My Healing Journey

I’d been thinking about something Agnes, my therapist and friend, had said to me during an assessment of my healing for a while. But I had been fearful of opening the preverbal can of worms. I know my story. However, I’ve wondered if it’s really going to be helpful or am I just feeding the sharks with it.

As I lied in bed, the other night, not able to sleep, I messaged the therapist and point blank asked her. “I need to know something. Is me writing a story about a tragedy that I never addressed while it happened and have lived with since ’89 worth me letting out now? I know I opened up about the publisher and his wife but that was different,” read part it. I followed with, “What if I write about all the misery, I can remember from childhood up to where all this began?”

While not fully sure if I’d use this as a measuring stick as to how far I’ve come in my healing, I asked her to read it before I decided whether or not to publish it. She replied, “Of course, Rick!”

She followed with, “It’s good to let it out.” So here it is.

Unfinished Business

The earliest bad thing in life that I recall is my grandfather’s passing. My grandparents raised me after being abandoned (no better word for it) at birth by my mother. They had already raised twelve children of their own. So, here’s ‘Lucky 13‘ basically sitting on their doorstep.

What else would two immigrants from Finland to do in their retirement years but raise a grandchild to be better than their own that left him? They did just that and I am better off because of it. I know that. But the inner child in me must be healed too and that’s why I’m writing this.

Grandfather’s Passing

Back to my grandfather. He passed away when I was in third grade. I was in school when it happened. An aunt had picked me up early that day and I recall not having a clue as to why until I arrived home. Another aunt took me into our bathroom and explained what happened. She held me tight from that day on. And was always there, until she wasn’t.

I missed him but understood old people die. I remember he looked so cold and alone in his casket. Yet I didn’t cry.

Aunt’s Accident

Not long after my grandfather’s passing, another aunt was hit by a car while crossing a street. She was left with severe brain damage. For what seemed like a year she was hospitalized before coming home. My grandmother cared for her. She was able to learn to walk once more but never gained normal brain functions. Sadly, it was like having an adult child in the home and there was a lot of stress.

Aunt’s Passing

A couple years had passed when my aunt, that took me into the bathroom and explained my grandfather’s passing, died as well. She was always good to me. Took me places, helped with homework all the things a parent should do. While the only time I ever saw my real mother (her sister) was when she needed something from my grandmother.

My aunt had given birth about a year before her succumbing to carbon monoxide poising while talking to her child’s father. She had asked me to watch her while she went outside that night and I did.

She was out there maybe an hour when the blinker on the car started. It stayed on for some time. I asked my grandmother if I should go tell them to shut it off. She said no. The next morning an uncle found them deceased inside.

My grandmother kept her child, and we became more like brother and sister through life. Another aunt, after she wed, would take her and raise her as her own. But we still stayed close.

My Grandmother’s Passing

I had just finished tenth grade. I remember it like it was yesterday. A couple weeks earlier my grandmother had tripped over a register vent in our home. She had broken her hip and was due to come home from the hospital that day. The phone rang as I was headed out the door to a driver’s training class. It was the hospital.

The woman on the other end asked who I was. I told her and she proceeded to tell me how much my grandmother had been talking about me. And how proud she was if me. The woman on the phone was a nurse and said she needed to speak to an adult; however, I was the only one there. Assuming it was for a ride home for my grandmother, I told her I’d call my mother who lived closest to the hospital. I did and went about my day.

I was riding my bicycle home on our winding dirt road when I heard my grandmothers voice say, “Ricky don’t worry. I’m alright now.” I knew then she had passed.

The Aftermath

The house was filled when I got home that day. Aunts and uncles talking. I don’t remember which one tried telling me of ‘Ma’s’ passing. That was grandma’s nickname. But I remember shutting them down by saying I already knew. They never asked how and probably assumed that the nurse on the phone had told me. But she hadn’t.

So much talk. So much bullshit. They spoke of who was getting the home and taxes. Hell, my grandmother wasn’t even in the ground yet. Here they were like fucking vultures. Rummaging through old photographs to take and recording equipment of my grandfather’s that Ma had hung on to.

Money too I suppose, but she had already told me where that was hidden just in case and told me never to tell. She knew what her kids would do and needed peace in knowing I had something because none of them would ever help.

What made it worse there was talk about putting the home in my name to save them from the tax man. Boy, I thought do it! Y’all won’t see a damn thing. I’d see to it. Even as an adult now and not the teenager I was at the time, I’d still have the same sentiment. They never did include me in that. nor anything else.

