How I started to grow up

When I graduated from Drake I took my first position in a midtown law firm as an office manager.  I was able to bluff my way into this disaster area, learn on the job and clean it up within a year.  When I was at work, I was king of the world.  My home was still overrun with other people’s kids, but none of them were problematic.  My son had graduated high school early, and was working as an assistant manager at a local Burger King.  That year I got this “new” toy – a cell phone.  Big mistake, it was like a tracking device to the ex and a suggestion box to the kids.  “Mommy, bro drank all the milk.”  “Ma, Vic is brushing the cat with my toothbrush.”  lalala.  Back then, calls were not on a plan like they are today – we were talking some real money so snip when the cell phone.  Next was the kids reaching this age of animosity where every day the lil one wanted to bother the big one until the big one was focused on her.  All day at work the phone ringing off the hook while one told what the other one said/did/thought or looked at them like.  Ironically, that was how we found out that the little one broke her toe kicking the big one’s foot.  They were cute – and my belief that a 7 year difference would cease hostilities proved so wrong.

But there were good things there too.  When my daughter and her friend were walking to school, and some adult yelled obsenities at them from an apartment window, it was nice that her big brother and his friends could go and scare the future out of the guy.  So the balance between the good and the bad seemed to fit the life we lived pretty well.  But, that would end.  My son was facing some tough choices, either go to college, go to the military, get into a career or stay with dead end jobs like Burger King and move out on his own.  I couldn’t watch him throw away his life like his father and I had.  He decided he wanted the air force.  Although he felt prepared to sign in at 17, in his heart he wanted the comfort of family, so he decided he wanted to find a wife.  Of course, he tells this to the next girl he meets and she decides, hmmm, military – travel – wife, works for me.  I watched as she manipulated him – often pre-warning him of her next move, yet he did not see it.  At this time I began making more money than my ex setting off an explosion of insecurity and violent outbreaks around the house.  This would often include my son, who – despite our own bickering at times – was incredibly protective of me.  One such fight had my son leave home, moving into a seedy room for rent in one of the worst neighborhoods in Brooklyn.  I did, however, have an ally in my attempt to get him back home so when he showed up to retrieve some of his belongings my daughter had him phone me – he was persuaded to return.  I reminded him of something we had seriously discussed while he was growing up – should things ever get so bad that he would want to run away, he would come to me and if I could not work it out, I would make sure he had somewhere else safe to go.  He swore – so I lived up to my bargain and worked things out with his father to get him an apology and keep the calm, there was only a couple of months left to go before he left for basic training.

For the next couple of months I went on a strict diet of shyt eating to keep the peace.  I’m sure if my son knew things would escalate again so all was done quietly.  One day, however, it blew up again and as the two of them raged, again, pushes and threats and me in the middle.  I let my son go, promising to come back the next day to talk with me, and absolutely made it clear to the ex that it had to end right then, right there.  No more battles between the two of them.  And there were none.  And before I knew it, my son was gone.  We waved goodbye at the airport – and part of me, who I was, so many deep talks and great moments got on that plane to Texas.  The next day there was a ticker tape parade for the Yankees outside the balcony at my new job – and while the crowds cheered I sat quietly at my desk trying to figure out why.  That weekend we went on a trip with the ex’s family (a family reunion thing) and I sat listening to my CD looking at the passing trees and landscape just knowing now what the phrase, ripped out of you, meant.  Something in me was gone.  I believe I would have just fell apart at that time if during this I didn’t look over and see my lil one, knowing that she was losing more than her big brother, she was losing her one good male authority figure, her comrade, her commiserator, her friend.  We had each other now and our bond became stronger, and remains to this day, stronger than most.  Although she would go down different roads, she would eventually aspire to be like her big brother.

Now, with my son gone, I decided it was time for me to go back to school – I wanted to be more than I was, and what I believed I could be.  I wanted my children to be proud of me.  I wanted to find myself – and instead I found more than I thought I would.

My job and its heirarchy

I’ve been asked if I like my job and what it’s like working in a large firm.

