My daughter had been taken care of, and my husband didn't have me committed so I knew that I must have been functioning at some level to normal. I was the only one aware that only a part of me had been here.
As I cleaned up the tanks where the hamsters had been I was sickened at what was of their remains. In their fight to stay alive, they had lived off the dead amongst them. I cried but knew that there was nothing I could do for them now.
I began to beg inside for help so that nothing happened to my daughter. So someone (an inner alter) stayed with me out at all times to make sure I was there.
After we moved to a new house I thought " things might be better between my husband and me", but it only grew worse till the day he began to knock me around. In the midst of a morning argument he knocked me down and sat on my chest while he slapped my head back and forth. The only thing I remembered made him stop was my 16 month old daughter screaming at my feet. He stopped and I got up and grabbed her and held her tight. He threatened that next time it'd be worse. I remember saying back to him "there will never be a next time".
It was a hard time for me. The court told him that if it happened again they would put him in jail. That seemed to keep him in his place until I could make plans to leave and go back up north jersey where I had friends and family.
During this time I was aware that there was more then just me around each day. I can still remember laughing to myself when I realized that I had put two cups of coffee on the table and I was the only body present. That's how real and close I felt to my inside helper.
Today I can say that and others will understand. Back then 27 years ago, no one would have. That's when I knew I had to get away from the husband, the drugs, the stress and I started drinking then to help calm me with out the heaviness of drugs or just falling asleep on the downers.
While I was drinking many days at home there was a man who was putting the heating system in the house I was living in. He told me all about his drinking days and he was part of AA. It came to me later on what he was really trying to do. It was my first AA meetings and I'll remember him and his stories later on in my life and drinking career.
After I left my husband and moved back up north, life seemed to slowly get back to a feeling of normal. It seemed like it was years before I noticed I was breaking down again.
I will cover in more detail things/times that I remember or don't remember which ever the case may be, to the events over the years and along the way in the pages on the site as they unfold. I am taking my time to do it slowly so that I don't become to over whelmed with the memories and take the time now to really think about what I should have felt back then at times when I felt nothing. The stories are just pictures of another time.
I grew up in a house where my parents never let you raise your voice to any one. With 11 children at one time in a house hold I can see now where it would have been a bit over whelming if we all argued. So I really wasn't prepared for the outside world with other people who where raised up to think arguing was normal and did it all the time. I still to this day can't be around people who start arguing and fighting. I just go away into myself. When I was first married and through my 20's I thought that I just wasn't there when it would break out around me. Only later did I realize that a part of me was there and stood up to a great many people. It shocked me to realize that all the time that I thought I was just staying out of it. I was in there closer then I knew. When people would retell the event, at first I thought that they where making things up. After a while though I figured it out that what I thought I was wishfully thinking that I could do where things I was doing. Never realized how brave (or dangerous) I could be when the quiet me was being still. Remember that "I blamed everything on myself when it was really me doing it."
These stories are about the relationships I've been in and the personalities that were created to cope with each stage. I still keep them in groups rather then individual names. Me, MySelf and I.
Except for a few times in my life where others knew me by a different name. In high school I was called Nicky by a select group of friends. It actually represented what I would call one of my inside friends. I have never felt male in any way, but there is a group that I used back then for protection. That group was responsible for letting me know and giving me strength to do things. When I broke up with my boyfriend I told everyone that my friends thought it was best. No one but me knew where they really lived.
The only other personality that really was given a name was the Perfect Rose. For many years she didn't have a name. I was ashamed of her and her behavior. The old tape of my mother's "your asking for trouble" with my behavior kept me from recognizing her and validating her existence. She was the one who had the affair before I left my first husband. And also any "short term" relationships I had. A very permissive part of me. Always looking for satisfaction but never achieving it.
The men I had long term relationships with fell in love with this side of me. Yet it always seemed to be the first part of me that left once there would be trouble in the relationship. What they loved before we were together was what seemed to scare them later on. So I'd put that part of me away and with it went my fun side. There was no time to be different. The periods of lost time would come and go over the years and I was well into my 30's before I was forced into seeking some answers for "MySelf". It wasn't until I was sure that the medical professionals accepted multiplicity and I felt assured that they weren't going to lock me up and take away my children, that I began to open up to what was going on inside of Me.
