Category: family

Family

This post has turned out to be a lot harder to write than I originally thought it would be. I’m digging into my past again and stirring up old memories. It is no secret I’ve never had very close family ties beyond my younger brother. I keep in loose contact w/my other siblings but my younger brother has always been the glue holding me to the family.

In a moment of ‘something’, I recently added my little brother to my FB profile. This of course creates a gateway to the rest of the extended family that he routinely communicates with. I’m still mixed up about it but I think it is time to either open the bridge to the extended family or tear it down completely.

Backing up a bit for a little history lesson, I was adopted as an infant. My foster mom died when I was around 5 years old. My dad re-married a few years later, my younger brother’s mom. I love my younger brother and I never once resented him but after he was born my step-mother changed. I never understood it then and I still don’t now. After his birth any feelings she had for me turned to resentment. And in that resentment she made my life a living hell. There are no words to explain the mental torment she put me thru on a daily basis for years. She was, and still is to a degree, the only person I ever truly hated in this life. She tormented me so much that at one brief moment somewhere around 10 or 12 I almost poisoned her to death. I covered the gory details in a previous post years ago. To this day I still bear the shame that I could even consider such an idea. But as a child then it seemed like the only escape. Even a child’s id eventually snaps. My younger brother of course doesn’t remember a lot of what I went thru. He was simply too young. And I know it hurts him to hear it so I’ve always avoided the subject with him.

It should come as no surprise now to know that when I did leave home it was freedom! I was finally free and she would never be able to hurt me again. [1]Sadly, even that turned out not to be true.  Leaving early cost me as much as I gained. I spent a couple years being homeless in pursuit of stability. But even that wasn’t enough to send me back. I don’t think there was anything that could have driven me back. Frankly, I would have rather lived on the streets for the rest of my life than go back to the misery of before.

Later, after I moved to SF in my early thirties I struggled to find myself. Having finally gained some financial stability, I turned my attentions inward in an attempt to discover what type of man I wanted to become. I felt like a blank slate waiting for an imprint. I spent the better part of a decade conquering the insecurities and demons from childhood. I replaced self-loathing and abandonment with confidence and integrity built on the knowledge of who I am. I shed the ignorance and fear that crippled me for so long in my life.

For all my struggles over the years, I’ve kept a wall between myself and my extended family. It wasn’t hard. Distance, time, and logistics made it easy.  And to be honest, I resented them for many years. It doesn’t matter now that that resentment was misplaced. I was a child. I resented them because they saw what she did to me. In my eyes back then they saw what she did and yet did nothing. I can remember time and time again feeling elated and excited when the extended family would visit. It meant a reprieve from the mental abuse and I got much needed interactions. God, I must have looked so pathetic back then. This doe-eyed child practically begging for any scrap of attention. I also remember the absolute despair that would grip me when they left. When they left to go home it meant my reprieve was over. I guess it is no surprise I resented them somewhat.

But I am a man now and the pains of childhood are a distant memory. I harbor no more resentments. I harbor no fear over their acceptance of me, or not. They will or they won’t. That is their path. My life is my own and I will live it honestly and without fear.

Ironically, and on somewhat of a tangent, most of the extended family I miss were on my step-mother’s side. I learned many years later my adoption created a rift in my foster family. My foster mom’s family was very much against it. However, since it was my foster mom who made the decision, you can see why thy were distant. My dad’s side was more connected but living in a remote rural area and most of them being poor meant less contact. My step-family were a tad better off and we saw much more of them over the years. I guess it makes sense.

Back on point, it is time to shed the last of my walled gardens, so to speak. No matter the outcome, I will still be standing.

And you should know what I’m about to say now. hehehe 

Hope springs eternal…

References

References
↑1 Sadly, even that turned out not to be true.

Trip

Moe, Bro, and his hoe….

Yet another non-Pup related post. Aren’t you proud of me?! lolol

Anyway, I am on a work trip to Nashville, TN as we speak. lol  This means I am missing part of GHHD #3 in SF. [1]Folsom St Fair I could have gotten out of the trip but my younger brother lives here in TN and drove over to meet me. I was also hoping to meet one of my long time fave bloggers and buddies, Large Tony. Sadly, timing wasn’t on our side. He had to work and I had a conference to attend. As for my brother, I haven’t seen him in almost 5 years. Since work is paying for the trip, I’m killing two birds with one stone. I also have comp tickets to the Grand Ole Opry but I’ll likely skip that. *yawn* My brother wants to go but it’s already sold out and I can’t ‘reassign’ him my ticket.