A law firm is a lot like a city. It has its voluntary segregation – like the Italians in Bensonhurst, the Jewish people in Midwood, the African Americans in Bed Sty, the Russians in Brighton Beach . . . well you get it. Anywayz, you have segregation based on position – the “classes” in order of supremacy (at least for this example’s sake) are Partners, Special Counsel, Associates, Staff Attorneys, Departmental Managers, Legal Assistants, Paralegals, Partner’s Secretaries, Associate’s Secretaries, IT, Floaters, Records, Mailroom/Messengers, Cleaning staff and outside vendors operating from within (the other side of the tracks).

Each class, although they might socialize a little with its neighboring class, remains within its neighborhood. Now, I can’t speak for all firms albeit I’ve been told by my contemporaries they are all pretty similar; however, the one which I am using for an example tends to have the majority of the minorities in the lower three classes (which is additionally distinguished as separate by the enforced “blue” uniforms and jackets), the middle classes are pretty diverse and the upper classes are . . . yup you guessed it. This makes for an interesting dynamic for anyone studying sociology with its representation of the real world being pretty factual.

Me, I’m in the middle class - partner’s/associate’s secretary; however, I get the bonus of training the newbies – people just joining the firm as secretarial support. Ah to have the ear of the freshly scrubbed faced kiddies that they hire now seemingly straight out of school. Although situationally I am in my “neighborhood” that is not a choice kind of thing. Many of my friends actually live in the last three neighborhoods mentioned above, but they – like in life – tend to be protective of their turf and do not invite in outsiders eyeing what is perceived as slumming suspiciously. I am their friend, but only when they visit me in my home. Frustrating.

I try to encourage integration by teaching all the newbies coming to me that, although you will find this place to appear segregated, you should always remember that NOBODY is BETTER than ANYBODY else. We’re a team, at least from middle class on, and should behave as one. Hard to say if I’m getting through. So life in a law firm is much like life out there in the world – it’s like leaving one city and going into any other. Maddening as it may be it’s the daily grind.

Thank God it’s Friday.

The Days After – 4/22/03

Heya Sweetie,

Perhaps you can help me out a little today if your not too busy.  I feel an attachk of the worst in me coming out and I’m worried that I’ll do or say the wrong thing.  For example, I thought I said the right things to Rich yesterday but today my insecurity is attacking me, has me thinking that just cuz I fixed them I screwed myself.  If there’s some way you can help me not think that way – would you mind?

Guess what!  I finally wrote you a poem my lil poet brother.  Thank you for waiting so long.  Hugz.

Everything

Everything at once
becomes too much for me
and I look for you
but you are gone.

Everything at once
became too much for you
but you did not look for me
and you are gone.

Images

Something I painted

This I saw on the Subway and it epitomizes how I was feeling

Pretty much what I picture going on inside

Where I lie, quietly, in the shadows

The Days After – 4/21/03 (Again) – this is not a repeat post

Hey Baby Bro,

I know, I know, now I’m bothering you but I wanted to share the developments with you.

I talked to Rich and man, I really believe his thoughts are haunting him.  I kinda knew he wanted to make up with Vic so I helped him to justify it.  Please don’t be mad.  I just said what I thought were the right things to say given the circumstances.  I think he’ll call or e-mail her really soon.  If it’s any comfort to you, it seems as though it was his way of honoring his lil Bro.  He told me about January – I am so sorry that you guys, and girl, had to go through all of that.  I believe you loved her with so much of yourself that you became engulfed.  Love, angel, is never bad.  it is the extremes of love that consumes us.

I hope that we can get together over this and allow something positive to rise from your ashes, but, I am afraid.  I think sometimes that I say too much of what’s on my mind and hurt those around me, like you for instance, but I don’t mean to.  I too can sometimes be too impulsive and bad things sometimes result.  Please forgive me my weakness bro, as I forgive you yours.  I only what to love you and find a way to show you that you were, and always will be, My Little Ray of Sunshine.  Much Love Angel.

