Posts Tagged ‘rage’

I’ve always had an issue with “loss”.  I have tried to deal with it, and just when I think I have it beaten– it creeps up again.  When I was 6 years old, my brother died.  He was my hero, my bubba, my best friend.  I had never loved anyone as much as I loved him.  You see, my house was a divided family.  Still is.  My father had been married previously and so had my mother.  They both had children already when they met, then Voila! Here I come along.  So, I made #7 place.  Phillip was 8 years old when I was born, and he had been looking forward to me arriving.  Even went out and bought a blue baby-boy’s blanket, with his own money.  He really, really, really wanted a little brother, but got me and was thrilled.  We were best of pals.  We went everywhere together.  We rode our bikes to the taco plaza and ate taco’s together.  Went to baskin robbins and ate ice cream, then played in the parks.  (back then, it wasn’t as scary)  He walked with me hand in hand one day….okay, dragging me behind him, to return a lollipop I had stolen from the store.  He made me apologize and everything.  He rescued me from a field of thorns and stickers, and carried me home.  I have memories, but they keep fading as the years roll by me.  I miss him so much to this day. 

A short while after his death, while my family was still reeling from his loss, a series of events took place in my life.  First of all, when your a child, you just dont think its possible that someone you know could die.  We all think that we are immortal to a certain extent.  I was no exception, in thinking that my brother would some day come back to me.  My mother discovered she was pregnant.  At last!!  I would have someone in my life!!  She was very ill during that pregnancy.  As her tummy grew, and our anticipation grew, my mother just wore out.  She carried that little angel named Lisa, to full term and gave birth to her.  She was dead.  My mother never got to see her newborn, only my father.  My father had been through enough already, he insisted they let him see his baby girl.  She looked like me, that’s what he has always said about her.  Its all he can remember.  My mother almost died from that, but while she was recovering, my dad was just slipping away.  I walked in on him, as he was putting the barrell into his mouth.  He was crying.  He was in so much agony.  I slowly slipped out of the room and sat down on the floor, by the wall.  I stared at the giant mimosa tree in our back yard, where Phillip and I used to play.  My mommy was sick, my daddy wanted to die and leave me too.  My oldest sister, didn’t like me much.  She regretted my father for having me, she regretted that I was his little girl so much.  They weren’t on speaking terms at all.  But….she comforted me on that day, but she didn’t know why.  I never told anyone, and he never did either.  Been a little secret my whole life, and one that eats at me. 

So, when summer time arrived, I played mostly at the neighbors house.  There was a girl there who was nice to me, and she had 3 brothers. They had been friends to my own brother.  I found comfort in that some how.  It made me remember Phillip.  It made me feel close to him again, so I enjoyed it.  We ate snacks together, we played outside, rode our bikes, and Rhonda was telling me everything I needed to know about school.  I was to begin school in the fall.  I was sooo nervous, and didn’t want to go.  The mere thought of going to school terrified me.

One day, my friend Rhonda was gone.  She had went to her mothers house for the weekend.  Well, her brothers were still next door and invited me over to play awhile–and I always agreed.  This day was different though.  Her oldest brother had singled me out to hang out with on that afternoon, and I was so happy for it.  I missed my brother so much, I talked about him all of the time.  Well, Glen used this information to his sick advantage.  There was this old volkswagen van that was all tore up sitting in their yard for a long time.  I had heard that they were smoking pot in there, and never go inside.  I should have listened to “them”, whoever they were because I cant remeber now who told me that.  It was possibly my brother, but not sure.  Glen had figured out a way to get me to do whatever he wanted though–he was smart.  He used my dead brother as his pawn, for his sick and twisted ways.  One day we go into the van, he forces me to do things that I had never known of.  Shouldn’t have known about.  He makes it all better each time by telling me its what my brother would have wanted me to do, etc.  Then the threats started.  I was scared silly about anyone finding out what had happened.  Then the guilt began.  I was so worried about it all because Glen had made me believe that it was all my fault.  I was a scared, mixed up, messed up little girl.  When school finally started, I didn’t want to be seperated from my mom.  I didn’t want to be out of her sight, because what if something happened to her too? I sat in the corner of my classroom rocking wildly back and forth while the children all called me names.  Why wouldn’t they all just leave me alone?! For the first time in my life….I wanted to die.  AND, I was only barely 7 years old.  Secrets can really hurt.  They can mess you up in ways you never thought.  I was constantly taken to the hospital by my parents, I was in constant pain.  If not emotional, it was a physical thing.  I had stomach ulcers by the time I was 9, and gallstones too.  They said that my stomach just produced too much acid naturally, causing all kinds of chaos on my body.  I was the poster child for a nervous wreck already.  What a beginning I had.  What an introduction.  Sometimes, I think I was just a waste, like someone needed to start over.  So thats what I did.  After begging my parents in a slobbery, pathetic way to never-ever-ever die one night, I was comforted.  My mom and I began going to church across the street from our house.  I made friends there.  My mom changed.  I changed.  My dad worked hard at change, but he needed more time.  More space.  He wanted to continue to mourn for his lost son, because when he started to become happy again, that wouldn’t be fair for his dead son you see.  So it took him years, to show happiness.  I missed alot from him.  He’s never recovered.  I need to make that clear.  He never will.  When you lose a child, your world just stops.  Sometimes for years.  I, in a weird sense, have never recovered either.  The day that I forgot my brothers voice, was the worst day of my life.  You take advantage of all these little, itty things in life, until one day you forget them altogether.  I still try to remember his voice, but I never can.  I miss him still.  My first born son–carry’s his name for me now.  I will never forget him, his smile, his laugh.


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