Monthly Archives: July 2012

OMG! Now I Know Why . . .

I can’t find my brother! Once I began accessing/channelling my father, it all made perfect sense. My brother was illegitimate. He was born to another woman while Mom and Daddy were either going together or engaged. At any rate, my mother made life hell on my father and, collaterally, his son. I’m not sure my brother ever carried our father’s last name. If he didn’t, it wasn’t because there was no love, because there was. Nevertheless, my brother was denied the things I had growing up: position within my mother’s family, which meant position in the upper-middle class through upper-class black families; a good education; I was doted on by Mommy’s family in many ways, even to the point of an adult cousin becoming jealous; power-by-proxy, etc. Mom was not at all wealthy, but she was very educated and much beloved by our clan. I wish she had stayed married to Daddy for a number of reasons. However, in this case, he would have taken care of the finances and she wouldn’t have screwed things up by not listening to anyone except a barely-younger brother whose money-management skills were abysmal.

Daddy carried a lot of guilt with him by the time we reconnected. I’m of the opinion that whatever he’d done is between him and God. I know what kind of man he was inside. Inside, he knew that my brother was denied the things I had simply by being born into the right family. I think I may have posted somewhere that I’ve spoken with my great-uncle on Daddy’s side in the last couple of weeks. I am thoroughly fascinated with him because he’s so completely unaffected by his fame and achievements. On top of it, when I met him while in high school where he spoke to some class or another, he was this incredibly handsome, poised and erudite elderly gentleman. Through our recent conversation, I discovered that he knew one of my great-uncles on my mother’s side. We both had to say, “Wow!” at that. But that’s the way this area is. If you were black and of a particular class, especially in prior generations before or during integration, you knew everyone or about everyone. *sigh* Unfortunately, he knew nothing of my brother.

Anyway, as I was about to say, Daddy carried the memories of what it was like being an illegitimate child when things like that mattered, and still matter in some ways. When he went legit, just as when he was not so, he didn’t want anyone to know anything about his money. He wanted to live under the radar, just another working stiff whose job, incidentally, was to catch fraud. I always laughed at the irony. However, he was perfectly suited for the job. So much so that I bet he stashed some major cash where only one person knew about it. I’m betting that person was my brother. He did it to try to atone for the way my brother had been treated, which was largely my mother’s doing. I would bet my life that he was able to retire a little early and took off for places unknown. That’s why the person I spoke with had never heard of him.

I could never understand why Daddy lived well below his means and had an aversion to credit. The only thing that was out there were student loans he co-signed for me. Well, now I know. Bravo, Daddy! See, I told ya that you were lovable. *grin* Both of your children loved you to pieces. Now, tell your son to contact me! 🙂 And thanks for the help when I needed it most. Yeah, I figured out who did a little whispering in my ear about a certain ex. Stick around for a while. I’m sure your seat is saved at the Great Gig In The Sky.

Your bestest little love,

OnX

A Secret Uncovered

I’ve actually been too depressed to post. My plan had been to come back and tell the tale of how convoluted my feelings are because I turned Glenn loose and told him that, if he wanted me, he knew where to find me, but that I couldn’t carry this weight alone anymore. I am going to be in his neck of the woods the first weekend in October for a series of dog shows. That’s how we were able to continue after he married his presumptive current wife. Between visiting friends and dog shows, I was up and down the Boston to D.C. corridor. We’d arrange to meet whenever I was within a couple hundred miles.

Then tonight, out of the blue, something hit me square in the face. Although I thought I’d figured out most of what happened between us, there was still the lingering question of why. I had the basics right, but it goes even further. Glenn and his wife are evading taxes by claiming his business, which I’m very sure she funded, as a money-losing endeavor. She’s a doctor in a specialty that carries very high malpractice premiums. What better way to get at least some of that money back? I’m just pissed I didn’t see it sooner.