The Days After – 4/21/03

Dear Ray,

I’m going to see J— on Saturday.  See, I’ve said you were my favorite, and in truth, in a lot of ways you were.  J—y, he’s my heart though and the fact that you really touched my heart takes nothing away from J—.  J— is the one person in the entire family that I trust with my heart; I know my heart would always be in danger with you.  Still, your gentle childlike nature moved me to tears (almost). 

I’m writing these letters to you , not just for you, but for me too cuz I want to know how I feel without the exaggerating of feelings that occurs when someone you love dies.  I want to love you really, honestly, and without rose colored glasses. 

I supposed, in some ways, that’s why I can’t write you a poem just yet.  Poems tend to be very extreme and I don’t want to fall into that trap.  I was your real sister – warts and all – and you were my real brother - also, warts and all.

I woke up last night a bunch of times to look for you.  It’s like I’m afraid to close my eyes because I might miss you.  At first I was comforted by the idea that you might have been trying to get my number but that comfort quickly turned sour as I though of your frustration, lonliness and rage at being so alone at a time when you needed someone.

I’m so sorry sweetie.  I love you my Lil Ray of Sunshine.

When it started to change

I’m going to kind of just gloss over the next few years since it was just more of the same.  The difference was, I could now go to work.  Looking at what skills I possessed it was only natural that I would obtain the very prestigious job of floor walker for a clothing store.  Fortunately it was a woman’s clothing store so there were no scenes starring the ex.  Unfortunately, life walking among racks of clothes, picking them up and putting them back on hangers, wasn’t as fulfilling as one might imagine so I started looking elsewhere.  The managers didn’t like that I couldn’t come running to fill in at a drop of a dime, I had my daughter to pick up and a job to look for, so we parted ways.

My next job was as a cashier in a health food restaurant down by Wall Street – conveniently located next door to my ex’s pizzeria.  He was forever popping in and causing me grief about who was talking to me and where I was looking, thus, I just stayed as focused on the tasks I was doing, talking to no one, until eventually the owner decided my diligence should be rewarded and I became assistant manager.  The manager did not feel I was qualified, and became incensed when the owners asked me to keep my eyes on him and his newest hire – his girlfriend – so we were always fussing at each other.  I believe I quit 3 times the first year only to be cajoled back by promises of change.  I wasn’t the biggest fan of the manager, but I liked the responsibility, so I would return. 

I remember, primarily, three times there that stay in mind.  The first time, when on the register, two men came up with their trays to pay, one pretended to be falling, dropping all their change around, while the other reached into the register.  I, reacting, just grabbed and knocked the money out of his hands while yelling over to the deli guy and the chef’s helpers to get them.  I was told they “got them” on the corner and “convinced” them to wait for the cops. 

The next incident that comes to mind was when I was in the front greeting diners and working on the window display (huge plate glass window with glass staircase in the front) when I looked over and the biggest rat I had ever seen just stood there observing from the handrail (while two customers walked right past it – truly – only in New York).  The deli guy chased it out and calmed me with his assertion that  this occasionally happens since we were so close to the subway) but I never worked in the front again. 

The last incident was the reason I finally left for good – my son, then in his first year of high school, called me from a pay phone in his school to tell me he was jumped on his way to school, near the very buys train station, for his Jansport.  He was afraid to leave the phone booth and the guys were wandering the school looking for him.  Well, my son was not the hiding type and knew very well how to take care of himself so I knew this was serious.  I told the manager, I have to leave and why – and was told if I walk out not to come back.  My response is, so stop calling me.  That was my last day.  Other than shook my son was fine and I marched him down to the district office and had him transferred out of that school that day.  Now, time to explain this to the ex.

The ex listened and decided he could go next door and try to get my job back.  I made it clear he could not.  We argued, and when it began to escalate something new happened, my then 14 year old son got in the mix of things.  He had, over the past summer, gotten taller and was more built (he was being trained at Gleason’s gym to box and it showed – the training lasted until it got cold and the trip was too much but he stayed in shape thereafter).  Because of his son’s intervention the ex took a few steps back and suddenly the talk turned to getting training in something.  He wanted me to go to LIBS – a beauty school near my house at the time.  I decided on Drake, an office skills school.  Drake offered the better financial package so off I went.

