WoundedHealer

Brother-Sister Love

 

The way I used to say, "I love you."

 

I've since learned to use my words. I love my brother.

 

 

 
 
   
 

Sister Love

Sister Love - 1980

Sister Love - 2008

 

A Father Who Sucks

I just want to get this off my chest!

People want to know why I care so much about this particular person's choices in life. I didn't like this person very much but I did love him more than I care to admit to anyone, ever. So it hurts dammit! And nobody realizes or even thinks I have the right to hurt, too. Anyway, out of the convoluted and into the oversimplified version of the story.

There is a man who had a wife and two children. He and the wife divorced and divvyed up the holidays for their children. Last year was the mother's turn to have the children at Christmas. And this year is the father's turn to have the children at Christmas. Now, nobody has confirmed this for me and I haven't asked, but I have determined that he has planned an international trip during the time he was supposed to have his children at Christmas – and that his children won't be with him.

Son of a Nutcracker! That pisses me off to no end.

I wanna go home!

After I got over being stunned about my unexpected sighting of family, I watched the weather intensely to see if it would be snowing in Atlanta and if I could get out of Memphis. I was so glad again that I hadn't driven because of the snow and ice on the roads and the storm that would be going in my direction. Although we checked the weather, we didn't check flights and mine was cancelled on Sunday. So, I was glad that my friend said I was welcome any time because I was back already.

She had to go to work early Monday morning and I figured I could start a new novel and possibly get on an earlier flight so I hung out at the airport for quite a few hours. The earlier flights were booked so I sat at my gate, A27, and read and listened to lullabies again. About half an hour before the flight was scheduled to depart to Atlanta, the desk attendant changed gates on us. We were to go to gate A25. Once we got settled there, they did it again. They moved us back to the original gate.

Now I'm thinking, "What the hell?" How does that happen twice on the same trip?

Is it a sign? If so, what does it signify?

Back in Memphis after 9 years

I had a great time in Memphis with my friend. She had a game night with her friends and there were some unexpected and inexplicable moments of surprise. There were two interracial couples there (BF and WM). There was a white couple there. And then three single black women. Eventually there were another two black women and a white woman who joined us. We played Catch Phrase across the color lines and with Whitey McCan't-Give-A-Clue (someone white called her that so it's okay, right?).

The next day we got up and went to the civil rights museum. First we stopped off for some fried catfish and when we left the restaurant it was sleeting. By the time we got to the museum it was snowing. I would have loved it if I were wearing appropriate shoes and a real coat. Anyway, we pressed on through the blustery snow to the entrance and shook off the acummulated flakes before walking toward the ticket counter.

I heard familiar voice say, "Ladies, if you have a camera check it at the counter to your left. Otherwise keep straight to the ticket counter." I can't believe who it sounds like so I must see who it is to be certain. I look back at the man directing "traffic" and said to my friend, "I'll be damned. That's my brother-in-law." (I didn't say "brother-in-law" but said his name - I've elected not to enter it in the blog.)

I didn't speak. I wouldn't speak. He might not have recognized me or he could have been ignoring me since I basically rejected all the love and support that side of the family offered me. He is married to my sister who has broken my heart. And I am stunned, standing there, wanting to speak but refusing to do so. He ends up directing us to the gallery while I am fumbling in my purse. I'm making an assumption that because he hasn't seen me with the new short and natural haircut that he couldn't possibly recognize me at a glance.

After we were finished with the museum tour we passed him by again, speaking to a large group. I looked his way and he glanced in my direction the way you do whenever someone enters your peripheral. My friend asked if I wanted to speak to him and I said I didn't. I wouldn't. I couldn't. What if he really held me to my boundaries of my self-proclaimed and unattested divorce from that side of the family? I would be hurt and humiliated.

Anyway, it reminded me of a story I heard. One day my sister boarded a city bus. As she walked down the aisle for a seat she spoke to a gray-haired man cordially. It was obvious that they knew each other but there was only formality and no warmth in the exchange. The gray-haired man was sitting next to his mistress. His mistress asked who that woman was and he answered, "My daughter."

I'm a traveler!

This whole thing was funny and weird to me. In its entirety it covers 3 entries. I'll simply share the facts and I hope you either decide that it was all a mysterious "sign" or unbelievably hilarious. Whichever - just enjoy.

I planned to drive to Memphis last weekend but found a cheap last minute fare and flew instead. I drove to the airport in monsoon like rains and fought horrible traffic to get there on time. I thanked God silently that I wasn't driving for 6-7 hours in that mess. I got to the Park-n-Ride lot, parked, ran to the shuttle in the rain, and got on the bus thanking God, again silently, that my naturally curly hair likes the rain.

