On This Day

1 Cor. 15:2 “By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain.”

On This Day

On this day last year my dad passed away. This week has been a culmination of tears and memories leading me down memory lane. Every phone call to my mother this week has been of her rehashing the weeks that led to the final week which led to the day that my dad passed. I sat and listened allowing her to let out her grief so maybe she would find solace.

She tells me over and over again how my brother in Tennessee is still taking it hard and he let’s her know repeatedly how much he misses my father. Then there is the story of my sister who (now has his car) is driving around with a picture of my dad on the dashboard and how she wears the memorial necklace ALL the time.

I haven’t heard from ANY of my siblings since my dad passed. The last call to my brother was last year when he said, as we ended the call, to stay in touch and I did try, but as you can imagine he has his own family and doesn’t really have anything to do with any of his siblings anymore. There comes a time when the letdown is not worth the pain attributed to the lack of communication from siblings.

I can’t handle people saying over and over, “But that is your family; your blood.” I only have one dear friend who told me to just let them go and move on, the pain is not worth it, and he’s right. 

These past thirteen years haven’t been the easiest on me but I feel a peace here I’ve never had in my entire life. I feel loved; possibly for the first time an unconditional love that I only thought existed in fairytales. This time it is real because I feel it in my bones, in every essence of my being!

This week has been a stroll down memory lane. Many of the memories I’ve buried and plan to keep there but some memories good or bad surface like hot springs bubbling in anticipation of an explosion; none of which I’ll let come to fruition because I’m all about healing.

The bitterness inside will have to wait to eat away at me because this peace I feel now will not be ruined by any kind of confrontation and where my family is concerned, a simple chat is always a confrontational debate. 

Everybody grieves differently and while I wake and think about my dad daily, I don’t cry on a daily basis because I know he is at peace and don’t want us carrying on. I have to admit the only regret I have is not seeing him before he died and well, I’ll carry that with me to the grave but I’ve already told my mother that I won’t be coming back for her funeral either, not out of disrespect but out of love. After she leaves this earth, there will be not a thing tying me to that crutch of a place that tried strangling me to death all those years. She said she understands.  

That’ll be just another reason for my family to justifiably disown me and I’m okay with that since I’ve come to terms with my not being able to return. I’m at peace knowing I can move on in life alone but not ALL alone, I do have family here that has embraced me like their own and I have the most loving and understanding Heavenly Father.

So while I grieve on the one-year anniversary for my father’s death, I’m at peace knowing he is at peace and no longer suffering. While my family is back home living with regrets of what did or didn’t happen in their life, my only regret is not seeing my dad alive, one last time. And if I don’t get to see my mother one last time alive, I’ll deal with that regret when it happens. Until then… my poetry is what bound them to me eternally. 

Luke 1:79 (KJV) “To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Epiphany

Pss. 109:15 “Let them be before the LORD continually, that he may cut off the memory of them from the earth.”

An Epiphany

It has been an interesting ride into an epiphany or intuitive insight into the essential meaning of something. In this case, I know why I’m here in Nebraska!

As a kid growing up, my mother and I were the best of friends. We share a birthday so I was considered special from day one AND the fact that that I was the baby helped that position along.

Living in the city without a car left us shopping in the locality best known to unknowns as Light Street. No seriously, that was and still is the name of the street lined with shops and stores. As we would walk past the glass lined buildings with the picture window shops and apparel, my mother would always reminisce of what that store was many years ago; it was a quite nostalgic trip on weekends for my mother and I.

We’d often go into Epsteins, (locals pronounced it Ep-stines while non-locals called it Ep-steens). Epsteins was like an old day version (only smaller) of WalMart. They sold everything from clothes to curtains, carpets to furniture, vacuums to hardware; Epsteins was the weekend hubbub of Light Street. We’d pass jewelry stores, a fish store that sold bunnies in their front window, the more expensive clothes stores for men, shoe stores, café’s and diners.

We’d often (and I do mean often) go to George’s Lunch where they had orange padded booths and a few tables lining one side of the wall and the streaming aroma of the grilled onions and Coney Island hamburgers, steamers for buns and hot dogs along with fresh baked pies where slices sat perched in front of a mirrored shelf! Their specialty was a rice pudding with a cream on top with a dash of cinnamon that I would get every single visit!

I loved the old time look of the place with the individual spinning stools that separated the cooking being done, the waitresses and the small aisle where the booths sat always filled with hungry patrons. Often we’d have to wait for a seat because the place was the highlight of Light Street and everyone just loved the food.

In the summer months, I would always meet my mother for lunch and George’s is often where we’d dine. Sometimes we’d head to Polock Johnny’s or The White Coffee Pot but there we were off doing stuff together.