I am presenting a redacted version of the letter I wrote and e-mailed to Glenn. I am only redacting those parts that could reveal my identity, including some information about my father. In Daddy’s case, I’m not sure all of the people who could conceivably go to prison are dead yet. Actually, I’m hoping they aren’t. Whatever the case, I have to redact some of his information too. In addition, I’m taking a page from Daddy’s book. Namely, always have some leverage because it can keep you alive. I’m in no way spouting hyperbole. After Glenn gets my letter, I have no doubt that he will attempt, yet again, to threaten me. The first time was simply his imagination working overtime. This time, he’s got a reason.

My father would be very disappointed in me for taking this long to see what was right there in front of my face. You’re laundering that HUMAN bitch’s salary. Yep, that’s right. I have more respect for my four-legged bitches that I do for your necessary wife. In fact, the two of you need each other. You need her to fund [name of Glenn’s indy label] and she needs you to provide a faux tax shelter. I’ve always known that she was funding you, that’s not news. But being my father’s daughter, although I look like Mommy, I should have seen this in glaring neon yellow. Let me school you, HUMAN bitches, about who my father was.

Both had your minds on other things when the [metro area in which I live] mob wars broke out. You were on the east coast probably taking your PSATs and may not have even thought about [college where I did my freshman year and from which Glenn and his *spit* wife graduated] then. Suffice it to say, the government was deeply interested. Daddy was, by profession, an accountant. He graduated from a college that’s now part of [local university that is very highly ranked among universities and colleges] with a degree in Accounting. Mom never told me who paid for Daddy’s education, but I have my own ideas about that. None of us ever discussed what Daddy did once he became legit. He even had a way to do that, bless his heart. Yep, I am Daddy’s little love all the way. That’s why I’m bordering on being both pleased with my discovery AND pissed off that I missed it for so long.

When we were in kindergarten and 1st grade, this nation’s ghettos burned. But before that, in the early to just-barely-late 60s, segregation wasn’t a bad thing in many ways. Daddy started working for the Jewish mob as a teenager in the very early 40s. He was an only son, but I think he may not have contested the draft. There was a lot of money to be made if you had the right connections and he did. His first job was running numbers. The Jewish mob here had the numbers racket more or less sewn up. I won’t say what Daddy had to do to move through the ranks after he came back because there aren’t statutes of limitation on what are probably technically still open crimes. I don’t want Feds knocking on my door expecting the full run down. For one thing, I’m not certain I know the entire thing. In fact, I doubt that I do. Second, even though Daddy’s dead, there are others who aren’t. I told you that I see most things as grey. Now you may understand why.

I’m skipping a decade or so to get to the good part. So, as I said, Daddy worked for the Jewish mob run by [name of now-dead racketeer who ran the Jewish mob here]. I’m not sure the spelling is right, but it will do. You know how any fool over 30 who’s managed to sling drugs to little kids calls himself an “OG”? Ha! They don’t even know what an OG is! Daddy was what one would call an OG and, buried in some very dusty file that hasn’t been seen in 30 years, there’s probably the documentation to prove it. He had to do a stint in federal prison at some point, however, that mysteriously went away. I do know how, but, my lips are so glued shut. *gringiggle* (I’m sorry. I’m just way too tickled to FINALLY have everything make sense.) It’s only natural that, given his vocation at that time, that he’d spend a stint inside. In truth, I’m just glad that he made it out alive. He, on the other hand, was quite ashamed of the things he’d done. He would hate that I know about some of them. And since I could usually tell what was going to get Daddy maudlin, I kept my mouth shut for the ten years or so I had him after throwing off [my] mother’s deep and abiding pain from being married to him for almost twenty years. Actually, I think they may have been married almost exactly 20 years, but were separated when I was conceived. At any rate, she made sure that I was terrified of him. He didn’t help matters either, but he made all of that up to me and more. I have never had a better friend than my father. And, to be honest, I’m very proud of him. He was brilliant. Back to [now dead Jewish mob boss].