Classes were not very difficult, and I was enthused to learn how to use a computer (having never used one before.)  The only problem I had was with absences.  The ex worked 4 blocks or so from the school and was constantly showing up to pop his head into my classrooms.  It was made clear to me that I was not, under any circumstances, to sit next to a male student.  With him popping in like that I had to skip any class where I did not get a seat away from males.  This was especially hard since I was frequently late to class having to visit him at work during all of my breaks.  I still managed to average a 3.5 despite the constant excuses to leave class, or skipping altogether.  While there I decided to take my GED.  I had been studying on my own with books from the library for years so I was relatively confident I would pass.  When I did; however, it was beyond thrilling for me.  I brought it to school so my “certificate” could be upgraded to “diploma” and was told it was the highest score they had ever seen.  Nothing, not even the ex, could diminish that accomplishment to me.  I graduated high school, and I did it before my children – which I had always told them I would do, so I wasn’t a complete failure. 

Things were going along pretty well, until one day when I decided to do an art project at home, refinish a picture frame I found.  I went to take it apart and had a metal joint piece cut through me from near the wrist up to the base of my thumb – I needed stitches on the nerve and outer skin, there was no way I could graduate now since typing 60 was a requirement.  I was crushed.  I talked to the administrators who helped me find a loophole that would allow me the time to heal before taking the tests – so, slow and steady, I kept my other fingers nimble and kept my hands accustomed until I could again use that part.  The day I passed the test, and was told I would be graduating with the next class, was something I knew I did, myself, and there was a new sense of pride within me.  When I was given pins for the key club and for excellence, it wasn’t just some trade school graduation but validation that no matter what, I could succeed.  This is when something inside of me started to change.

It didn’t come overnight, or with any one thing, but like a slow leak just steadily letting out air in almost imperceptible amounts, that would, one day, add up.

Pics to go with Sibs story

Just two pics to show that this is, unfortunately, not a work of fiction.

The cutting, bitter and angry photo taken with them druggin up and me repped as the bad guy in the corner.  Not even using a decent pic but one I hated .  On sis’ myspace it’s labelled as “The Best Day of my Life”. (Note the bong).

Beginning of our End

 

And this, a pic taken of sis and her “soul mate” (our brother) during the period I was not around for.

 

Final Chapter on the siblings

The funeral was a somber, odd occassion where family who did not even know Ray arrived to support sis, and my brothers, my lil one and I all stuck together.  His adopted sisters and mother were there and we acknowledged one another; however, we did not talk very much at all.  Everything was highly stressful.

We signed his book with my maiden name, the siblings foregoing their adopted names.  Old friends of my brother, from when he lived in Jersey, came to say goodbye, all talking about what a good guy he was, such a sweetie.  I was self contained, being there for my brothers and sis while trying to feel nothing – only at the very end of the funeral did my lil one walk up to the coffin and help me say goodbye – she’s always been very strong.

When I left the funeral home I could see there was a commotion stirring with the adopted family and sis, but we just had her leave with us and cut it short.  We went for lunch at iHop, and I could see clearly there was a serious strain between sis and my brothers.  At one point J___ got up to go to the bathroom, and sis followed.  When they came back the silence between them was chilling.  After paying the bill we left with my brothers saying they wanted to go back to J—’s, would I like to go.  I said I thought someone should stay with sis so I passed.

That night we talked about the end.  Sis gave me her story about what happened.  It went like this:

She and bro had bought some coke and were going to party in his room – however, when she showed up after work he had done it all without her.  Since it was her money, and he stole from her, she and he fought.  She left, wouldn’t take his calls and went to a school function for her son turning her cell phone off.  The next day she decided not to pick him up for work, which she had always done, because she was still mad.  Instead, she waited until lunch to go to his place and check up on him.  When she got there she let herself in and saw him hanging from the bar in his closet.  On his chest were both his, and her ID’s, at his feet were all of his poetry written over his lifetime.  After the police removed the body she and my brother J— went to gather up some of his belongings when J___ apparently decided he didn’t want to help her any more.  That’s when she called me.