My sister and brothers resented my closeness with my mother always claiming that she gave me everything. I won’t deny it, she DID! She gave me anything and EVERYTHING I ever wanted. BUT, to clarify, I did everything FOR my mother. Whether it was cleaning, cooking, washing dishes, painting or hanging wallpaper, I was an actual participant not an observer feeling neglected like the rest of my siblings.

The way I see it, it went both ways. She didn’t give me everything because I asked for it, she gave everything to me as an appreciative act for all I did for her. There IS a difference.

As years would pass I was now dragging my (ex) husband into the mix and had him doing all sorts of handyman work for my mother and father. I lived next door to my mother in my grandfather’s rental house for thirteen years. When the rental house was sold, my parents sold THEIR house to move right around the corner from where I had moved.

They just wanted to be close to me and near to my son. I surely didn’t mind because they were basically my best friends at this point. We continued with taking mother shopping on weekends, I always cleaned her house, and she was always giving me soup, spaghetti and whatnot.

I was close to my siblings too, helping my sister out with her six kids; when she went away I would clean her house spic-n-span! My brother would invite me to his house, much to the chagrin of my sister who was now HIS neighbor.

My sister and brothers all longed for the relationship I had with my parents but none of them were willing to put any effort into the rapport. No, they just wanted my parents to show THEM attention but as always, I was the only one who received the attention they longed for.

Then I left Baltimore and all of my family behind. Quite suddenly I might add. A two-week notice and I was well on my way to happiness. My sister invited Steven and I to dinner the night before we left for Texas and she invited my brothers but no one showed up. My mother and father did!

With me gone, they could have my parents all to themselves but no, that wasn’t the case. Weeks would pass before my sister ever called my mother and often it was my father who called and told HER to call my mother sometime. The only time they showed ANY attention to my parents was when my mother would tell them over and over again how “Joni calls me every night and twice a day on weekends!” It irked them into caring!

Back to the epiphany I began with, the why I am here and not there? It was not meant for me to be there. My siblings had to step up and actually DO something for my mother and father. When my father was in the hospital I literally had to goad my one brother into going to see my dad before he died.

Had I been back there, they might have seen too much love for me and not enough attention focused on them, they needed that. My sister is now calling my mother every day, taking her out of the house, inviting her to dinner, taking her to the doctor, you name it; my sister is now sitting at a diner (not the same one that me and mother frequented) and is now being given the attention that she needed all those years; the attention that both of them needed.

My brothers are paying attention, my sister is paying attention and it sure is sad that it took my father to die for them to notice that time on this earth is not guaranteed it is precious! With me out of the way, they can now focus on what needs to be done and that is to give my mother the attention she so richly deserves!

Pss. 145:7 “They shall abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodness, and shall sing of thy righteousness.”

Dysfunctional Family

Luke 17:3 “Take heed to yourselves: If thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him; and if he repent, forgive him.”

Family

Many know of the circumstances of my family. I’ve said over and over again we’re not a tight knit, religious in any way family but oftentimes that leaves people scratching their heads and saying “What?”

Let me paint a picture: I have an older brother, J, who is 59 and living in Tennessee somewhere. I haven’t spoke to him in about 13 years and there really is no doorway to communication for reasons I won’t elaborate.

Then there is my second eldest, T: He’s an oxycontin addict/alcoholic living somewhere in Baltimore doing the ‘house squatting’ thing ie: moving from house to house, flopping wherever he can.

Then there is Ja who I just spoke to yesterday. (more about him later)

There is M who is married to a woman 16 years his senior living happily high on life in the ‘we’re doing great ignoring you’ world.

Then there is my sister, T, who is wrapped up in her family struggling to be everything for my mother and father. I haven’t spoke to her since June when her grandbaby was born.

What a mixed up mess, eh? There you have it, altogether six non-communicative siblings and a dying father and a disabled mother. I call my mother daily and I have for the thirteen years since I left home for brighter horizons. Little did I know I’d be out here, in the middle of nowhere with the inability to ever return home ie: my birthplace.

Last week when my father fell ill, I thought he’d be home by Sunday but he wasn’t so I took it upon myself to notify Ja. (I’m using initials to protect their privacy) Ja had no idea my father was sick, no one felt the need to inform him and he thanked me.

Him and I were the closest of all siblings and as dysfunctional life proves, no one was happy seeing US get along and well, that is where a lot of resentment arose. Even my mother and father were annoyed of our friendship. And that is what it was, a friendship. I befriended the black sheep and no one else did. As always *I* was the lone warrior in an extremely dysfunctional family.

At one time in my life, I was the only one that spoke to EVERY single one of them. I was there for them, their kids, the parties, the births of their children, the godmother of two, the helper of all. Even my mother and father, I was the only one who was there for EVERY thing! When my brother Ja had a second child I thought I’d be a godmother for a third time but no, he asked my sister whom he was TRYING to be a friend to in some way. (Yeah, that didn’t work out for him so well as you can imagine.)