I've been through a lot of different stages in this process. Being able to just write my story out has been a healing tool in it's self. There are still as I started this book that I was still to embarrassed to write. Lest someone read it and judge me as my mother and family do. By writing it out I was giving them the knowledge that they were right and it was all my fault. My life is what's it's been and very rarely do I wish that things had been different. I've accepted the fact that I can't change what
happened and all the things I did. They are just the facts of My life. This is who I am and what I've done. I don't blame anyone, not even My Self. It was many years into my life that I realized that there was things that had happened to me as a child and young adult that shaped a pattern for my life. The more I read and learned the more sense my life made.
Letting My teenager speak...
It started long before I was a teenager. Where I can't recall right now. I don't even know how to start or where to start telling things that happened to me. Things that I remember happening to me when I was young. Some of the first thoughts that come to mind are going out to get the dog dish and one of my brothers would sneak out the basement door and jump out to scar me. I had no night vision at all and I would have to find my way in the dark. When I would tell my mother that, she would do nothing to them. To her I was just complaining all the time. This happened what seems like all the time. She use to tell me that when I cried or pouted that I was ugly and my face would freeze that way if I didn't stop. It was many years before I could cry with out worrying how I looked.
Other things my brothers would do is turn the light off at the bottom of the stairs and when my mother would send me down to get something they would be waiting under the stairs and reach out and grab my leg. Things that now seem so small yet I know that these things had a profound effect on me. It's not the fear of the unknown, it's the fear of the known.
I can't say I felt this when I was younger but I can't ever remember feeling like I was worth much.
I remember we got a box of things from someone one time. It had two dolls in it. My sister Pat got to pick out the better one. I got her hand me downs that never fit me right. She was always heavier then me and her clothes just hung on me.
I remember playing by myself down stairs one time and I had a boys sport jacket on and a sweat shirt under it. For some reason I felt good in that jacket and sweat shirt. Don't know where it came from I just remember that day. I was alone down there. And in my house that was a rare thing to happen. But I can still remember feeling empowered by this.
The basement is where the laundry was done. I remember doing the laundry and hanging clothes out side on the three lines we had up at one time. We had a lot of laundry to do.
I remember having crummy clothes to wear. And shoes that were always getting to small. With such a large family I guess we only got one new pair a year. The other thing I can't remember is going to the store to try shoes on or even clothes. I know my mother did a lot of shopping out of catalogs.
I remember I didn't have close friends. I remember playing with the kids in the neighborhood sometimes. But was never really close to anyone. My mother kept us home most of the time and the
neighbor kids would come to our house. We would make up teams and play ball in the street. I can remember a few of those very rare times when I was by myself. Usually I was up a tree somewhere. I still can picture what it was like to climb all the way up and look out over the town. Of course then there was the day my brother tried to knock me out of that tree also.
I remember having to have enemas some times when I didn't go to the bathroom for a few days. It's only been recently that I realized that there was nothing sacred when it came to my body. I can still picture my mothers face when she walked into the bathroom one day and thinking that I was looking at myself or I must have appeared to be touch myself wrong, I'm not quiet sure, but she said "that's disgusting to touch yourself there". My mother never had any healthy or appropriate things to say when it came to sexuality.
So many things in my life were painful. I remember my feet getting cold when I would be out side for to long.
I remember the snow getting deep in the winter and having to walk to school. I remember a nun from school asking me how I stayed warm with out buttons on my coat.
I remember breaking my toes one summer when I went to kick my brother and hit the coffee table instead.
I remember playing hide and go seek and my brothers crawling into where I was and feeling my breast. Not that they were big yet, but that didn't seem to stop them.
I remember being so sick with a cold that I couldn't breath. I remember instead of tissues my mother sent me to school with an old rag to blow my nose on. It would be gross by the end of the day.
I remember not having to wash all the time and my sister Rose telling me I stunk one day. I remember when I was a freshman in high school the gym teacher pulling me aside one day and asking me about my showers. My mother never bought me deodorant and I wasn't made to wash each night. Didn't have a razor either to shave under my arms. Some times I would take my dad's razor and shave but I always cut my self with it.
I remember we use to go over to my grand mother's house some times. She would make us tea and play a card game with us.
My grandpa Joe would feel my breast when he would greet us. He'd put his arm around me and tell me how big I was getting. He was suppose to be going blind, but he knew what he was doing.
The last time I went with them down to Seaside Heights on the bus I was asked to go with him to walk around out side the bus at one of it's stops. When we got a block or so away under a street light my grandfather told me to pretend he was a boy friend and kiss him like I would a boyfriend under the light.