Ma’s Saga Continues

One uncle wasn’t there that day. He had returned from doing a tour in the United States Marine Corps and was sent to Vietnam. Once home he moved to Ohio and had gotten married. When he did arrive, I felt relief. He was more of a brother than uncle.

Sadly, he passed away a year ago this month.

Pallbearers

Pallbearers hadn’t been chosen for the funeral yet and a vast majority of the family decided one would be me. I couldn’t do it. Grandma was like a mother to me. That job goes to her kid’s spouses or close friends. Not me, I was her SON dammit.

I told my uncle that and he understood and even spoke up for me when others said I didn’t care enough for Ma to do it. Such assholes.

Post Funeral

I hate funerals. I hate wakes even more. Afterwards they all collided at home. My home. Ate and talked about nothing. Not about their parents that were mine as well. Not even a ‘I missed you’ to their own brothers and sisters from out of state. I watched in amazement and now wonder if all families are this dysfunctional.

Mom’s Leaving

As I stood in the yard, I watched them backout without as much as a word to me. They saw me staring as they were ready to shift into forward and pull away. But my stepfather stopped the car.

He was a good man in my eyes from what little I knew of him. In the car was my mother, three sisters and a brother. The oldest in there wasn’t his daughter. My mother had another child out of wedlock that my grandparents refused to raise. We are two years apart.

I had made my mind up, long before that day, I would never go with them no matter what. There was never a discussion about it. She waived me over and said, ‘Ma would want you to stay here and help your uncle with his sister that was hit by the car.’

OMFG I though as I told her I wasn’t going anywhere with them even if they said I had to! I was going to finish high school where I was. I’d find my own way if need be. They drove off with only a goodbye from the man driving and a sad look on her other fatherless child’s face.

Everyone’s Gone

Only my uncle and his wife from Ohio along with my uncle that lived there with his mentally challenged sister were left. The one from Ohio asked if I wanted to come visit a couple weeks. I said yes, but he’d have to wait as I had a couple drivers training classes left and one last summer league baseball game to play. They waited the week for me to finish before we left.

Back Home

I’d spend the afternoons and most evenings with my aunt after she’d already spent the day with the sister that took my little cousin in. I never felt resentment or anger over doing it because I loved her. Before her accident she’d do things with me too like her deceased sister had. She could be violent at times, post-accident, especially if someone said I was her nephew or talked badly about Ma. I was her brother, and Ma was her Ma.

Years later she passed away in a nursing home. Choked to death I was told. She was put there by the same uncle after he had wed and no one else would take her. I was working out of state as a reporter at the time and was so new to the job I couldn’t get off for the funeral to come home.

Last Funeral

Before my aunt above passed, I attended one other funeral. An aunt, her sister, that had passed years earlier. That aunt would call Ma everyday sure as clockwork. However, we weren’t close. She never once offered to help her mother with her sister. A stranger in my eyes with children that were rarely in my life, as if I weren’t good enough.

The Desert

Never thought about living out west but soon after I turned 21, I was headed to my mothers. She had since divorced, and it was her ex that purchased my ticket.

I should’ve known things would turn bad. In three weeks, she kicked me out three times, but I only left after the last. A week after I had moved, she moved to Ohio without a word. During that week, she’d come over, out of the blue, expecting to use the shower for herself and my siblings. As much as I detested her (I had a roommate then too) I still let them bathe as their power and water had been shutoff. Moreso for my siblings and not her.

Months later I found a room to rent in the home of a divorcee. She was like the mother I never had. Her only child, a daughter, lived in California and we hit it off too. She passed away in 1990, and her daughter was murdered in 2005. I loved them both dearly and talked to them often no matter where I moved on to.

Reporter’s Life

The hours were grueling, the city sucked and the publisher and his wife were always horny. That’s why I quit the paper. More of the latter than the other two.

I’ve written about this in ‘Why I Quit the Newspaper‘. Click the link if you want more.

Miscarriage

I returned home and met a wonderful woman through a friend. We eventually moved in together and she became pregnant. A few weeks later WE had a miscarriage. I say we because I’ve been learning to heal. The unborn child was both of ours.

It was rough and I never faced my own grief. This is the main reason I wrote my therapist that night. I played support for my then mate. Being the man society teaches us we should be in such times. I held strong for her but neglected myself.

A year later we had a son. Handsome devil who learned to say he wanted to be an only child by three. We had no plans for anymore. He was and is still our Angel. He was born by cesarean section, and I was in the room when he met this world.

Coming home from the hospital was hard too. Alone with both newborn and his mother recovering from the c-section, I still worked. I counted on the aunt that took in my little cousin to help during the day.