The club scene in [my metro area] was red hot. Daddy, as I said, had received the best education possible by graduating from what is now [local university mentioned above]. He had two specialties, only one of which is germane to this letter. He moved money around so that NO ONE except him knew where it was exactly, including and especially, the Feds. Aside from being an accountant, Daddy managed a club called [name of famed jazz/soul club]. [Geographically identifying information redacted along with some names]. Daddy did occasionally come around IF my mother allowed it. There was a barmaid I so wanted Daddy to marry even as a little girl, but she died of breast or ovarian cancer many years before Daddy and I got back in touch. I cried about Janice when I heard of her death. She was a sweetheart and smart. His common law wife was as dumb as a doorknob, but she [redacted a common statement in black communities concerning fair-skinned blacks] as the saying goes. In his mind, that made up for it. If you remember, Mommy was about [HUMAN bitch’s first name] color when it was said and done, but started out about a shade or two lighter-skinned and, without a doubt, no one’s dummy. Daddy was a “little” colorist because he hated being what is to me a dark milk chocolate. Since he grew up in a very segregated Alabama and was illegitimate to boot, I understand.

Aaah, this is something you’d like, Glenn, but you might just kick yourself for being short-sighted and, I don’t know, thinking that I wasn’t good enough to be on your arm because of my pronounced limp even though I could do things in bed because of that shorter leg that it’s more difficult for someone with two full-length legs to do. But, there were things that I can’t, and couldn’t, do too. It was and remains a trade-off. Whatever. Back to the story.

You see, because Daddy managed [name of club], he knew EVERYBODY in the world of black music. If they have not been damaged by a leaking roof, I have autographed pictures of The Temptations, The Four Tops (I think), Dionne Warwick and Nancy Wilson. I’ve already shared the story on one of my blogs about Daddy sending Carmen McRae, the jazz vocalist, to me as a present because I loved her music as a wee one. He did, though. Unfortunately, I wasn’t at home. However, it’s the only time Mommy has ever praised his parenting skills. She knew about Ms. McRae because she’s the one who answered the door. When I think of all the trim Daddy probably got, it puts you to shame, dear heart. I don’t mean that in a nasty way, honestly. I am simply using you as a point of reference. Daddy was smooooth in ways that only nature provides. Women just instinctively loved him. My mother had loved him since she was 13 years old. She married him when she was 21. Hmm, now you see where I get my penchant for long-term relationships. Had you stayed with me, Daddy would have helped you get started and taught you what you needed to know. I’d already told him about you. He was suspicious that you were going to break my heart. How right he was! You’d better be glad that Daddy died when I was 25, or that other specialty that I purposely didn’t mention is one with which you would have come up close and personal. The best thing is that neither of us would have seen it coming and Daddy would have been in the clear. Actually, he probably wouldn’t have done anything too lasting because that would have risked his relationship with me. However, if he’d been alive when you pretended to want to get back together until you or your surrogate told me online (which is why I know it wasn’t something you necessarily wanted) that it was all a joke, leading to my suicide attempt that came within a hair’s breadth of working, solving the murder of Jimmy Hoffa would have been easier than finding all of your body.

Right now, I don’t know who I’m more pissed off with: you, that HUMAN bitch you married or myself. This is so fucking obvious! You two are wedded forever because of mutual need. [Glenn’s indy label] needs to lose money, at least on paper, so that Dr. H. Bitch can offset her insurance premiums which are through the roof due to her specialty. I was the sacrificial lamb in all of this. I may be thoroughly and completely pissed off with both of you, but I’m not making any rash decisions except one which is literally a matter of survival. Within 24 hours, there will be too many people who know about what you’re doing to harm a hair on my head unless you REALLY want to go to prison, and I don’t mean for simply evading taxes. If anything at all happens to me from now until I am placed naturally in the grave, YOU will *BOTH* be under scrutiny that you can’t withstand. I’m so blessed to have a very prominent family on my mother’s side and a certain respect for the real OGs left in the world, of which there are few, on my father’s side. From what I’ve been told in the last two years, I’ve got protection I don’t even know about. Nevertheless, I do know where to start looking if need be.