I remember making up stories when I was in grammar school. I wanted to be liked by my class mates. I'd talk about the men in my life. They were there in my daydreams. I wanted to belong and I never felt I did. I knew that they could tell I was making them up back then. In high school people thought they were real. I would tell my dreams to people and they actually wanted to believe some of them.
That's one of the things that bothers me now. Now that I have live a full life when it comes to men, my family says I'm lying. When I was younger I did make up stories around the people in school. But my family never knew that. The things I say about them is true. And I know the difference between the two. I know that it's normal for some people to tell stories. It sometimes now bothers me about those times.
The funny things to me now is the ones who did the most lying when they were young to my mother, are the ones that she believes now. Probably because she either lies so well her self or she is dissociate also and blocks things out.
Mostly what I remember feeling from my teen age years was rejection. Never quite good enough. I don't know why that is. Never put to much thought into it. My life has been to avoid pain.
Am I angry with my family? Yes. I just want them to know who I am. I don't blame them. I don't blame any one right now. There is probably more embarrassment inside then anything else. I didn't think it through when I sent out emails to my siblings after my fathers funeral. But there is nothing I can do about that now. I should have know that they would react this way. All I can think about now is that if my mother dies to soon then the whole family will blame it on me. Once again it will be "My fault".
I don't know what to think. I try to think about my younger years and I still can't tell you how I felt. I don't think I felt at all. Frustrated most of the time. Unhappy and left out. Hurt a lot. I guess that what I felt mostly. Hurt.
I don't feel a lot of the stuff other people do. I don't feel angry about it or threatened in any way. I can't see where any of it has affected my life in any way. My life is the same. I don't know sometimes what I'm suppose to feel. It seems to be what dissociation is...not feeling what is really going on.
Back to this writing. I still don't have a lot of feelings coming out. All I have is pictures in my head of the things that happened to me. Mostly what keep coming back at this sitting are the lies and stories I told that weren't corrected by me. When people got the wrong idea or if I said something that wasn't true no one ever questioned it. I think back and wonder what they thought if they knew I was lying to them or making up a story. Most likely they feel the same way I do now about my mother. I am not really angry with her, I feel sorry for her. Would she ever be able to get past what she is feeling now. I wonder if she thinks much about it. If she knows that she is lying then she most likely is. If she really can't remember things then she isn't. That's all there is to it.
Just a few things I remember about each one of them. The pictures that have stayed inside. Here goes..
Oldest sister R******
She was the first born. The only things that I remember about her was her telling me I smelled. Not a very good memory of her. I remember her when she was going steady with the boy next door. She and G*** where on the school bus my dad had converted into a camper. She told the rest of us to leave her alone. I guess they wanted to make out. I remember hearing her telling my brother P*** that no one was going to touch her before she was married. I always thought it must have been some thing Gl*** and him talked about. She was a year older then my brother and somehow I don't think that P*** would have tried anything with her. But I do remember hearing her say that to him.
I remember that after my grandmother had a heart attach she went to live with them to help out. She must have been a junior in high school. I remember hearing that my grandmother was upset with her for sitting on Grandpa Joe's lap. She thought she was to old for that. Knowing what I knew about my grandpa Joe, I asked her one day when I was in my 20's whether or not he ever touched her. She told me no. I remember that she was taking me to the store and I started the conversation by saying "Can I ask you some thing". I remember her saying, "I'm not going to like this". I told her then what he had done to me.
I remember when I received my confirmation. Her husband and her stood up for me. I remember that afterwards they took me on a boat ride at the lake.
I remember the day she got married. They were at the house and went into the room to get changed. She had a almost funny grin on her face as they went into the room. She was getting undressed in front of a man for the first time.
She was pretty much out of my life. Never remember having much to do with her before or after.
When I had left my first husband and was seeing the man who became my second husband She was going through a reborn christen thing. She had gone to my mother's house and told her she was an idolatress because she had all these statues around the house.
She tried to give me the speech about all the wrong things I was doing in my life. She gave me one of her bibles and I read it so that I could show her in it where she was wrong to judge me.
The only good thing that she did for me was when my second husband was out of work she brought me some bags of food. I'll give her that much. Other then that I was not around her much. We were in different worlds.
