03/21/11

A Brief Biography

I was born in Abilene, Texas while my father was stationed at the base there. He was in the U.S. Air Force and we moved around quite often while I was growing up. I went to Kindergarten in England, my brother was born in South Carolina, and my sister was born in Colorado. I had a stay-at-home mom who planned birthday parties every year, gave sleep-overs and baked special homemade goodies for every holiday.  I had a happy childhood and enjoyed all of the places where we lived.

My parents were both from New Orleans and we drove there for our vacations most years to visit all of the grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. My grandparent's big old house on Magazine Street came to evoke the very essence of "home" for me, the only place I ever knew that had roots; the house my dad was raised in. I mourned it's loss when it was sold just a few years ago. My maternal grandparents had moved to Hollywood when I was seven. They would have us kids out every year to spend part of each summer with them.  I longed to see real movie stars, but they were always gone for the summer.

When I was in junior high school, my parents began a long and difficult process of separation and divorce. My dad was sent overseas to Korea for a year for the military. These were dark days for all of us and affected me very deeply. My parents eventually divorced, and as my dad was still in the Air Force, he was stationed a couple of hours away in Wyoming.

I met Marty just 3 weeks after I turned 16. I'll never forget the day; it was January 1st, 1987. He was with a mutual friend of ours and they stopped in to say hello. I'd been sleeping on the couch and didn't have my contacts in, no makeup, and my hair was a wreck! I couldn't see Marty at all without my contacts - he was just a big blur, but he called me a week later and we eventually went out. On our first date, we went to see the movie "Crocodile Dundee" and Marty scared me to death with his fast driving (which I'm sure was actually supposed to impress me!).

Marty was a senior that year and I was a junior. We dated the rest of the school year and went to each others Proms together. After his graduation, he left pretty quickly for Basic Training at the Air Force Academy. Thus began four long years of letter writing.  Marty and I spent as much time together as we could, but it really was a long-distance relationship. The first year was definitely the hardest. Often, I would drive down to the Academy for the day on Saturday or Sunday even though he couldn't leave the base.

When I graduated from high school, I realized it was going to be a lot harder than I thought to pay for college. Driving home from school one day, I heard a recruiting commercial for the National Guard. Well, I wasn't going to crawl around in the mud and sleep in a tent - that's the Army way. But Air Force people sleep in hotels, and besides, I look good in blue!  So I went and talked to the Air Force Reserve recruiters.  I was only 17 so I had to bring my mom to give her permission. She didn't think I was going to go through with it . . . which just goes to show you how your kids will constantly surprise you.

The rest, as they say, is history. I went through my Reserve training and then came home and started college. Two years later, I served in Desert Storm, got married to Marty, we moved around for his assignments and I finished school. Marty got his Masters while we were living in Colorado Springs. I served in the Reserves for 7 years total. We were always very busy with school and work, but in between all of the hard work, we played hard.

Marty and I loved traveling. We went on several Windjammer cruises in the Caribbean. We vacationed on the beach in Aruba, the Bahamas, and all over Mexico. We learned to scuba dive and become "mer-people;" skin diving, snorkeling, spending more time in the water photographing, feeding and looking for fish than we did topside.

We also learned to snow ski together. When we lived in Florida, we were flying back to Colorado to go skiing as often as we could. One year when we left Florida, there was a heat wave and it was 85 degrees. When we got to Vail, it was -15 degrees.  A 100 degree difference in 8 hours! We couldn't believe it!

It's hard to write about who I am without including Marty, because for almost half of my life, he was the most important person in the world to me. We worked together, played together, planned our lives together and he became a part of my family.

When Marty came into our life, my baby sister Angela was a chubby-cheeked, ballet dancing 6 year-old. She was so awe-struck by him, I don't think she did more than shyly grin and wave at him as she peeked from around the couch. Marty became her "nice" big brother.

My little brother Tom was 10 and a holy terror. He'd be sure to point out loudly and repeatedly to me (and Marty) the new pimple on my forehead and remind us that I better be home on time or I'd be "busted." Thank you, bratty little brother! This "little" brother, who was 6 feet tall in junior high, challenged Marty to a wrestling match one winter night and managed to pop out one of Marty's teeth. But it was all in good fun and that became just one of the many family stories over the next 14 years.