I’m staying at the Gaylord Hotel/Resort, which is freaking massive! This place covers 9 acres of land and has over 2000 rooms! The shuttle driver said they have just over 4000 employees. That’s bigger than some small cities. Lolol They have sectioned the place off into regions almost like states. lol Everything for your room is coded to your region. It is not uncommon to see people just wandering in a daze, lost and confused as to where to go. [2]Remind me to discuss the details of my rather loooong flight and my cranky arrival.  It’s gorgeous and incredibly scenic but honestly way more than I’d ever do on my own. The rooms aren’t cheap and honestly, I’d forego the wonderful scenery for a larger onsite gym and a pool that was open past 10pm. The room is incredibly generic. IMHO it’s just overkill to sell this place. It takes 15 minutes to walk from one end to the other, no exaggeration. I’m not complaining just expressing a POV. I’m sure some that come here would absolutely love every minute of it. It can be a little breath-taking for the scenery.

The trip itself deals with the project I’m currently working on. The vendor that develops our software puts on a big conference every so often to solicit interest/feedback for it’s product(s). Agencies/vendors can see it for the first time and/or provide feedback on problems or needed features. It’s basically a PR campaign but it will be nice to talk with other agencies that use the software. The vendor comped my agency this year since we are currently going thru an upgrade. Originally, it was supposed to be me and two other co-workers but both of them decided not to go so I’m solo. I like it because I can multi-task  between my brother and the conference and not feel like I’m abandoning my coworkers. lol

My brother got married a couple years ago and his 2nd son was born just two short weeks ago. It has been wonderful to see my brother and meet my new nephew! He’s took a couple days off from work and crashing in the hotel with me. An extra guest doesn’t cost anything so it all works out. hehehe I almost cried when I saw him. Even though he always seems to have reverted further into redneck territory every time I see him, I love him all the same. lol We were always the closest growing up and I have truly missed him.

I’m coming back to SF tomorrow, Saturday. I really miss home. It’s funny because I’ve been so looking forward to my cruise in November yet I get a trip away for a few days and I’m lonesome for home. Lord, I think I’m turning into a homebody. That or I’m just totally spoiled from living in SF. So many friends of friends are in town (that I want to meet) so it seems I’m definitely doing the fair on Sunday. I was rather wishy-washy at first but now I can’t miss the opportunity. The Pup isn’t coming up for Folsom. Considering he’ll be here permanently in just under 30 days, it didn’t make sense to try to squeeze another trip in. Lawd knows I miss him something fierce but sometimes I ‘gots’ to use the head vs the heart to make decisions. I seem to find ways to love him more every day and I don’t even know how. He seems to just appreciate and accept all of me. I often find I’m just overwhelmed from feeling so accepted.

Oh hell, I’ve diverged into gushing over him again. Ok, time to end this rant and head for my next seminar. I’m ‘be dun learned’ about GIS mapping configurations, VPN socket hardware/software systems, enhanced data image layering, sms/mms upcoming emergency protocols, blah blah blah. Today’s seminars actually deal with some of the meat and potatoes of the work I’m currently doing so can’t miss it.

References

References
↑1 Folsom St Fair
↑2 Remind me to discuss the details of my rather loooong flight and my cranky arrival.

Connect

Oh look! Another post not Pup related! lolol

As technology becomes more pervasive, the ever present choice of connecting with my family on social networks keeps coming up. Up until now, it hasn’t really been much of an issue as most of the direct family I do assoicate with is not at all computer friendly. My youngest brother and I are the closest and he is and has been pretty much my only link to the rest of them. He asked me the other day if I was on FB. I guess in speaking with some of the cousins, they expressed an interest in connecting with me. I didn’t reply at the time but I’ve been pondering it ever since.

Growing up the way I did, I’ve been very disconnected from most of my extended family. When I did know them, it was rough and they knew it. They didn’t care a whit enough about me back then to intervene or offer up help so why do I need them now? Nor did they ever make an effort to reach out to me anytime since then. Now that social media has made it basically one-click access to my life, suddenly they’ve found an interest. I am struggling to find any value in that. Of course, my younger brother, being closer to many of them, sort of creates an unavoidable bridge. But is it a bridge I care to connect to?