I remember when she divorced her husband then still lived in the house with him while she went to school. She got upset and afraid of him when he brought home a hunting gun. She had met a man and was seeing him one night and he locked her out of the house. She was so naive that she couldn't
understand why he had done it. Her kids didn't have any respect for her at the time. It was hard on them to watch what was going on between their parents. She is remarried now but somehow I think she still looks down on me for my life style. It doesn't bother me though because she doesn't really know who I am.
Oldest brother P****
He is the next child in my family. Most of the things I remember about him is the times that he would touch me. I called him perverted on my web sight and that made him mad. His favorite expression was "incest is best". He must have heard it somewhere and made it his motto. But I also remember him telling some one that he was going to marry a virgin. Could never figure that out. I don't know how that made me feel at the time. Years later I realized how sick he was.
Three things I picture in my head when it comes to what he did sexually with me. There was the hide and go seek times. The other and biggest thing I remember was one day while I was down in the basement doing laundry he got me into the big closet and told me do something bad. I said "no". Then he told me it was just like a big thumb. I still do not remember what else happened then. I do remember leaving the closet . But there's a blank spot in between.
Then I remember a time when he tried to put his hand down my pants and I tried to get away. He pinned me up against the wall and did it any how. As he pulled away and let me down I can still picture him smelling his hand. I yelled at him and I guess I hoped that my mother would hear. But she most likely didn't. The good thing about it was that I don't remember him bothering me after that for a while.
The last time that I remember him doing anything was one night when I was 16. He woke me up when he got into my bed. His room was in the basement so he had to go past my mothers bedroom on the way up the stairs. I was woke up to him telling me that if I didn't have sex with him he was going to tell my mother that I was having sex with Roger, who was my boyfriend at the time. I remember telling him not up here. So he told me to come down stairs.
I remember going down to the bathroom to go. My mother did get up hearing the doors open. When I got myself a drink of water my mother came out to the kitchen and asked me what I was doing. I said that I was looking for a necklace and thought maybe it was in the laundry.
What is really strange about that is that I was more afraid of my parents knowing that I was having sex and that I got out of my bed and went down stairs. I don't know what my mother was thinking was going on. It all seemed pretty unreal to me. I still don't understand the why's to that. My brother eludes to my complacency in regards to any conduct on his behalf.
I don't have any other pictures of that with him. But I do know that one time when I was married to
Roger my first husband, that we had gone on a camping trip with Pete and his wife and baby. My daughter was about a year or so old. Pete and Roger must have been talking about the fact that I wouldn't give him a blow job. At the time I had only had oral sex with one man. Me and Roger had broke up for a month. He talked me through it and it was fun. With Roger demanding it though I just couldn't do it with him. I remember that P*** and me must have gone to the store for something and he asked me about it. I remember him saying that he hoped that it wasn't because of what we did when we where young. I never put two and two together. At the time I said "I didn't think so". But as I remember back to that conversation something must have happened. Later on in my recovery I began to see how I would just pass over things like they were no big deal. I think it has to do with dissociation and truly being present for the event.
Just recently I was woke out of sleep by that feeling of someone getting into bed with me. I use to have that a lot years ago. More so when I was having a bad dream or one of the dreams where I feel trapped. A few years back I would try to wake up and look to see who it was but when I did, no one would be there. I thought that if maybe I could get past that frozen feeling that maybe I would be able to see the face of who it was.
One day I remember thinking that maybe it was just an angel coming to comfort me when I was having a bad dream. Maybe it wasn't a memory of something that had happened in my life. I stopped having that feeling. I'm not sure if it was because I some how had put my mind at ease or perhaps about that time my doctor put me on a medication at night. That seems to help me not to get trapped in my dreams. But like I said I had that feeling one night recently and there has been a lot of turmoil going on inside since my dad's death and more so since my mother refuses to believe any thing.
I just know that when my bother speaks I want to smack the shit out of him. His not admitting “he did anything to me that would be the cause of my condition makes me angry. His hypocrisy is all I feel when he talks about God. Even though he is the first to say that he did wrong things when he was young he only thinks that if he made it right with God then he is forgiven. I can't get past the fact that he did a lot of things not only to me but to others that I seem to have this need for him to confess about.
I want to see him hurt like I feel. I want to hurt him like he hurt me.
But I'm not real sure what it was that he did, I only go by the feelings I get when he is around. He is a jerk still in my book and all the God talk in the world can't change that fact inside. I don't know what will. I'm able to let a lot of things pass by me, but there is still something about my family that really tears me up.