So that was the story I originally got – until I left Jersey and was home in Brooklyn.  That’s when it started to trickle out.

My brother J— called me telling me that he and Rich could not be around her because it was her fault he was dead.  Apparently they had a physical, and emotion relationship.  My brother didn’t want to help her with his room any more when as they were cleaning, and found a stash of porn, sis slipped with “he was the best lover I ever had.”  He told me that he had to walk away from her at iHop because she knew he had coke and wanted him to break it out in the bathroom, because the adopted family wanted to go after her for sleeping with him and then letting him die, because he didn’t want it to come out that way to me. 

This physical relationship between Ray and sis had apparantly started soon after I last saw them.  For a time he was living in the house with her, her husband and her son.  But, as physical became emotional it became apparent he needed out of their  home.  They would spend pretty much every evening drinking, snorting and messing around.  J— said it had become so intense that when he would be around there would be jealousy issues with his own brother over their sister – which creeped him out.  Sis was using him as a tool against Ray – and Ray began resenting J— over it.  It was sick.

Sis had went so far as to call Rich in Minnesota and ask him if, since they had different last names, he thought they could pull off a marriage.  Rich claimed he tried talking sense into her.  It was partially over this that bro made a trip from Minnesota to Jersey to visit – I just wasn’t on the guest list.

This was around the time when I had started calling, which, from what I’ve been told, is when Ray erupted in a frustration of declaring his love for Sis (while she wanted to keep it under cover in her own life).  For this he grabbed a nail gun and held it to her head until she called and confessed her love to everyone.  The police came (J— called on his cell while Rich tried to talk him down).  Sis bailed him out the next day, and my brothers threw their hands up and backed off.  They felt she was causing this – knowing my brother was a heavily medicated, bipolar and would go off the deep end sporadically.  They didn’t want to be part when the shit really hit the fan.  But, to protect me (of course) nobody thought to tell me this even when asked straight out.

Around February, the year my brother died, he had tried his first known attempt at suicide.  It was over money – he felt sis was forsaking him for the comforts of her home life so he broke in and took away the comforts.  He told sis straight out, that’s what you get for putting money first.  Sis’ husband wanted him arrested but sis argued there was no proof, and claimed she would keep him away.  For that, he took a bottle of his meds and tried to elude my sis in a chase around the neighborhood.  Eventually, he was taken to the hospital and two days later, under her care, released.  Sis felt it was just a cry for attention. 

The night he committed suicide he had tried dozens of times to call sis on both her home, and her cell phone.  All of the calls told her clearly his intention to die.  He tried calling Rich and J— but was unable to get through to them at that hour of the night.  I feel my brothers, accustomed to drunk, drug induced drama, chose to not answer.  He called his adopted sister who offered to send him plane ticket money and let him move in with her.  He called his adopted mother and had a final, work out the anger kind of call.  He tried calling information for someone’s number, my sibs believe it was likely mine – I was unlisted. 

I read the autopsy report, and it seems as though he died in the morning of the 8th.  Apparently he tried to grab the rope from his neck, but couldn’t get out.  I think of him struggling, quite possibly expecting sis to save him when she picked him up for work.  I picture him all alone all that night full of anger, confusion, hatred.  I wonder if a swift kick, un-adulterated love, and some patience could have saved him.  I wonder if I’ll ever truly get peace with not having those answers.

After my brother’s death sis would call me, almost daily, since I never challenged her version of the truth.  Her vile accusations, her finger pointing all meant to cast all of the blame on Ray.  But I knew better – I saw her obsessive need to open memorial sites, to talkabout him daily, to seek psychics – I saw my brothers repulsed by her where it took months for them to be able to even speak to her.  I could see this, but felt that I would accomplish nothing by throwing it in her face.   I spoke to her even after she accused him of rape.  I spoke to her even after hearing how she snorted coke off his box of ashes (to include him in).  I spoke to her thinking this is likely what a purified, more enlightened Ray would want – if he could see things now.