To be clear, there is nothing in my life to hide. Just the opposite, I live openly and honestly. But at 42 years old I also have zero desire to hear the scandals, stories, and whispers about my life and/or actions. Ultimately, the question is do I feel a stronge enough connection to my extended family to weather said drama?

I don’t have an answer yet as I haven’t made up my mind.

Dad

Continuing in the last vein of thought, I’m looking back over my life with my father. Much of it was harsh but in the end, I felt we made a strong closure.

My dad only passed in the last decade so naturally his memories are stronger in my mind and nothing has blurred. I remember the early days with him when my foster mom was still alive. I remember moving from Louisiana to East TX with an extended layover in Houston. [1]What I didn’t know at the time was this was when my foster mom was first diagnosed with cancer. I remember how happy my dad was to be in the country. [2]Which was even more remote than my home town, if you can believe it. lol  I remember how he embraced our new life in the wilderness. He was a man alive and it was obvious he loved his life at that time. I remember him building our house. I remember being curled up in his lap sitting in the giant window overlooking the new wilderness we lived in. I remember him reading to me in that same window. His reading sparked my own love of reading and zest for knowledge. I remember him guiding and counseling me when I was plagued by nightmares and spirits. He didn’t make fun of me or make light of what I was feeling. I remember the pain in his face when my mom started getting really sick. I remember the nights after she died when he would pass out drunk on the floor in misery. I remember not understanding how someone so big and strong in my eyes was capable of tears. I remember the sadness that came after. I remember being left with my older brother while he worked longer and longer hours.

A couple years later, I can remember meeting what would become my new step-mother. I can remember seeing my dad smile again. I remember how that first year with her was warm and good. I can remember the birth of my younger brother and how happy it made him. I can also remember how hard he worked just to keep clothes on our back. I can remember seeing him so tired from manual labor he would sleep for a solid night and day to recover.

Unfortunately, I can remember the growing rift my step-mother forced between us. I can remember the lies she told him to prevent me from telling him what was really going on. I can remember the bouts of anger when he would lash out at me. I can remember the bruises that remained after. I can remember the day I came out to him when he hurt me like he’d never hurt me before. I can remember for the first time in my life being afraid of him. I can remember the anguish knowing he didn’t love me anymore and that in his eyes I no longer existed. I can remember wondering why I couldn’t be like his real sons. I remember the many years never speaking, never knowing if he ever thought of me.

I remember when he got sick, the kind of sick you don’t recover from. I can remember my brothers telling me to hurry back home before it was too late. I can remember seeing the husk of what used to be a strong/vibrant man, now ravaged by cancer. I can remember for only the 2nd or 3rd time in my life seeing my father cry as he told me for the very first time he regretted what he did to me. I remember seeing the relief that flooded his soul upon hearing I had forgiven him years before for all that he had done. I remember him telling me he loved me and that he was proud of the man I had become. I remember him not wanting me to go when I left to return to SF. I remember knowing in my heart that he would be dead soon. I remember the call sitting in my voicemail when arriving in SF that he had passed. I remember the relief I felt for him then and now. I remember being happy I could give him peace before he died.

Dad, I wish our time together had been longer. I wish we hadn’t lost so many years while I was growing up. I miss the bond we had when I was young and you were my shining light in the darkness of a big bad scary world. We weren’t the closest but I still remember the good that you gave me.

References

References
↑1 What I didn’t know at the time was this was when my foster mom was first diagnosed with cancer.
↑2 Which was even more remote than my home town, if you can believe it. lol

Mom

*This was supposed to be a post about both my parents but it evolved into a post about my mom.  I’ll do a follow up post regarding my dad.*

 

It’s that time of year when I look back on my life. The anniversary of the deaths of both my adopted mother [1]No, NOT my stepmother. I almost never think of her and when I do there is usually a curse word on the tip of my tongue. and father are upon me. While decades apart in occurrence, the calendar dates are weeks apart.