I've thought about calling my mother lately. I think that if I call her maybe she will want to talk about it. But then I let go of the thought. It's not that I'm afraid of being hurt, They can make me cry but the surely can't hurt me anymore. Part of me has the need to be validated I guess.
I've talked to a couple of others who are dissociate/multiple and they can validate how I feel. It's not uncommon for the family to react the way they did.
Never got a reply back form next oldest brother, P****. He was the one who I never felt anger with until he approached my youngest daughter when she was 16. Her and I were just talking the other night about that.
She told me about how she healed from that. One day a friend of theirs' at the church group she belongs in said something to the effect of kissing her. He had used the same words my brother did. She got all upset and when she got home she told her husband about it. She said all those feelings of that moment came back to her. She knew that this guy was not going to hurt her, so she couldn't understand why it bothered her so much. Finally when she thought about it she realized that him saying those words triggered her memories of that day. After she realized that she went back to the guy and explained why she had gotten so upset. I was able to relate to her about how certain things trigger in us those memorie
A Time to Remember
A Time to Remember
By Jacqueline M SeiWell
Born: August 1, 1952
Sex: female
Weight: 7lbs 2oz
Eyes: brown
Distinctive marks: Leo, born on mother's birthday
Place in family: 5th
Siblings: R, P, P, and P
Born after: M, G, A, A, Philip & Bartholomew
(Bart died September 24,1974 at the age of 9)
On October 23,1989 at a Wellness Center in Vestal, New York, I began to see the light. It was perhaps the first time in my life that I let the world come in. These are some notes from that day's class. The doctor who was in charged began with telling us that we where all predispose to ending up in a clinic like this if we had 2 or 3 of the following Demographics in our life.
1) Came from a large family (11 children in mine)
2) Middle to later born (fifth child)
3) Less then a high school education (out at 16)
4) Parented early (first child at 19)
5) Never were allowed to be a kid (no pleasant memory)
6) Model for chronic pain (my mother)
7) Married early (married at 19)
8) Had kids quickly (ages 19,23 or 25)
9) Abuse history (physical/sexual)
10) Multiple marriage (3 times)
When he was done speaking my whole table broke out in laughter as I asked him what happened if you have all 10. He just looked at me and jokingly said you get to come back for another 30 days. As he left the room that day he placed his hand knowingly on my shoulder. I had laughed when I should have cried.
That was when I had the first real look at my condition and except the first in a long list of diagnoses.
It seemed rather simple back then. It was called (PTSD) Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. And they could help with (CBM) Cognitive Behavior Management. How simple it was, just follow this simple plan and I'd be cured. Well as any of us who are dissociate and had this label back then, found out that it only worked for a little while. Then the world would come crashing in again.
I have survived my childhood and my adulthood this far. My diagnoses are the only thing that seems to change. I've told the same stories to each doctor who has treated me and each one claims to have the answer. I've been through all the Bi-Polar medication, the Board line Personality medication, The depression and manic stages of my life and I seem to be the only one willing at some point to except my self for who I am. A great person with a dissociate tendency. If I could just get a handle on that one part of me my life might be complete. OK maybe not.
Where my life goes from here, I may not be sure. The one thing that I do know is that I have to keep going. In my life there has been set backs or stops along the way. Some of them where not all that I had hoped they would be.
I've been in many relationships during my years and even though some where full of pain and sorrow I can't really say that I would ever want my life to have been different. As a dissociate my memories have been kept in files. My bad experiences where handled by one and my happy and good memories in another. As you read my stories they may seem all doom and gloom. Remember that the happy memories remain in another story. That's how we deal with life.
Good memories we carry with us on the other side every day. It is the bad memories that we fight with every night. Many years ago I would pray for a better life. Now as I look around and listen to all the people I have met, I have come to believe that my life, though hard and sad, was so much better then others.
I have heard from people all over the worlds that are dissociate and who have survived unbelievable lives compared to mine. And my heart continues to go out to these people. When they write me their stories and share some of their pain with me, I can only pray that their healing come quickly for them.
Each of us is blessed who have begun this healing process. We can now share our heartaches and know that it is understood by many. I hope that some, when they come across these pages truly know that they are not alone. My stories here are of the first things that I have been able to write about. They are just the beginning of the stories. Slowly I hope that I will be able to write more into them. I've yet to remember the feelings of terror and hurt that I only have pictures of now. Know that it is a process and for some of us we can never find it all.