Just to make it plain:

1) There will be no physical or emotional harm to me
2) There will be no physical or emotional harm to anyone close to me, including and *especially* my girls
3) I will tip the Internal Revenue Service and the Federal Bureau of Investigation off if ANYTHING looks just a wee bit off
4) In case I should die or “disappear” before I get to the IRS and/or FBI, even if it looks like a suicide, God. Help. You.
5) Thank goodness for people on both sides of the legal fence

Can I get an amen?

What you have both done to me is beyond cruel, as my shrink put it today. And you, Mr. High-and-Mighty, telling me when I offered a kind gesture that you couldn’t be bought. Honey, everyone has their price and your wife seems to have known what yours was. Ya shoulda stayed with me, kiddo! For damn sure, you should have never, ever been cruel, or beyond cruel, to me. I’d done nothing to deserve it. And, I was *sick* you bastard! It just never crossed your mind that something else was going on because your view of humanity is so goddamned warped that I *had* to have another agenda. I pity you.

Forgiveness

I was originally going to title this post “The Exhaustion That Will Not End,” but the exhaustion is a symptom of, possibly, other things. It would all come back to Glenn one way or another, so I’ve decided to simply write about him. I am having a difficult time remembering what I’ve said about him in posts here and what I”ve written to him. Therefore, I’m going to assume that I’m repeating here what I’ve written in letters. If I repeat myself, I do apologize.

I wrote to Glenn, the love of my life I met in undergrad, and told him that I forgave him for something absolutely horrible he did to me about ten years ago. What he did had a profound effect on me and, had it come from someone else, I would never forgive. It took me many years to understand the reason for his betrayal, but I think I finally have with age and experience. The reason was two-fold. It was revenge for basically coming out to him in a less than stellar manner after he’d left me high and dry for two years, then called me so he could have phone sex. Needless to say, I was a little bit annoyed that he’d done that. Hence, the “Sorry, I’m not sleeping with men at the moment,” comment. He said a shocked “What?!” I repeated what I said and he hung up on me. Then, some years later, after being emotionally devoured by a cousin I couldn’t fight back because of our uncle and patriarch’s wishes, I tracked Glenn down at a club and, after several conversations leading me to believe he was still interested, he said that he was joking and that he didn’t want me because things changed. Mind you, he didn’t say this until I pressed him for a date when we’d get together since he’s 500 miles away, or was then. Now it’s more like 400+. This is the man I’d hoped to spend my life with, but he decided to marry someone else. Still, we couldn’t stay away from each other. So, for two or three years, we continued to see each other. If he’d married a woman I gave a damn about, even a stranger, I probably would have at least attempted to end things. He had to marry the woman he did and I could not have cared less about her feelings.

I believe second reason for the above-described betrayal was that he hoped I’d stay away on my own because he still had/has feelings for me. It is this reason and this reason alone that I didn’t get it. I didn’t think he had any feelings left for me at all. How could he and knowingly do what he did? Then, I began to think about men and what men will do when they are desperate and have too much pride for their own good. I didn’t want to believe that he still had feelings for me. That sentiment was born from the same one that wouldn’t allow me to believe he had ever had feelings for me. In the end, it had more to do with my lack of belief in myself than anything he hadn’t said, although he really should have said something. He broke me. No, I truly mean that he literally broke me. He pushed me up and over a cliff called “Suicide.” I almost made it.

My mother died probably not knowing that I’d forgiven her for something she’d done that wrecked both our lives. I can’t go through telling the story again, but suffice it to say that I could not go through life not forgiving Glenn for something that was nearly as bad. Like I still loved my mother, I still love Glenn, though differently than my mother of course. Furthermore, I want him back. I got so damned tired of hating him for what he did and being afraid he’d do it again that I couldn’t do it anymore. I finally threw up my hands and pulled out the tissues and wrote to him. I began the process on July 10 with one letter. It took me two days, but I finished the second one tonight. But for the fact that I had to go through his online store to tell him that it may have gotten lost between my computer and his, I’m not sure he would even have known I’d sent private e-mail. For all I know, he’s got me filtered out. In one sense, I can’t blame him. I’ve made several attempts to reach him over the years with no response, which doesn’t mean he’s not reading, but doesn’t mean he is. If he’s behaving like he did when we were in college, he had to wait to see how serious I was before he’d make a move. I wouldn’t move past the initial couple of letters because I thought it was pointless. That ended on July 10. I’m very serious. I haven’t let another man into my heart since he went off to marry the woman I’ll assume he’s still married to. He can have her. I just don’t want to be without him at all.