It pains me at times that the memories of my mother’s features are becoming less and less distinct in my mind. I can still see her in my mind but the image is a bit blurry now. Ironically, the memory of our time together is still very strong. I can remember spending hours just watching her sew. I can remember her humming while she cooked dinner at night. I can remember her consoling me when I would hurt myself playing. I can remember her feeding the chickens in the yard. I can remember riding in the back seat of the old car. I can remember how I felt when I realized at the ripe age of 5 she was sick, and not the kind of sick you get better from. I can remember begging her to hold on until I turned 7. I can remember her crying because her heart was breaking seeing me so innocent; begging her to stay, knowing she was powerless to do anything. I can remember after she died watching her family go into hysterics at the funeral. I can remember thinking, "if mommy is with god now, why is everyone so hysterical?" I can remember deciding I would never attend another funeral in my life [2]and I haven’t. I can remember going to her grave site years later begging her to take the gay out of me. (This was when I didn’t understand there was nothing really wrong with me.) I can remember crying on her grave, collapsing in a heap of exhaustion, because I felt guilty for almost taking my own life out of despair when I lost my first love. I can remember the sadness the day I realized I’d lived longer w/o her than I had with her.

Mommy, I still love and miss you. The pain of your loss has ebbed over time but I still remember the love you gave me. I remember when you had no reason at all to take me into your life, you took me with no questions asked and brooked no argument to the contrary from anyone. I’m grateful that before the years of torture and pain from my stepmother that I had a mom I can look back on with love and fond remembrance. And even though I can’t say I think of you as often as I did in those days, I still think of you. I still hold onto the good that you gave me. I hope that where ever you are you know that you made a difference in my young life.

References

References
↑1 No, NOT my stepmother. I almost never think of her and when I do there is usually a curse word on the tip of my tongue.
↑2 and I haven’t.

You Gonna Eat That? II

My last post got gobbled up somehow so I’m writing it again.

I had a flashback to my childhood the other day. It was kind of odd because it was a memory from when I was very young. God it seems like a lifetime ago and thinking of it now seems almost surreal. Anyway…

Picture it. It’s the 1970’s. Yours truly is about 3-4 years old. There’s me, my foster mom/dad and my 2nd oldest brother at the time. Mom was sewing and making clothes, my brother was in school, my dad was at work, and I was left to my own devices. We had a yard at the time that covered about an acres of land with a few trees on it. One tree in particular was my favorite. It wasn’t very big but had an odd limb that grew out not too terribly far from the ground. I couldn’t reach it on my own but if I stacked a 5-gallon bucket and a 50-gallon drum next to each other I cold easily climb up on the limb and hang out.

It was one of my favorite little spots to pass the time. If I was outside, I had to avoid the geese because they were mean and would jump on me, knock me down, and beat me with their wings. I was a tiny little fucker at the time so must have seemed like easy prey to them. Anyway, here I am one day chomping on a PB&J sammich and sitting in ‘my’ tree having a good ole time. I’d heard my dad come home but didn’t think much of it. I’d see him in a bit.

Everything was hunky-dory until I heard my dad yelling at me. I was startled so didn’t quite process what he was saying. I look over a bit confused and see him (along with my mom in tow) running over toward me continually yelling. This served to scare me more as my dad never ran. They are both clearly in distress and my dad jumps up on the 5-gallon bucket and yanks me down. Not understanding what is happening, I’m full on bawling at this point. I’m thinking I’ve somehow managed to do something and get in trouble. Meanwhile, I’m still chomping away at my PB&J sammich. [1]Even then I had a love for food!

I guess they realized they were making my hysterical so my mom starts trying to calm me down. It turns out my dad discovered a nest of yellow-jackets had built a nest right in the crook of the limb where it met the tree. He hadn’t a chance to take care of it I guess. Anyway, my dad seeing me up in the tree freaked out, afraid I was gonna stung. Unbeknownst to me the wasps were loving my sammich and flying all about. One had apparently landed right on my delicious sandwich right as I took a bite. Yup, you guessed it, I ate it! lol It never stung me, or if it did, I didn’t feel it.

My dad later sprayed them with WD-40, which promptly killed’em. An hour or two goes by and I’m right back up in my tree. This time minus the sandwich, watching the world go by. hehehe

I’m not sure why I suddenly remember this but I thought it funny enough to share. Aren’t memories funny sometimes? 

References

References
↑1 Even then I had a love for food!

4-0

I am approaching my 40th birthday. [1]In gay years, that makes me ancient but that’s besides the point. lol  I’m an old man now so forgive me if this post tends to wander or go on and on and on and on…. you get the point.  

Many guys would be disappointed or sad at reaching such a milestone but not me. I’ve survived so much in my short life, its gonna take more than a puny birthday to get me down. To quote Olympia Dukakis, “ when it comes to pain and suffering, I’m right up there with Liz Taylor”. I joke of course but looking back over my life, I am somewhat amazed I made it this far at all.