I arrive at the Delta terminal and scan the room hurriedly for an available kiosk to check in. I march over to one in between two men, one of them slightly blocking the available kiosk. "Excuse me" I call out. I need to get checked in because who knows what security looks like.

I check my watch. I'm a traveler. I am marching on forward.

That kiosk doesn't work so I move to one beside it after the gentleman was done. It won't work for me. So I march around the corner to the other kiosks and finally find one that works. I got my boarding pass in one hand, my driver's license in my back pocket, and have checked to make sure my 3-1-1 is ready to slap on the conveyor belt to be scanned. Off I go to gate A32!

I'm still marching because I'm a traveler. I do this about once every two years!

No one was standing in the line for security. So I flash my ID and pass, and follow the directions to the conveyor belts. I see a tub on the cart, the last one, and grab it. It doesn't move. I pull again. Nothing. Then I really put my elbow in it. The gentleman behind me said, "That one is bolted down." I stop, almost giggle, and then reach for one in the stack behind that cart.

And I march on because I'm a traveler.

I am slipping off my shoes at the same time I am filling my tub with my 3-1-1 and jacket. I toss in the shoes and lift the bags onto the belt and march through the metal detectors. When my things come through on the other side, I grab them quickly and push my used bin out of the way before marching to the appropriate area to put on shoes and etc.

Because I'm a traveler and I know how to do this the right way.

I went to the escalators down to the train and as I reached the bottom there was a train there. "Excuse me," I called and ran into one of the compartments about 30 seconds before it closed. And I rode the train all the way to the first stop. I say "excuse me" again and the people part like the red sea and allow me to get off the train ahead of them.

I march up to the escalator to get to the top of terminal A and look at my watch while I try to catch my breath. 1:30. An hour before my flight.

But I march on. I'm a traveler. And who knows where that gate is.

I found that was at my gate in five minutes, 55 minutes before my flight and 25 minutes before boarding, so I opened my latest novel and listened to lullabies on my ipod. (People were talkin' bout planes that crashed and telling all of their business on their cell phones and I didn't wanna hear none of it.)

I noticed that five minutes before the plane was scheduled to depart we hadn't boarded. I waited until I received confirmation that I would be delayed and further information to call my friend who was picking me up from the airport. Shortly thereafter, the desk attendant announced, "Passengers waiting for the flight to Memphis departing from gate A32, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we have an aircraft here. The bad news is that we can't find the crew."

So at about the time we should start boarding for the delayed time, she picked up the loud speaker again. "Passengers waiting for the flight to Memphis, your gate has changed. You will now be departing from gate A11." That's all I heard because I jumped up, ran-walked to the gate, and took a seat as close to the doorway as possible. I wanted to make sure my bag went in the overhead compartment and the quicker I got on the flight the more likely the chances were.

Once we sat down we were informed we were delayed again. So at about the time we should start boarding for the new delayed time, the attendant spoke into the loud speaker. "I'm so sorry y'all, they pulled a fast one on me. You will now be departing from gate A32."

I said, "Dear Lord. I know I asked you to help me lose this 15 pounds I gained recently but I didn't mean TODAY!"

I walked briskly to the gate we were originally scheduled to depart and sat down. Just a few minutes later Zone 1 was announced to begin boarding. I was in Zone 3 so I didn't move. Then in a flash, Zones 1-3 were called to board. I bumrushed the passengers who were standing bewildered by the unexpected change in announcement and found my seat with my back stowed in the overhead compartment. I was on my way to Memphis for the first time in about 9 years.

Back from Home

I went to Birmingham, AL and Corinth, MS weekend before last. I was glad to see that everyone in my family is doing as well as to be expected or better. When we got to my first aunt's house I was pleased to see that she was doing much better than she was when I last saw her about 9 months or so ago. She saw me and we exchanged a look and a long smile. Then she said, "You're coming back home quite often now."

I have never lived in Mississippi which is where home is to all of the family I spent time with on this trip. My daddy and his siblings grew up there and most of my cousins grew up there as well. But to my auntie this was my home. I have never felt more welcome anywhere in my entire life.

I don't mean to say that all the places I've lived and all the other family I've stayed with wasn't home. I mean to say that I was welcome in the same way my daddy was welcome. It meant that it was always a very pleasant surprise when I came around. It meant that in the same way they would laugh and talk around watermelon and peanuts it was a pleasure to see me. It meant that I could spark laughter and warm feelings by responding, "I have dined sufficiently" to all who asked me if I'd had enough to eat.

Sometimes you don't know just how stressed you are until you get the chance to sit down and relax. I felt it all come to the surface over that short weekend and found myself wishing I could find a nice field to sit in the middle of and type away at my computer or just stretch out and lay under the sun. I want things to be simpler and slower.