This is going to be a long, drawn-out fight unless he actually grows the balls to tell me that he’s uninterested. Even then, he’ll have to tell me to my face and not on the phone. Skype is a wonderful tool, isn’t it? So are the airplane and the highway. I’ll be in his area in October. If need be, he can tell me then. My guess is that I’m going to have to keep things going until he gets a big ass clue that I’m not going away quietly into that good night again. As I think I said here before, if two people have to work so fucking hard to stay away from each other, then there’s a reason. As my mother once told me, I’m a threat to his marriage. I prefer to think that I’d be an addition as opposed to a threat. The only reason I give a damn is that I know he has at least one daughter. I don’t want her caught in the games grown-ups play. I wish I hadn’t let him go so easily when he told me he was going to marry that woman. I just didn’t have the experience to fight back. All I could do was cry and I cried for days and weeks. He didn’t enjoy my pain. It hurt him, too. However, the marriage was logical. That’s the other thing I’ve had to accept.

Knowing how to fight for him meant that I had to remember things about him that I knew probably wouldn’t have changed and believing in myself. I don’t doubt one bit that I’m going to have to move once/if we reconcile. He can’t explain long absences the way he could before. With Mom dying, there’s no more reason to stay here except one and I can fly in to see her or have her fly in to see me. I’m referring to my last living great-aunt. She’s like a mother or grandmother to me. She has more than enough people to take care of her, but I adore her. I’ll also have to leave the only blood cousins in my age group. That, too, will be difficult. Basically, I don’t want to move. It’s just that I see it coming.

I’m also going to have to figure out, with his help, how do deal with my sexuality. It doesn’t lend itself readily to monogamy. In the past, I’ve used polyamory as a way to detach myself. It’s what I learned to do from those who’d practiced polyamory as the central figure in past relationships. That isn’t the way it should be. I think some part of me knew that there was only room for one love of my life and, therefore, thought it better to keep my distance on some level.

In addition to being “fluid” in my affairs of the crotch or heart, I still consider myself as a practitioner of BDSM. In short, I consider myself a leatherdyke. Or, perhaps, a leatherbyke. Whatever, BDSM is in my soul and he isn’t into it. What’s so funny is that he’s the one who got me started without knowing it. If need be, I can give it up.

The question I’ve had while making all of these compromises is: What is Glenn willing to give up to be with me? Only time will tell, assuming I can break through to him at all. I may have to resort to changing e-mail addresses periodically and actually chasing him around the Internet until he stands up and says, “Go away!” If he does that, then, aside from a few questions I want satisfied, I’ll leave him be. I’m betting he won’t, but I don’t know for sure.

I vaguely remember telling him that while I forgive him, there’s still a large part of me that doesn’t trust him not to repeat the same evil deed. It’s true. That’s something I’m only going to be able to work on once we’re in conversation again. I can’t do it alone. There’s a difference between forgiving and forgetting. I don’t know that I’ll ever forget. I do want to get to a point where I can put my distrust in the past and not have it staring at me in the present. People make mistakes. At last glance, he was a person. He is a person I want back in my life.

One Final Bit Of News

I just got off the phone with my second source in the search for the elusive Morgan. One of the reasons I had such a difficult time was that I didn’t remember that Morgan isn’t his first name, it’s his last. When I was reminded of this, it immediately came back to me.

My source didn’t keep in touch with him after leaving the city of our undergrad university, although he did go back and Morgan was there. It’s enough to say that they didn’t see eye to eye on some things and each went their separate ways. Based on what their differences were, and knowing both too well, the source’s admonition that he isn’t worth looking up is advice I’m going to take.