Because you see, Marty wasn't just my family, he was Angela's and Tom's family too, in a very real way. He was their big brother, the one they went camping with, shot off fireworks with, went to Water World with, and spent Christmas mornings with.  From that year on, he was ever present in their lives, they grew up with him. The growing up I did with my brother and sister from that point on, he did with me. It was the four of us.

I have a hard time describing who I am now because I've lost so much. It seems like I define myself by who I was in the past - and my hopes for the future. Life in prison is mere existence. There is nothing positive in here by which to identify or distinguish yourself. You are anonymous. There is nothing in here to look forward to from one day to the next, except leaving. I pray every day to leave, one way or another, as soon as possible.
 

A Letter from Michelle's Sister, Angela

While speaking with reporters after Michelle's conviction, one of them said to me "you must have really looked up to her [Michelle] when you were growing up." I replied that "yes, I did. And I still do." This of course did not make it into the reports on the news that evening. I had long since given up on hearing anything positive about my sister in the media, but none-the-less I stubbornly clung to a drop of hope that something might slip through.

I'm struck by a strange vertigo of time when I think that it has been 6 years since Marty's death. On the one hand, watching Marty and Michelle swing dancing at my brothers wedding, and getting swimming lessons from Marty in FL, seems like yesterday. But the repugnance and anguish of Marty's murder, of the inept investigation, of the vindictive media, of Michelle's inhumane incarceration, and of the mockery of a trial, has felt like a lifetime of trauma. And I despair that after 6 years there is still no end to the suffering in sight, most of all because I know that the intensity of my experience is miniscule in comparison to that of my sister's. Despite it all though, she's still the best big sister anyone could hope for.

Growing up we had the average sibling experience. I was the spoiled baby of the family that she was forced to stay home babysitting rather than going out with her friends. I of course spent my time spying on her and her friends, secretly rifling through her clothes and make-up, and making trouble for my brother. Since she is 10 years older than me, I was only 6 when she started dating Marty, and he seemed to become a part of the family almost immediately. I've always thought of him as a big brother, and between teasing me about boys, getting me to do his menial homework from flight school in OK, and giving me rides on his motorcycle, he lived up to the role.

Even as I grew out of the little girl trying to emulate her big sister, my awe of her never faded. Her relationship with Marty seemed like a fairy tale. She went to war. She got a Doctorate. She continued to help others along the way, doing things like volunteering at a rape crisis center. And she was always supportive of me. When I was in college she would send cards for even the most minor holidays, always with a $20 bill inside (and we all know that 20 bucks to a college student is like striking gold). She set a standard for me to live up to.

So yes, I looked up to Michelle growing up. But maybe you're wondering why, in light of some of the details of her case, I would say I still look up to her. Yes, she made some terrible and shameful mistakes in her relationships, but we all do. I've seen her at her lowest, consumed with grief, paranoia, sleeplessness and desperation, unwilling to trust anyone and making unhealthy choices. But I know that no one can know what it is to suddenly and violently lose you husband--whom your whole life has been based around for 15 years--and then to be accused of his murder, slandered in the media, and harassed for years by several groups. My point is that no one can be expected to deal with it all any better than what she was able to do. And somehow, in spite of it all--the grief, humiliation, maltreatment, outrage, misery, and fear--she is still an intelligent, generous, strong, beautiful, creative person with a great sense of humor and an incredible desire to help others.

Michelle established herself around the world as the best sister ever when she sent the coolest care packages to me at every port of call when I did Semester at Sea in 2002. Now that I'm living in Korea, I wish that I could get a piece of home sent to me in the creative, humorous, ingenious way that only she could do. Perhaps one of the most painful aspects of Michelle's incarceration is the limitations it puts on our relationship. I can come to terms with Marty's absence in my life, as we all do when someone dies. But Michelle's absence from my college graduation, knowing that she can't come visit me while I'm living abroad, not being able to call and chat, or send small but oh-so-meaningful packages, or even just hang out . . . is just not fair, not right, not just, not necessary. So we continue to cling to our hope for justice and for freedom. And I will continue to go to my big sister for advice and to share jokes, and always look up to her for the amazing person she is.

My Love,

Angela
 

A Letter From MOM