(Of course I can't deal with the freedom of nature's creatures long enough to really sit in a field but you get my meaning.)

Happy Birthday Mommy

Today my mommy would have turned 66 years old.

There was a time when I couldn't go to school or work on September 16 and I would never really know what was wrong except that I felt ill or severely depressed. Halfway through the day I would see the date and realize I was just missing my mommy and then I would cry for two reasons. I would cry because I was grieving my mommy. And I would cry because I didn't want to be imprisoned by my grief.

Today, I'm fine. I'm going to work. I even woke up early, naturally, and am sitting under the dryer figuring I may as well use this time to primp more since I'm up. I remembered today is her birthday when I received an electronic reminder about a friend's birthday this morning and noticed it was the same day as Mommy's.

So I'm happy that I'm not hurting today, and that I can go to work today without a second thought.

Happy Birthday, Mommy!

The other Walkers: A wall

Still more family members have found and are reading my blog. As I add up the numbers of people who have made positive comments and the ones who have not, I am amazed that there was only one less than positive remark.

I mentioned in an early blog that I was risking condemnation if the family discovered my blogs. Yet, my family has really embraced me. They have all said similar things - that they weren't aware of how I felt and that my writing was good. And I am obsessing over the one less than positive remark. And I feel guilty. And I feel shame. Yet I have revelation, I think. All the positive remarks were accompanied by the fact that they read the blog in its entirety - which I wouldn't dare expect of anyone at this point. And the less than positive remark was accompanied by a statement that only two entries were read.

I wonder if it's accurate to surmise that in order to understand what I have to say, you must read more than two entries. And I wonder exactly what the difference is. Is it that I am showing the instability that is inherent in me as a human? Is it the changeability I share with my readers that makes a difference?

Or have I begun to achieve vulnerability and am rewarded with compassion and love - whether it is received or not?

Dorothy Thomas

I don't know much about Dorothy. She's my mother's mother. My mother's kids refuse to call her "grandmother" because they never felt that's who she was to them. For years I knew only two things about her. First, that she gave me a dolly that I named Sleepy Baby for my first birthday. Second, that my mother didn't know whether she was dead or alive and that made her sad.

One evening when I was in second grade I was sitting at my mother's feet coloring while she talked on the phone. It was clear that she was uncomfortable on the phone because she was very formal and her hand was rubbing her forehead. She said something that let me know this was a person she hadn't talked to in a long time and that she was making plans to go somewhere. I sat as quiet as possible hoping she would forget I was sitting there and I could hear something she didn't want me to or that she would remember that I was a good girl and she'd take me with her.

After she hung up the phone she made another call. She wept over and over again, "I can't go by myself." I was so uncomfortable with her emotional state that I ran to the bedroom and climbed under the covers. I could still hear her crying and got out of the bed. I was running around in a state of animals on a farm sensing that a twister is coming.

Dorothy was dying. I believe it was Mommy's Aunt Lorretta (Dorothy's sister) who made the phone call. And apparently Dorothy was calling for my mommy. I had to stay with Daddy while Mommy flew to California to reunite with her estranged family. It was the first time she and I would be apart for however long it was, I think less than a week, and I was miserable. I counted down the days to her return and slept in my Daddy's bed every night. When she came back she was actually happy. As I look back on it I think she felt loved and was glad to be embraced by her family. There is nothing in the world like family love.

Dorothy called for my mother again. She wouldn't eat. And mommy was going to California to stay until her mother died. It was indefinitely to us. She swears to me that she talked to my principal to see if he thought it was a good idea for me to go with her knowing she had no idea how long I would be out of school. Looking back at the memory through adult eyes she didn't want to be the one who broke my heart. Why would she have to go to school with me, talk with my principal while I sat in the classroom, and wait on her to come back and say he wouldn't allow me to go? I cried all day. And every night I faked an earache so that Daddy would pour warm castor oil into my ear and give me sympathy. I was not emotionally well during that week or so - Dorothy died seemingly as soon as she got there.

I know that Dorothy was in and out of mental institutions and I can only imagine that the medications and/or treatments probably made it worse rather than better. There were public tirades that embarrassed my mother and abuse that she insisted she would take to her grave. And after Dorothy died mommy reconnected with her Aunt Lorretta who had basically raised her while Dorothy was in and out of wherever. And I got the opportunity to meet her and my uncle for the first time. For years after that, mommy was a little stressed about being with her family. It was the typical things that are not as noticeable at three as they are at fourty. You know, like she felt that Aunt Lorretta treated her brother better than her and things like that. But you could tell that she felt loved despite feeling that she wasn't fully embraced by them. And it made a big difference in her life. I do believe that those were better years for her.