Imagination is the tool of problem-solvers. The more we accept things the way they are, the chance for improvement dies.
To love someone means a lot of things. It means you care for their well-being. Love is going the extra-mile. Often, love and logic refuse to sit at the same table. We either make decisions out of logic, out of love, or out of hormones.
The year I found out about my existence, I had little time to adjust. That Christmas Eve, my A-mom (adopted mom) was unusually peaceful. She was calm and relaxed. It was the happiest I had seen her in years. I recall all of us sitting at my a-grandmother's house and she seemed to be content.
The next morning, Dec. 25th, when most kids were waking to Christmas gifts and holiday breakfast, I was waking to the sound of my father's voice. "You're momma's no longer with us. She's gone." Then, he walked out.
I'm going to be brutally honest; I was relieved. I thought about how hard it was to please her, the guilt trips, getting hit, screamed at...and part of me thought "freedom". I mean, I never had it because of her. Maybe that makes me an ass, I don't know.
My second thought was fear and loss, but I didn't cry. I sat in my room in silence. I never left my room after I woke up. I peeked out only once, in time to see them carry my mother's body through the hallway on a stretcher. I sat in my room...completely lost. The "family curse"...
I quickly called my newly found brother and told him. He found a way back home. The time between the morning she died and the funeral was nothing but arguments with my a-brother (adopted brother), Willie. As far as I was concerned, I was the only one trying to interject my mother's last wishes, but no one listened to me.
You need to undestand that Willie was a pompous, stuck-up military brat. He joined the Navy and would breeze into town long enough to throw money around and make promises that he wouldn't keep. It was nothing new when he did the same after mom died. I have no doubt that he was greiving, but a grieving asshole is no different than a regular asshole.
So, time came for the funeral. There was a large turn out. I remember listening to songs, shaking hands and smiling. No tears, though. Even as I watched my dad cry (which I don't think I had ever seen), I could not cry. People started talking about my behavior, concerned for my welfare. I felt nothing...nothing.
After the funeral, I was further and further losing grasp on life.
Returning to school, I had to suffer through all the condolences and cruelty (yes, teenagers are relentless even in the face of tragedy). One night, I called my little brother (who, by this time I had only met once) and told him that no matter what happened I was so happy to have met him. I think I called my friends, but don't remember what I said. They arrived at my house at the moment I popped open a bottle of my deceased mother's medication. Timing... I don't even remember what it was, but it seemed poetic...taking every pill I could find in the house. My friends went on suicide watch, insisting that we all spend the night together. The next morning I snuck out of the house and wound up at the cemetery next to my mom's grave.
I finally had a breakthrough one day when I walked into the living room. It had been a day like the others, but catching a floral arrangement out of my eye something happened. These white flowers were sitting in the corner, in all of their fake glory. It was an ugly arrangement that I noticed during the funeral as people got up and told lies about my A-mom. People that never came to our house to check on our family, didn't know how she suffered and in turn made us suffer. They had no clue who she was. Here was this floral arrangement staring at me. I lunged for the flowers, with every intention of throwing them out into the front yard. Instead I began shaking it and screaming "I hate you!" over and over again. I finally cried, ending up falling asleep on the floor. I wanted her back alive.
Fast forward; my brother, Joe, had talked me and Scott into going to college with him. We even travelled to meet with a guidance counselor (or maybe she was an admissions director, idk). I felt like I had a plan and wasn't going to go at it alone.
But as we got closer to making college a reality...I was given more news. Joe had been arrested and was looking at 12 years behind bars...ggggreat...
With me losing my brother again, I had no direction. My a-dad was dating some gold-digger and neglecting me. My a-brother was working as a guard at a prison in Texas. I became obsessed with finding out more about why my mom died, why I was left behind with strangers, and anything else worth knowing. I went on a hunt for information, talking to anyone I could in my small little home town. I didn't find out much except that my b-mom (bio mom) left me and Joe with my a-family because they couldn't have kids of their own and were financially stable. I also found out where my mom's killer was...in the same prison where Willie worked. Timing?
Willie refused to help me contact this guy. I think I might have even written him a letter, to which he didn't respond. Shortly afterwards, Willie quit working at that prison and I'm led to wonder if he did it because of me.
A little time passed and things got more complicated when I found out that Joe had been moved to the same prison. He was in the same prison with our mom's killer. I was freaking out. If Joe found out, I was afraid of what he would do. I wanted my brother out and killing him might keep that from ever happening. Joe wrote me a letter. He knew...that's all he would say.
I started making phone calls and contacted the warden. Apparently, my brother never knew or forgot that I was responsible for the interruption between him and that murderer. Timing...
I think, as I read my brother's post, did I do the right thing? I did not grow up carrying the weight of knowing everything like Joe did. The family I grew up with was falling apart and the family I had been taken away from me again...or so I thought. I acted out of love, so I guess I am without regret. That killer's life was not worth my brother's.
-Nanaki
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