A few weeks later my son’s mother had an appendicitis attack that required another surgery. I returned to being a caregiver, mother and father once again. But was still happy for our little family.

Years later we split. She had finished her degree to become a paramedic, and I wasn’t in her future plans. We talked and I understood, so, her and our son moved to Florida. We’d still talk on the phone, and I’d hear my son’s voice. I eventually moved there myself to try and rekindle our relationship. It never flourished again.

About a year later, I returned home once more. Not broken hearted but happy. I was and still am proud of her and my son. Although we haven’t spoken in years, she did well for herself and her husband. She did especially well in raising our child whom I’ve seen take so much pride in that little sister he didn’t want so many years before, that his mom and stepfather eventually had.

Home Not So Sweet Home

It sounds ironic as I begin this chapter when I tell you I married the daughter of someone I wanted to be growing up. I wanted to be a lawyer and had thoughts about politics. However, from the day after the ‘I do’s‘ it turned to I wish I hadn’t.

She was a single mother of two, from two different guys, that later began seeing them both again. With all of us knowing it. I suppose it was our children that kept us together. Three that we have I accepted and a fourth possible. But I’m not even sure if a DNA in my favor could sway my doubt on the last.

Try being a man holding something together that wasn’t meant to be. The children were eventually taken by the state in a courtroom ran by someone with the manners and knowledge of Judge Judy and a prosecutor as dumb as Dan Fielding of Night Court. Toss in a protection services system that promised adoptions even before they had children to offer. It was a fucking nightmare.

One hand washed the other and neither listened to the Foster Care Review Board who said what they were doing was wrong. In a court battle that took years, testimony from their own workers contrary to briefs and motions they filed, we lost custody.

Afterwards the prosecutor would quit the DA’s office and become a defense attorney. The woman that fought so hard to take them away had a stroke. I hear she is an invalid now, good for her. While the judge can simply go to hell. I’ve wanted to write that for so long. It feels refreshing.

Do I have resentment? Of course I do. Because if taking my children weren’t enough, they threatened me with a $50,000 contempt of court ruling for court costs and fees. Stick it up your ass I told the court clerk before I won that battle in another court. But it’s still something I haven’t healed from. Maybe now that’s its out in the open I can feel better. To the very few I’ve told, thank you for being there for me to trust such heartbreak to you. And to my children I’m very sorry.

Divorce

Actually, I couldn’t wait for this day. No lawyers, just her and I. Pro-se. The decision on our children hadn’t been settled. But our filings for divorce came after she had hit me in the head with a can opener and had been taken to jail.

In front of a judge, she was seeking child support on ALL the children. Including the two stepchildren that she was already granted support by their own fathers. Neither of which paid a dime. But support had been suspended because of the states removing of them.

She tried her best explaining her case, but the truth came out and not only did ‘Her Honor’ see through the facade she sided in my favor. Even awarding me a cash settlement.

In the end I had one last appeal to the US District Court over the illegalities of it all. Attorney and filing fees along with the length of time the children had been gone weighed into my decision. They were all settled in new homes; adopted out by an agency that pocketed hundreds of thousands of dollars from taxpayers. Honestly, I couldn’t see them hurting once more, had I won. I let the case go.

I would have begged, borrowed and sold everything I had, if I felt it were the best for them. I just could not uproot them again.

No Tears

Through it all there had been no tears. None of joy nor sadness even seeing my oldest born or the others taken. My grandparent’s deaths hurt but they were old. My mothers passing didn’t even phase me. And all the other terrible things in between seemed to be part of life.

I lost love when my oldest son’s mother and I went our separate ways. She thrived and I’m happy for her. There was no hatred just ‘two souls going on vacation‘ like she described to me before leaving. A wise woman that saves others’ lives is more valuable to the world. than to me, as is her happiness.

Crying

When I lost her in early ’23, four years after becoming her friend, I broke. I learned of loved. Real love without touching. The kind that grows within your soul everyday bit by bit. The kind you don’t know is there until it’s gone.

That made me cry. I still cry from time to time, and it’s been almost three full years. Healing isn’t linear so I’m taught. And that’s why I’m trying to heal the inner child in me now. Just one hour I’d like to be happy. Then two next week and three the following. Baby step by baby step.

As I end this, I realize I hadn’t even taken into consideration my heart disease nor cancer. One that had me close to death and the other refusing to let go and let me live. Maybe it’s because I’ve learned I can’t control them. I suppose that’s good though, as I feel I’ve been tested enough by life.

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