I’ve only alluded here to some pieces of my life over the years. Other pieces I’ve just plain beat to death. I’ve made mention on several occasions that I was adopted as a child. I was actually born to Wanda Clem and Roy Seymour. My arrival into the world was traumatic and should have been a sign of things to come. You see, my real parents were drug addicts and I was born addicted as well. Two months preemie and weighing not much more than a bread basket, I spent the first 6 months of my life in a hospital. Being born preemie in the early 70’s was a big deal compared to now. Being addicted on top of that, my chances of survival were significantly diminished. But survive I did. In the following 6 months, I was left alone often for hours and possibly days at a time while my parents went out and got high. The fine state of Texas finally intervened and removed me permanently. The day I was removed, the social worker found me in a dresser drawer on the floor with a bottle, a blanket, and a pillow. Apparently, I had diaper rash from neck to toes. As fate would have it, my real mother knew one of my soon-to-be Aunts, and came to her pleading for her to adopt me. Her husband said, ‘Not no, but hell no!’ [2]A blessing in my book. As awful as my childhood was, I wouldn’t wish that fate on a dog.  My soon-to-be Aunt came to her younger brother and his wife on the odd chance they wanted to adopt me. I’m told the wife took one look at me and the matter was decided. No arguing, no decisions, it was just a matter of fact. I’m referring to my foster mom of course. The next 6 years were probably the most care-free and untroubled of my life. I was simply a kid growing up with two loving parents. All the previous stuff was completely unknown to me.

Six months before my 7th birthday, my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. She began to decline rapidly. Naturally, I didn’t understand. How does one explain such things to a kid? As my birthday rolled around, I begged my mom to wait until my 8th birthday before she left. I still didn’t get it. All I knew is everyone was telling me mommy was leaving and I wasn’t happy about that. She died 2 months later. I can still remember standing over her grave wondering why they were putting her in the ground. It was my first real experience with death and no one had bothered to explain that that’s where dead people end up when they die. I was confused because I kept hearing about this place called ‘heaven’ and I didn’t realize it was in the ground. [3]You can imagine how painful that conversation must have been for my dad. 

As it has a tendency to do, time moved on. My dad did his best but I know it was hard on him. Two years later, he proceeded to marry my step mother, or Satan-in-drag (SID) as I referred to her. She absolutely hated me. After my little brother was born, 3 weeks before my 10th birthday, that hate intensified. I spent years getting the full brunt of her taunts, insults, lies, and beatings. She was the only person on this planet I’ve ever felt true malevolence towards. I hated her as much as she hated me. [4]I threw a party when she died. Got drunker than Cooter Brown and was calling everyone I knew singing “Ding, dong, the witch is dead!”  The physical stuff was a pale shadow of the mental abuse she put me thru. How my id survived it is anybody’s guess. Of course, there was a time when I was 12 when I almost poisoned her. My dad worked a lot and always took her side when I complained. After all, I was just a lying kid, what did I know? I ran away from home several times. I always ended up coming back like an idiot.

Eight months after my 14th birthday, [5]I seem to remember everything related to my birthdays. I came out to my dad. Well I say came out, my dad caught me and my then boyfriend going at it. I’ve never mentioned that here before. I always tell people I just told him but that is a fib. He caught me red-handed, so to speak. My father always had a temper and definitely didn’t believe in ‘sparing the rod’. He beat me within an inch of my life. I came away with a broken jaw, 2 broken ribs, and a body so sore and bruised, I could barely walk for 2 weeks. SID’s taunts and overall nasty behavior increased even more. After what seemed like eternity in hell but was only 6 months, I promptly ran away again. Not before my dad came home early one day unexpected and caught SID breaking my nose. hehehe  Oh how the tables were turned. I relished the weeks of fighting between them. Anyway, I ran way again. I always said it was for good but that’s not exactly true either. I lived with my grandmother for 2 years until she passed away. It was 2 blissful years w/o daily anguish and ‘whoopin’s’ from my SID.

Having no where else to go, I went home. But the rules were different. SID wasn’t allowed to whoop many anymore. I referred to her by her first name on the few occasions we actually spoke. She hated it. lol  Being completely afraid of my dad , we barely spoke. I avoided him like the plague. I think it was then he started to truly realize what he had done to me. That lasted all of 5 months before I finally left home for good. I moved in with my first boyfriend and his dad. I’m skipping past the bf’s death and my resulting suicide attempt. Too many memories too fast and I’m trying to get thru this with my mood in tact. Needless to say, it was the darkest part of my life. I survived again, thankfully. And again, I don’t exactly know how.

