Sandberg goes on after
this senseless killing. Love and abundance strengthen the living. To get stuck
in my fucking anger about this is to lead less than a whole life. To work
through the anger, to find out what lies beneath my anger, is my work. Perhaps
below the deep anger and madness lies my own fear of mortality. I want to
ruminate on my own death, I want to own it and not fear it. I want to face my
fear of death in an effort to lead a more fertile, fruitful life. I want my
existence here to be plentiful and whole. Death can be cavernous and hollow, a
closing, an empty shell full of loss and what once was. Or it can be the next
great opening, especially for the living. The murder of Jocelyn should be an
explosion that lights fire under our asses to continue to fight the good fight,
to keep raising one’s voice, to speak up and out for others and ourselves, to
define and re-define, to defend, to inspire, to tell the truth, to be honest,
to live in the now, to examine deeper, to laugh louder, to be less afraid, to
live stronger, larger lives. You were a bridge and community builder in life,
as in death. This is the legacy my sweet soulmate leaves behind. These are the
lessons she takes into eternity. May we meet again my bright-eyed,
strong-handed friend. A vibrant life cannot fade, it only grows bolder and more
colorful with life, with time. Rest in peace my beloved
one. Our gift to you is that we shall honor and remember your contribution to
the whole. You are not lost, your spirit is not lost. It is forever part of the
community of freaks, outcasts, and pariahs you fought to co-create, to accept,
to not pass judgment on, to learn from, listen to, advise, inspire and help.
You gave more than was thought humanly possible. You gave us more than you ever
knew. This we thank you for. We open our hands and our hearts and welcome you
home. May you now and finally, simply, and righteously "BE." I have tattooed the words
you wore on your chest, "BE", onto my own chest. I have
tattooed your sacred heart onto my own. It is protected by fire and a
vine of new, green leaves. You are infinitely, and inextricably, wrapped
around and through my own life. The first gift given me by you was a
burning, flaming heart. The last gift received, posthumously, was a
milagro of the same burning, flaming heart. You will burn in my heart
until I too pass through this mortal coil. You are forever a part of me
and I am grateful to you UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD. Know that I am now,
and will always be, your T-girl. "If each day falls
inside each night, there exists a well where clarity is imprisoned. We need to
sit on the rim of the well of darkness and fish for fallen light with patience."
Pablo Neruda "It is a fearful
thing to love what death can touch." "We love because it
is the only true adventure." Nikki Giovanni |