A year after he died we all got together by the tree, with his ashes, each releasing a small amount to the wind.  We decided, after prayer inspired, that this would be the most significant place to let him go.  There was so much ash; however, that we did not let him go completely – I took him home with me hoping one day, again, to be inspired about where to free his body – to join his spirit.

Over the years I’ve learned not to speak too much about Ray – sis thinks I resent the time she spent with him.  I used to ask for a copy of his poems – but I’ve long given up since she will never share them with anyone.  They, like he, died in that town, because of all the wrong decisions.

So, that’s why I feel that despite the wrong way I might have done it, removing my siblings from my life is the best way I will ever feel free.  The toxicity of the relationships on all sides have murdered any hope of our being a family ever again.

What Have They Become

So where did things go wrong?

I was in on again off again contact with my sis.  She’s not always the easiest person to deal with (neither am I) but we became more estranged after she became my lil one’s godmother – thus, our relationship was never a very good one.  I was in sporadic contact with my brother who had a very busy life of his own, but overall, with the exception of avoiding the topic of “his father” we got along quite well.  I admit; however, when he chose to invite “his father” to his wedding instead of me, I was a bit hurt.

Approximately 6 and a half years ago I was surfing the net when I received an e-mail from Rich.  He had been perusing adoption boards and the looking for lost family sections when he came across a posting I had put there.  That’s how we reconnected.  I couldn’t have been more excited, and I rushed to tell J— and sis.  Sis’ reaction was lukewarm at best, and after talking to him she shared some misgivings she had about his sincerity etc.  But, she still e-mailed etc with him.  J— was joyous, he had a brother.  Rich wanted to visit, and so I bought him a plane ticket to come up in May that year.  But I didn’t feel as though it were enough.  With the four of us finding each other, I wanted the last of us, Ray, to be found.  I contacted searching companies, search angels, the whole nine and after about 3 weeks I got the name and address of his wife.  I wrote her telling her a brief version of what was happening and asking that she give him a letter I wrote inviting him into our lives, if that was his choice.

As soon as he got the letter (by then they had separated and he lived in Tennessee) he called.  He was ecstatic.  His adoptive sister also called to make sure I was legit, and to say he was so happy.  I found out he had just kicked drugs cold turkey and that this was a great thing to help him refocus and follow a new path.  It seemed God was looking out for all of us.  I was; however, worried that my sis’ critical attitude, and her position that she didn’t need anything else added to her life after Rich (including new family) caused me a great deal of concern in taking a fragile person like Ray and putting them together.  I discussed this with Rich who said he understood – but inevitably – we gave them each the other’s contact info and they spoke.

Ray was so excited that he jumped in his pickup, threw his few belongings in the back and raced to New York.  He wanted to meet me pre-reunion time.  He told me that his whole life he felt I was out there, he had always heard my voice in his head and thought of me as his whispering angel.  When he came we talked poetry, life, philosophy – he needed a lot of attention and I tried to give it to him.  Rich came up a few days later and we all talked well into the night.  We discussed my sis, and my concerns about how they would all interact.  We discussed Grandma being bitchy, our mother’s ways, and in general whatever I knew. 

I had just started a job so I couldn’t take off, but my ex wasn’t working so I gave him whatever money I could come up with and sent the three of them off to sight see each day.  Finally it was time for them to meet their other brother and sister.  I told my bro, and my sis, Ray had just kicked drugs and Rich claimed he had never done drugs in his life – so please keep them away from them.  I thought of it as looking out – apparently, they did not feel the same way. 

They took my brothers to Jersey for a few days, and on their way back they stopped at Jeff’s and snapped a picture to send me, of them all doing drugs with the ugliest picture I had superimposed in the corner with my mouth moving (nagging them).  This was funny to them.  I took it offensively and felt hurt.  It only got worse when my new brothers went to sis’ house and, in an effort to impress her and kiss up, not only told her every single things I had said but a handful of things I never even thought.  They asked her not to tell, but she did.  They came back for a reunion dinner that we had planned and I asked them why they would say what they did, and say it wrong – I did this in front of her – and they stayed silent.  When alone, however, they each told me it wasn’t them and that they didn’t know why the other did it.  I could see, clearly, this was not going to be resolved so I just apologized to my sister for the things I DID say that upset her, told her that some things I didn’t say or was misrepresented but that it wasn’t important to detail it out and let’s let it go.  We embraced, and it was over – or so I thought.