So, there goes my last hope of trying to free myself from a tie to Glenn. It was a long, long-shot, but it was one that could have possibly worked.

Sunshine On My Shoulders

After being really bummed out about finding no clue as to where my brother might be I had a wonderful change in luck. I located Daddy’s uncle and we talked for over a half hour! He had no more info on my brother’s whereabouts, but he didn’t volunteer that he didn’t know I had one. Maybe he knows something and maybe he doesn’t. I just know that talking to him made me genuinely happy for the first time since Mom died.

I’m sitting on a bench in my backyard. It’s my favorite place to be. The brat is barking at someone’s horrid attempt to carry a tune in the house next door, but I don’t care. I have more family! I’m totally blissed. The only thing I care about now is eye strain and sunburn. The sun is shining on one side of me just beyond the shade of the many trees on the property.

I saw my next door neighbors’ new Golden Retriever puppy as I was typing. She’s a beauty and the neighbor’s daughter has grown into a beauty too. It’s hard to believe she’s a college student now. My girls want to PLAAAAAY with the puppy!! I’m certain they’ll get their chance.

Wow! To think this day started with the chance selection of a Carmen McRae song randomly chosen by iTunes that led me to look at Wikipedia to find out if the great uncle I’d met only once before was still alive. Then, I had to find him which, to me, is a minor miracle because I’d never expect him to be in the online White Pages. Finally, I had a chance to talk with him. It turns out that he knew portions of my mother’s family, too. Particularly my now-deceased wealthy great uncle. Now that I think about it, that uncle wasn’t as hard on Daddy as the rest of Mom’s family. Well, frankly, if he were, it would be more than a bit hypocritical. Although I loved him dearly, my wealthy great uncle was no angel at all. That didn’t stop him and his brother from damn near running the black political circles here on BOTH sides of two fences. The first is the fence between party lines and the second is the minuscule grey line between integrity and corruption. I’m a person who sees shades of grey in most areas, so I do get it.

I keep thinking that I’ve lived an interesting life and I’m from a very interesting family on both tail and distaff sides. There is most assuredly a book or two in there.

For now, I’ll stay away from the STFU topics, but I do need to get at least some of that research done while there are still people who remember. That’s going to be like walking a tightrope. No one can hurt my father since he’s dead, but there are a few people who are still living that will be problematic. Yeah, VERY problematic.

Oh well, the sun is out of my eyes, the brat finally stopped barking and all is good. I haven’t done a lick of work today and I don’t care. It’s been one of God’s better days for me.

Seriously Bummed

I had two pieces of information about my brother, Daddy’s son. I’ve just learned that one of those is either wrong or he was transferred before the man I spoke with first got there. There is a three year window before the gentleman started working there, so it is possible that they never met. It’s also possible that he is someone who can’t distinguish one black person from another even though I gave him a full description. He suggested another agency. It’s possible, but I don’t think it’s probable.

I wish adults would take their own feelings out of the equation and think about the kids when they have issues. I should have grown up knowing my brother. I didn’t find out about him until I was in early undergrad. I could both scream and cry. This is squarely on my mother’s shoulders. I really needed another reason to be p.o.’d with her.

Actually, I should have looked for my brother before now. I wanted to and even made a call to a business one of Daddy’s good friends’ family owns to find said friend. I got blocked by someone who told me she didn’t have any day-to-day contact with the business anymore. I’m sure I saved the funeral program, but I have no clue where to look.

The only relative of Daddy’s that I know has to be pushing 100 by now if he’s still alive. I only met him once when he spoke at my high school and I dropped in afterwards. I’m not optimistic.

This massively sucks.

[ETA: Much joy in finding the relative I met in high school! He’s actually younger than I thought, but he’s still quite old at 89. Thank goodness he’s famous or I’d never have found the info I need. I’m one step closer.]