By the time I left home, it was MY time. I had to finally realize that there was no hope, no one left to LOVE the only way I knew how to love. I was branding myself a ‘self-imposed’ black sheep. The pain I went through the first six years or so after I left, no one knew, no one cared, no one called, I was alone without the crutch of the dysfunctional family.

Yes, *I* called, I cared and I still tried to hold onto the crutch until I couldn’t hold onto the nothingness any longer and let it slip through my fingers like liquid in a strainer. I had to let go to embrace the new family I had joined and was welcomed into with open arms. I am not judged out here in the middle of nowhere. I’m not expected to do and be more than I can be and isn’t that what life is all about really? Being accepted for who you are?

“And the day came when, the risk to remain in a tight bud, was more painful than the risk it took… to BLOSSOM.” ~ Anais Nin

My brother and I spoke for well over an hour yesterday. He went on and on about his kids, his life and how much he strives to be the father to his kids that my father wasn’t to us. He asked about the siblings and he was shocked to find out that our sister lived not far up the road from him and that three of her kids lived there with her. I did tell him that I didn’t want to come home and see my father in an urn or a coffin and he understood. Completely understood.

I did get to squeeze into the conversation that sometimes I had to walk with a cane because of arthritis in my back and he was like, “Wow, how old ARE you?” Then we went over the siblings’ ages and whatnot, finally ending the conversation with the ‘I love you’ and stay in touch jargon.

After the call ended, I was hit smack dab in the forehead with realization. None of them know me. Do they know I’m a writer? I’m the editor of a newsletter? Do any know of my pain and suffering with arthritis? Do any of them care about MY life or that I’m even alive?

I got the answer from my Father in heaven on whether I should return home to see my family. NO was plain and clear not much unlike my father on earth had said when asked if I should come home, “Maybe next time.”

Don’t pity me or misunderstand where I’m coming from, I am at PEACE with every decision I’ve made in my life and I WILL go on living the life that God Himself has etched out for me.

“Trust yourself. You’ve survived a lot and you’ll survive whatever is coming.”

 ~ Robert Tew

Memory Lane

Make today great. We may be products of our past but we are also architects of our future. ~Pastor Tim Clowers

***

Are you the kind of person that likes to stroll down memory lane, remembering the old high school, the old friends, the past that eluded your future you thought would manifest?

I’ve never been one who held onto the past like a warm cup of tea. You know, cradle it in my hand, coddle the thoughts as if they were precious and needed to be gently stirred whenever the feeling arises?

No, I’m a writer. I’ve stirred all my emotions with a pen. Laid them onto paper to be read by some unsuspecting reader of the future who happens to like pain and misery. They’ll drink the tea of my past, swallow it and either regurgitate it for the simple fact that the truth can not be stomached, or swallow the warm drink and find that it has become poison in their system.

I was asked if I missed my past life. Which one? The one prior to me being born? Yes, because it was heaven. The one prior to me coming to Nebraska? In my honesty, I have to admit, no. I miss a few family members but that’s about all that I miss.

I went back home a few years ago to Baltimore. Thinking foolishly again that I might have been missed to some extent. I was there because of my mothers medical problem, she had had a stroke and mis-communication from everyone had her on her deathbed, when in reality she had a stroke and wanted me there to be with her, just in case.

Did everyone come out of the woodwork to see me? No, just my sister, who I saw at the hospital a few times and my  niece who found her way to my hotel to visit with me. She was living at  her dad’s home with her husband and five siblings. Going through a ton of her own stuff, I made my way to see her and her brothers and sisters.

Memory lane was a hard stroll. I visited my bro and his wife and she berated me for the way my mother treated me like a precious gem and my brother got the treatment of a bullfrog. This is not quite how I remember it, but I took it all and brought all the agony of the visit back to Texas where I went on a healing binge.

Unfolding in my memoirs is the story of a young girl, who was taken to bars to sit with a bunch of men as mother and dad drank, the brothers were all off on their own escapades. I’ll go down the lane and talk of the many nights we sat at neighbors houses because of parental arguing and small daughters clinging to the mother by her housecoat as she fled.

I’ll also revel in the many joyous Christmas’ that the children were given. Were our parents perfect? No! Did the children have everything they ever needed, yes. But we needed love and that was the instrumental element that was missing in all of the kids life. Did I get more love than the others? Maybe because I was the baby, and clung to my mother like a wet noodle to a ceiling.

Each of us has a different tale to tell. My past is where I want it, in the past, not part of my future. It molded me and shaped me, but as I let it go, I release my pain, I am healed as I walk down memory lane, the one I create, to become my future.