That was the day we all sat together, under a tree in the park, and just hung out.  We drank Margaritas, talked about the things we wanted to do together, and the lives that we left behind, and in my mind it was the only time we were all in one place and happy (although the poem I had in my earlier post shows me that was a lie).

When my sis and two brothers left (Rich stayed to catch a flight the next day) I thought we were a family.  But, as soon as Sis was home she wrote to me about how she was pretending for our brother’s sake and she would never forgive me for hurting her.  My brother Ray, at first, would IM with me and at the least I thought we were okay – no harsh words and I love you’s lingered, but one day he wouldn’t answer me and I never heard from him again. 

I stayed in touch with Rich, but, after a few backstabbing e-mails where he would copy and paste parts of sentences and send them to sis to show her his “love” for her and his “hatred” for me, conveniently forwarded by her to hurt me, I stopped trying.  I was done.  That was until September that year when I started having anxiety attacks thinking about Ray.  I swallowed my pride and called Rich, J—, and even Sis asking them to please let me know he’s okay.  Finally, as the group representative, sis e-mailed me back that everything was fine and I had nothing to worry about.  I followed up anyway with the brothers and gave up when they also claimed everything was fine.  I let it go.

I didn’t find out what was going on until the evening of April 8th the next year – my brother J— called to tell me that earlier that morning Ray was found hung in the hovel he called home.  My sis found him, but it was too late.  I don’t know really how I was processing that – I went to work the next day like some kind of zombie, noticing the irony of the lyrics playing in my headphones.  I called my sis who was suddenly more than happy to talk to me, to cry to me.  She said that J— wouldn’t help her get Ray’s things and could I come down early (the funeral would be in a few days).  I dropped everything and took a bus to her the next day, renting a hotel room nearby.  My daughter and the ex came with me.

I went with sis to the single room with bath, I saw where he hung, I saw the filth all around, I saw everything that surrounded his life and it made me ill.  As we went through the room; however, I started getting this awful feeling about sis, something in her mannerisms, or the words she was using, was not sitting well with me.  I hated what I was thinking, and prayed that I was wrong.  But, with the help of my brothers, and even through her own words, the disgusting truth would soon come out – and from that moment on my relationship with her, with all of them, would never be the same.

Unfortunately, it’s the end of the day on Friday so this will have to be finished on Monday.

Peace

Where Did they Go ….

This is going to wrap up my childhood by wrapping up the only links I have to it.

There were 5 of us from oldest to youngest:

Me
J—
Rich
Ray
Sis

When the state came to take us from our mother J— and I went to a few foster homes and wound up with Frank and Nikki.  My sis was taken to my Grandmother’s house and raised by Grandma and Grandpa as their own.  She had no inkling that she was anything other than my Aunt until she turned 16.  Rich and Ray were sold, for I believe either 1,000 or 5,000, although I am not entirely sure the amount.

This was their lives as was explained to me:

J—, he was continually treated as I explained in my personal life past.  When he got older he was involved with stealing cars and bringing them to a chop shop.  His life of crime was put to an end in his early 20’s when he was arrested and sentenced to prison time in Rahway for stealing the chief of police’s car – in Rahway was where I found him.  He had, when younger, went to court to give testimony against a foster child in Frank and Nikki’s care, when that foster child levelled sexual abuse charges against Frank.  I know that his “parents” also adopted a mentally challenged younger sister for him; but, fortunately, she stayed with Nikki after that marriage broke up.

While in prison he took college classes and learned website design – high end.  He got a job with a major corporation working their website, married a woman who had a very small daughter, and together they had two beautiful sons.  Several years later the marriage ended and he did not get custody of his children but visits them very often and has a very good arrangement with his ex in sharing the boys.  His youngest has autism which might overly challenge someone with the ADD my brother has (speedy gonzales looks inanimate in comparison) but he does an amazing job with him.  He second, and present, marriage is with someone much more like himself.  They had a son early last year. 