Random but Relevant

Carmen McRae-The Great American Songbook

Carmen McRae from her CD, The Great American Songbook

I was about to put my laptop on my nightstand when Ms. McRae began singing What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life? and I Got It Bad And That Ain’t Good. I thought that may be a clue to relate a short story about the great singer.

Music and nightclubs are in my blood bigtime. One day, I’ll be able to tell the whole story. Unfortunately, that probably won’t be until everyone who could go to prison is dead, which kind of sucks massively.

I was always a rather precocious child. At 4 years old I loved Carmen McRae when I heard her albums. (Young ‘uns, CDs were not always around. They are recent and vinyl does sound better in some ways, but that’s my opinion.) Well, through a set of circumstances not all that important, she, like most women, was crazy about my dad. Mommy and Daddy were separated, although I wasn’t sure what that meant. Daddy sent Ms. McRae to our house as a present for me while she was in town. The sucky part is that I wasn’t home. I was probably at nursery school or visiting my grandmother who, I might add, detested Daddy. Actually, it was only Mom’s three brothers who really liked him, that is, until someone needed something. Then, Daddy was great.

This is a great memory to go along with the autographed photos of The Temptations and either The Four Tops or The Supremes or both. I think I vaguely remember meeting the guy with the incredible bass/baritone from The Four Tops. Oh! I do remember having an autographed photo of Dionne Warrick, too. I’m hoping that all of those photos have been saved from water damage when our roof sprang a leak while I was in undergrad. My sofa is blocking the cubby and I barely have enough room to maneuver as it is. Moving that sofa is not feasible until I get the rest of the stuff out of there. It was all Mommy’s and may yet have discoveries to be made.

*OnX prays to the Lord above for another insurance policy buried in the file cabinets*

Anyway, my mother was fond of recalling the Carmen McRae story. She was impressed that Daddy had talked about me so much to this wonderful, celebrated woman I adored. I didn’t see my mother impressed with Daddy’s parenting skills until I was in my late teens through mid-20s when he died. I never told her, but he saved my life–the life she’d screwed up with her second husband, the pedophile/batterer. I can only imagine what he said to her when he I told him, which wasn’t until I was barely out of undergrad and Mom was driving me out of my tortured mind. When I did, he cried like a baby and I felt like crap. I told him because I wanted him to know me and what was going on. I needed support because I wasn’t exactly getting much at home. The reaction of those who are told is, I do believe, the biggest impediment to disclosure by the victims. They can’t become survivors unless they disclose.

There has not been a day that’s gone by since Daddy died in 1987 that I haven’t missed him terribly. He was one of my very, very best friends. I told him almost everything unless I knew he’d have apoplexy. Hmm, running into STFU territory now, so I’ll leave it at that.

I love you, Daddy. I don’t care what you did. No matter what you say, I will always, always love you for the man you were with me and the one you became. I especially liked teasing you when you were grumpy and making you smile. Save a seat for me because I plan to be right up there next to you one day listening to the Great Gig in the Sky. You died far too soon. There was so much I could have learned from you. I’m sorry I didn’t break free earlier. I will always regret letting Mommy make me afraid of you. Funny, I thought about putting her urn on the other side of my dresser, but you two would continually argue and add to the evil vibes already here. Somehow, I think you both prefer the arrangement I have for you.

Be well, Daddy, and be happy. You may have thought you were going elsewhere, but I know you’re in whatever passes for what we call “heaven.” Be nice to Mom. I tell her to be nice to you, too. Somehow, I think she’s probably still perturbed with you, but make your peace so that I don’t have to referee when I get up there. I’ll hug you until I make you give me one of your infamous belly laughs and take your baret off to kiss your incredibly cute bald head.

I could use your help in finding John. Can you whisper in his ear and tell him I’m looking for him? Alternatively, please tell me what last name he’s using. Otherwise, I’m going to have to make a whole lot of calls I don’t want to make to find him. Be proud of your son. I don’t care what Mom says. Yeah, you hurt her, but you did the right thing, too. Pat yourself on the back for once, ‘k?

Your little love,

Me