That's because as a dissociate for some things we weren't there. And if that means that I never know or feel all the details then I'm ok with that. Just remember to believe in your self and know that if you find you're self-crossing these pages then you are where you needed to be.
Writing these stories has been a relief in it's own way. Trauma and abuse no matter what any one else will call it, causes this to happen to us. Being born with the tendency as they say or chemical imbalance (and I do believe this) causes us to experience our lives differently then others.
I come from a large family and none of them seem to have been effected by living in this unit as I
was. So there must be something to that theory. Years ago they thought you had to relive these traumas in order to move on with your life. Don't let any one make you believe that. We are who and what we are, and if you are truly a dissociate person then your disorder may never be able to take you there. That's the blessing in it all. For some things WE weren't there.
I need to say a few more things before you go on with this journey. I have seen in my life and others that being dissociated was a gift. I have known people who weren't able to block out the pain and have suffered most of their lives because of it. We truly are the lucky ones who can say "I never felt" and " I can't remember". Those are truly the words and the ones who were saved. Many who were not dissociated did not survive and make it as far as those of us who are. That may not be much to say; yet I do hope that some day along this path you will understand that which I have said.
Live your life now and make peace with your past. That's what I have found to be the best advice to remember. On my web sight I have links to my friends who have joined me and experienced much of life as I have. We all traveled difference paths yet the same in so many ways.
After those listed I have links to my own stories. Each one started out small and I added to them as the need arises. So once you've read through please sign my guest book and let me know with e-mail if you have any questions.
I start my stories with "my first memories" and went from there, going back to previous pages to fill in as I could get in touch with more of the feelings from that time. These are files buried deep inside. This has been one of the greatest tools I have been able to use in my healing. Many topics I know have not come to surface when I started this book and I could only hope that someday the inner selves who needed to heal yet would allow me to tell their story here. In the mean time I am so glad just to start the stories coming out, the ones that I find safe, for now, that has been a great healer in of it's self. Thank you for taking the time to follow my journey and come back often to learn and grow with me.
This is My Mess
A Time to Remember
By Jacqueline M SeiWell
Here to begin what was very silent memories of my family for many years. I have kept the secrets from my father so as not to hurt him with things he had no control over and didn't know about. Since there was nothing he could have done to change it, I always felt there was no sense in hurting him with the truth. I also know a few truth about my Dad that they don't know and he only told me as we
talked about my condition and my addictions and how genetics played a role in that. There was never a need to talk to any one else about it. It was between us.
My father was the only one of my family to read my lesson I wrote on "It's MY Mess" found on my web site. I had just finished writing it one day when he had stopped to see me. He said He did understand some of it, but he understood what I was saying. Not knowing the details but being able to relate it to his life. He had left home when he was 16 because of the way he was treated by his mother...that he could understand. At the time I don't know if he related it to me leaving because of what I had gone through...the part he understood was getting to a point in your life where you have to make a stand and change your life...and I left it there.
Though most of the stories here were put to print years ago on a web site, when I started to put it down on the computer I was compelled to start with what went on in the family last year. It just seemed fitting so here is where I started.
Today is June 20, 2002 Last night I learned that my father had died on the operating table after a blood vessel had begun to leak in his stomach. He had fallen down when He got up in the morning, so my family there took him to the hospital where he opted for the surgery. He didn't make it through it. He did get his wish. That was " if the good lord wanted him to live then he would allow that, other wise let him go". I know my dad well enough that the last thing he ever wanted was to have to be taken care of. So respecting his wishes when the doctors came out to tell my mother that it wasn't going good in there, they made the decision not to bring him back if they lost him on the table.
A few weeks ago I started this page ...Something inside told me that the time was near. I held off sending my first questions to my oldest brother...now I know why I did.
Knowing my father had died was not what made me cry at first. The first thing I thought of was for my own reasons I hadn't called him on Father's Day. There is a part of me that at times is still the spiteful child who says I don't have to...He doesn't ever call me. Not that I would have been able to know he was going to die but there is the proper side of me that says "once again I was the different one who chose to continue to hold on to the past".
Then when my younger brother, Philip, who is Mongoloid, got on the phone and said "he missed me"...that was hard. I told him I would be there for him in a couple of days. I might have passed up being around the rest of my family, but not the man-child who needs someone who understands him
More then any one else. We all know that I go there to begin what the rest of my family is not going to want to hear. Perhaps they have forgotten but I never will.