J— has had issues with drugs (mushrooms, coke, and most definitely with weed).  He has had relationship issues with his ex, and his present wife – but who doesn’t.  He was the first to come to me after Ray’s death to tell me what I had missed the last year of Ray’s life.  He isn’t perfect, but neither is anyone else.  My issue with J— is that he keeps Frank in his life, he won’t accept what Frank did to me, and apparently to other foster kids, that he would send me pics of his son with his “grandpa” which screams insensitivity.  I can’t be around someone who reminds me that my molestor will always come before me.  But, I know, that’s my issue.

Then there’s Rich.  Rich was adopted by a couple who moved him to Minnesota.  The wife was a bitter, angry woman who liked to demean her husband and her newly purchased son.  The husband would deflect the verbal blows as much as he could, but he himself was not a very strong person.  During my brother’s time in high school the marriage broke up and neither party wanted to keep him.  The system allowed him to finish out high school staying at a friend’s house; however, once done he had nowhere to go and no money to start with – so he entered the Navy.  I’m not sure but I believe he was medically discharged.  He returned to Minnesota and started working at Walmart, befriended, then took in, a young mother to be.  He has some kind of relationship with this girl’s mother but we never clarified it.  He has raised the girl’s son as if he were his own – at least last I heard.  When he was fired from Walmart he moved, became an ordained minister (although I know he does not have a close relation with God – he did it for tax reasons, and a side business – thus the snide reference to Father Rich). 

Ray’s purchaser’s/adopted parents were sick people.  Well, let me clarify, the father was sick and the mother did nothing to protect her children.  Besides being beaten regularly and being called a filthy Mexican (which is ironic since we aren’t Mexican) he was forced to perform sexually with his sister for the amusement of the father.  This became common, and there was an inference that the father would participate actively.  When he got older he began drinking heavily which resulted in a drunk driving accident that killed his friend.  He told me that the memory of his friend, whose head was severed by a pole, next to him as they were trapped in the wreckage haunted him every day.    He then went on to say he had gotten arrested down south for possession, and while in the jail he broke his own arm and threated to sue for brutality so they drove him to the state line and told him to never return (this story has a few variations when retold).  He got married and worked as a roofer.  She was financially independent and very nurturing – so bro was happy.  He fell off a roof while on a job and was having serious back pains and took very strong muscle relaxents or pain killers (not sure which).  He became addicted.  This addiction eventually led to the end of the marriage.  He moved in with his adopted sister, in Tennessee, after the death of his adopted father.  That’s where I first got in touch with him.

Sis was brought to live with our Grandparents.  Grandma could be a little on the shrewish/overbearing side, but Grandpa more than made up for it – he was the cutest thing ever.  Sis was raised as the 7th child - born to an older couple.  She had 5 older sisters, and one older brother, at least in her mind.  This secret was kept only to be uncovered when sis was about 16.  She did not have a life of privilege, but she did have the typical, all-american family.  With the exception of the oddity that was my mother, all my grandparents children went to college, went to their prom, became sucessful adults.  Only one was divorced, the others remained married right through to this day.  The way she was treated different is that she didn’t feel she’d been given enough power, say-so, because her “siblings” were so much older.  When I was 10 or so I remember visiting, and thinking she was a brat, but also feeling love for her.  I knew who she was then, and slipped  a few times, but fortunately, unnoticed.  Right out of high school she married and got a job.  Shortly after she became pregnant (her son, my nephew, truly one of my favorite family members – I’m going to miss him), so with the help of her “parents” she bought a house near them in Jersey and settled down.  She’s had an on again off again relationship with most of her “siblings” as well as her real mother, always bitching about things they would do that she felt wounded her.  I don’t know if they are that thoughtless and hurtful, or if sis just likes to complain for nothing (albeit, given my experiences with her, I lean toward the latter)

So, that is where they all went.  Next, what have they become today?