Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word



            I have successfully completed my move to the suburbs, and although I still rely on, and thoroughly enjoy taking public transportation, I have purchased what I deem the “Colorado State Car” to get me around in case of emergencies and on weekend when the buses don’t run to my area. I am the proud owner of a Volvo station wagon, which accounts for probably one-third of all cars on the road in Denver. The other one-third are Subarus, and the remaining one-third make up all other cars on the road.

            My particular Volvo is silver and came with a ridiculously cheap price tag, perhaps because the previous owner may have died in it. I’m not sure what the story is other than the man died, had a lot of health problems, many of which I suspect were self-inflicted, and his family wanted to get rid of the vehicle as quickly as possible. I drained my car fund and handed over the cash, fully aware that the car needed quite a bit of work and may be haunted. I call it Big Dave, after its owner, whom I assume was a big man because of all the crumbs, candy wrappers and chunks of hamburgers I found under the seats as I was cleaning the car.

            It’s been more than two years since I have driven regularly, and I am hyper-aware now of pedestrians and cyclists as Big Dave and I cruise the burbs. I find my old habits behind the wheel are insufficient here now, as I roll through crosswalks and occasionally disregard the yield signs hidden behind trees at intersections. I’d forgotten how driving gives me the opportunity to see things differently, and to spend time in my head as I wait at lights with other drivers. The faint smell of anti-freeze and a small exhaust leak take me back in time to when Jess was still little, and I had purchased an old Chevy Citation for $400. It smelled the same way the entire time I owned it, which included kids starting school, commuting to my first “real” job, and passing it down to Becky after I purchased a new car.

            My time spent in the Citation included a lot of time with my older sister Debbie, as we raised our kids together, lived next door to each other, went through divorces, jobs and boyfriends together. We were thick as thieves, and as long as Debbie told me things would be okay I knew they would be. As I cruise around in Big Dave I long for those days again. Tragically, Debbie has disappeared from my life, after having spent more than a year in a rehab facility, battling her addiction to drugs and alcohol. I had high hopes that she had conquered her demons, and for a while was sure that she would win. I looked forward to the day I would see her again, the old sister that I grew up with. But for reasons unknown to me, she left the program and last I heard was headed for the streets.

            I have dealt with my emotions about Debbie largely through denial and ignorance. If I just don’t think about her, or her circumstances, or the horrible truth about addiction, then I could pretend there was nothing wrong. I could pretend it would all work out. Now my thoughts are filled with anger and fear. Anger that she walked away from the one program that could help her, and fear of where she is now. Anger because I don’t have a bunch of money to pay to fix her, and fear that she is not fixable.

            Like Big Dave, I know she has a lot of things that are wrong with her. But, like Big Dave, I’ve always believed she was a solid person and with a little help could become great again…


October 9, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


            My first grandchild, Petrichor Quimby Augustus finally decided to grace us with her presence late Saturday night. Petrichor means the scent of rain and Quimby is a family name. We  call her Petra, and spend most of our day staring at her beautiful face as she sleeps. I am at a loss for words to describe my feelings about this new addition to my family. Looking down at her is just like looking at Jessica 25 years ago. They look exactly the same, and I can hardly believe that this is my granddaughter.

            Jess was a trooper through the birth, sticking to her plan not to use an epidural or medication. Her labor was long and hard, about 48 hours from start to finish. But she pushed all 8 lbs 15 oz of beautiful baby out. When I saw Jessica right after the delivery, I nearly panicked, but managed to hold myself together. My little girl looked so pale, and had broken blood vessels in her eyes from pushing. She looked small and scared in the big hospital bed, and even though she was now a mother herself I wanted to pick her up in my arms and rock her.

            Now that we’re home I am seeing the great mother Jessica is, and reminded of  how powerful the instinct is. Seeing my baby with her own baby is amazing, and literally leaves me speechless.

October 5, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , | Leave a comment