Some of us do things silently. I did write back to B#2 after his angry email before Dad's birthday party. I told him I understood that we had it tough, and that if he needed to talk or to write, he was welcome to come to me. He does not respond to me. I wrote to him, by snail mail and email, called him and Facebook messaged him after he tried to kill himself. He has not responded to me in any way. And to be honest, I feel pretty neutral about it. I have been trying to think of why he doesn't want any contact with me. I didn't ignore him and let him slip away any different than the rest of you. The best answer I can think of is that he knows I have remained close to his ex-wife all these years. He probably thinks I have some insight into their marriage and things he would prefer we not know.
He is living with B#1 now, and seems to be settling in. Is that a healthy place to be?
You just deepened my thoughts about the classism. Girls are better than boys, and so they are treated better, they deserve better, they get better. It makes me wonder if the sexual abuse was all father on son/brother on brother until we got to our generation, or our family. I agree with you - I would like to see what happened, and I would like to see where it started. What was the initial damage that set this abuse in motion that has swallowed so many potentially wonderful people?
It is also weird that the Grandma and Pop had 23 grandchildren, and we only had three girl cousins. With the five of us, it created a 15:8 ratio. Why so many boys in a family that abused boys? The other side of the family was 12:14. More typical, or expected.
Interesting thought - have we silenced Maggie yet? I wonder what the purpose of not talking to me for five or six years was? I haven't forgotten.
When B#2 wrote the note, I thought he was just angry at Dad, in general, for all the crap that happened in our family. After he tried to commit suicide, I told Mom that perhaps he was terrified of being homeless and living on the streets again - like he was when they forced him to leave home at 18. She sort of casually said, "Yeah, we don't really know what happened to him then."
Sometimes I think we live far away from each other so we can pretend everything is fine. You know that no news is good news. It's so much easier to look away.
I think what this is doing for me, besides the challenge of healing and the desperate attempt to reconnect with someone in the family, to feel like I really have family, is opening me to Grandma. I keep finding similarities. And then I find myself in those moments when she taught me how to make sloppy joes - brown the ground meat and then add as much ketchup and mustard as you would to that many hamburgers. And how to dice onions. I remember when I stopped eating meat and everyone else carried on, she made me creamed peas on toast. No questions. I always said the other was my favorite grandmother, but I am finding such strength and similarity, such understanding. I loved when you welcomed her and her guidance. Now I hope it's true so she can feel the depth of my love for her.
Happy moments - hide and go seek in the dark - taking over the whole house, or at least the whole upstairs. Singing while Mom played accordian. If she wasn't into it, we would steal her song books and all pile on my bed to sing together - the nine of us together. I treasure those memories, when we were united and we were happy together. Summer evenings we played Red Rover and freeze tag. Despite the horror and the darkness and slime, we had times when we were just children, and we just played games together.
There were a few times when Dad sang. He had a beautiful voice, but didn't believe it. I don't think he ever believed in himself at all. He didn't think he could do anything well. He never knew that he was funny and smart, and has almost a psychic intuition about people. He can read character easily. He was strong and great in an emergency. All that lost in the violence of his early home life. If raised in a happy, healthy home, he would have been a great dad. Instead he destroyed the spirits of nine really shiny little souls.
Damn, I slipped from the happy back to the sad. Sorry.
Sleep well, little sister. May you have sweet dreams...Love, C.
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