Life improved somewhat after that. It was hard but I was free on so many levels. I spent a couple years living out of my vehicle but that pales to what came before so I don’t feel the need to flesh that out. And as fate would have it, my life has continued to improve since then. I’ve grown up, become a contributing member of society, and matured in so many ways over the years I’ve lost count. I could tell you so much more about all the details in between but that’s a nut for another day.

So here we are back to my pending 40th birthday. I’m ecstatic actually. I never thought I’d make it this far. What came before has only made me appreciate what I have now more. If I’m lucky, things will continue to improve and I’ll die a happy man. I’ve never yearned for fame or riches. My only wish has always been to live and die with my friends/loved ones around me.  Only time will tell of course but I am ever the optimist. How can I not be?

References

References
↑1 In gay years, that makes me ancient but that’s besides the point. lol
↑2 A blessing in my book. As awful as my childhood was, I wouldn’t wish that fate on a dog.
↑3 You can imagine how painful that conversation must have been for my dad.
↑4 I threw a party when she died. Got drunker than Cooter Brown and was calling everyone I knew singing “Ding, dong, the witch is dead!”
↑5 I seem to remember everything related to my birthdays.

Accept

I got a few very interesting emails from folks who disagreed with my last post. The overall theme was the same as my friend I referred to on FB. I must admit I just don’t understand. When has separate but equal ever worked? How are we ever going to get equal rights under the law when we can’t even demand equality from the ones who claim to love us most? Allowing them to hide behind their ‘religion’ is bullshit just like it was for slavery. And please explain to me how allowing your family to pick an choose the parts of your life they ‘approve’ of is not a form of control. As long as we allow our families to segregate us in their lives, they will continue to think separate but equal under the law is acceptable. I’m not saying you shouldn’t love your family, but you should have enough self-respect and integrity to make sure they treat you as an equal or not at all.

I learned the hard way, separate but equal doesn’t work. And for the record, after everything my father did to me as a kid, I still loved him. I didn’t exclude him, he chose to exclude me because I didn’t fit the norm. [1]Granted my step-mother goaded him for almost 2-days before he finally lost it but still  He made the conscious choice to push me away. And by conscious, I mean being kicked out of the house at the ripe old age of 14 with a broken jaw and 2 broken ribs.

Ten years later, we tried to make amends but he still couldn’t accept me. He made it very clear he didn’t want me “flaunting my lifestyle” in his face. Meanwhile, I had survived being on my own at such an early age, not to mention almost taking my own life and being homeless. Even after all of that, deep down I still wanted his love. But after surviving some of the darkest moments of my life, I couldn’t just go back to his love knowing it was built on the condition I act or behave a certain way. So, I moved on with my life without him. I would call or visit only once or twice a year. And even then it was primarily to see my little brother.  Yeah, it hurt but I was stronger for it. I had finally accepted myself for who and what I was.

Ten more years later, on his deathbed, my father was finally able to admit his regret. I already knew as I had seen the pain in his face over the years. but, it was heartening (and very empowering) to finally hear him admit it out loud. It was also a little bit sad that it had taken him 20 years to finally realize his mistake(s).

So no, I don’t think allowing our families to love us with conditions is acceptable. Granted, my story is a bit extreme. My father never gave me a chance to try and educate him. That said, the point is the same. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We have no reason to bow to irrational demands/restrictions by our families of half-acceptance. Demands born out of fear, ignorance, or lies. And until more of us realize that, I honestly don’t think we’ll have equality under the law.

References

References
↑1 Granted my step-mother goaded him for almost 2-days before he finally lost it but still

Take A Moment…

…to do something nice for a complete stranger. There are many this holiday season who don’t have it so well. Many more who are flat out hurting. It doesn’t have to be money or big, just make an effort. You’d be surprised what a little kindness can do for someone.

It isn’t the gifts but the idea that people are often a little bit nicer to each other. Call it mushy, sappy, or whatever but it catches on and spreads from person to person during the holiday season. I haven’t been able to really catch the spirit this season until now. Funny how that works ain’t it? lol

My little brother had me in tears last night. It took him being upset to reminded me of the thing I love about the holidays. He was sad because he still misses our dad and his mom. Even though he has two kids of his own now, he struggles on the holidays. They both passed while he was still living at home and I think he often feels lost and alone. He never developed the independence the rest of us had. 

While we were talking, I broke down and told him something I’d never mentioned before. He never knew as a kid that he was one of the only things that kept me sane. He knows full well there was never any love-loss between myself and his mom. But, I always wanted a little brother growing up. And as much as she hated me and I her, she did give me one. Granted, it had nothing to do with me but it didn’t matter. Having a little brother made me stronger and gave me something to focus on besides my own misery. I honestly don’t think I would have made it thru it w/o him. He was really touched by that and we both ended up bawling like school-girls.

Today I find that I’m all giddy and excited about the holiday again. I guess I finally caught the spirit. After I talk last night and today, I’m feeling it. Of course, apple guy arrives tonight so that might have something to do with it too. LOL  Ok, it has a lot to do with it but whatever.

Happy Hanna-Kwan-a-Xmas guys!

Remembering

I’m not sure why but I had a dream about my father last night. He would have been 73 years old this month were he alive. November was his birth month. Funny, I used to never remember his birthday while he was alive. I’m curious why I remember it now like clockwork. Is it because we were finally able to have some sort of peace together towards the end? I’m not sure to be honest.

The dream itself wasn’t overly significant. It was just odd that my father kept coming into the picture. And to be fair, it was a nice dream. No drama, no bad stuff, no painful memories. That is a good thing because I don’t have many good memories of my father. The few good years have been overshadowed by the painful years after my step-mother came along.

Ironically, I find as the years pass I miss my father more and more. I don’t really understand that either. We were never closer after my teen years, for obvious reasons. I still carry the emotional (and physical) scars of his impact on my life. My younger brother doesn’t understand as he was simply too young, but I know my older brother does. He and I got the full brunt of my father’s wrath on many many MANY occasions.

Anyway, back to the point of my little ramble. As much as I tried to shake the memories, they’ve stuck with me today. Maybe dad was looking in on me and this was his way of letting me know. While never a very religious man, my father did believe in the “here-after”, as he called it. My father also believed in other-worldly things like ghosts. There were several episodes in my early childhood where my father surprised me with his compassion and comfort when I needed it.

One time in particular, I was being haunted [1]yes, I said haunted and I truly mean it in the literal sense by an apparition for several months. Looking back on it, I think I was on the verge of losing my sanity. This was not a passing nightmare or dream fantasy. It was as tangible and real as the keyboard I’m typing on now. It plagued me night after night for months. It would wake me from a sound sleep, I’d be freezing, and I would clearly see it watching me. My only rational response at the time was blood-curling screams and hurling my body full-force into bed with my father on a nightly basis.

Of course, never missing an opportunity to ridicule me, my step-mother taunted me with names and verbal abuse. She even had the audacity to suggest it was my dead foster mother come back for revenge. Toward the end though, I think even she relented a little. As hard as she tried, her belligerent threats and bullying weren’t enough to overcome my fear. That and one night she decided to ‘show me’ and slept in my bed. The next morning she was unusually quite and never slept in my bed again. She never did explain to me or dad, what she saw/felt, if anything. But after that, I do remember she was less mean to me. She even did little nice things for me, which was totally out of character for her.

After one dreadfully painful night spent screaming and throwing everything I could get my grubby little hands on, my father sat me down the next day to comfort me. It is one of the few times in my entire childhood I can remember my father holding me. He also gave me some advice on how he would handle it. I was doe-eyed because he didn’t ridicule me, he didn’t talk down to me, he was speaking to me as if we were equals. Even if he didn’t believe me per se, he could see the very real fear in my eyes. [2]And after 3 months of almost nightly attacks, I think he might have been a little desperate as well. When I didn’t sleep, neither did anyone else!  That and I think he too might have realized my little id was fast reaching a breaking point. And his advice worked! Whether it was my confidence to overcome said entity by denying it the energy it needed or whatever, it worked. It was also the first time in my life I faced something on my own. I think much of self-confidence today stems from that one episode.

Ok, so back on topic. I miss my father. It comforts me to know I am holding onto the good parts of my life with him. And Dad, if you are out there sending me a message. I got it, loud and clear. I haven’t forgotten you.

References

References
↑1 yes, I said haunted and I truly mean it in the literal sense
↑2 And after 3 months of almost nightly attacks, I think he might have been a little desperate as well. When I didn’t sleep, neither did anyone else!