I discovered today, that my stepmother and stepbrother have died. No tragedy I’m aware of, just a life of abuse upon themselves. For reasons unbeknownst to me, my brother made a trip by the place where our dad used to live. It was run down and condemned. Our sister upon reading this in our group text posted the obituaries of the two. Bryan died in December of last year, and his mom in May of this year. I’m not at all surprised by the news, just a little shocked at my reaction I guess. I haven’t spoken to them in a very  long time. After Dad died in 1996, she disposed of his ashes without any of his children being present. There was a divide present that was never approached again. She and Bryan had assumed possession of all of Dads meager  belongings, even after I had told everyone I wanted his hunting and fishing gear. He and I had spent the vast majority of our times together enjoying the outdoors. He first took me fishing at two years of age. That was the special times he and I shared. They came along after that foundation was already established between my Dad and I, and their hi jacking his things to hold onto something so dear to me, as if they were somehow a part of all that. I wasn’t about to stoop to their level to attempt to gather any scraps of material possessions to preserve the memories associated with  them. I chose to walk away and disconnect from them and their disrespect for my wishes. My sister and brother similarly disconnected for much the same reasons. We were quickly shuffled aside with regards to his personal effects, and she got beneficiary and survival rights to all of his assets, so his children were ushered away empty handed. I guess that was to be expected from the man, who abandoned us to start another life away from us to get whatever fucked up piece of mind away from our mom. That’s what left my siblings and myself reeling as children, and struggling in our own individual reconciling of the whole traumatic experience. I was singled out and told two weeks before he even mustered up to tell our mom he was leaving. Maybe this is where I write my story, and define my ambition to write. Not simply my understanding or perspectives to the problems and promises of the world around me, but the thoughts that make me who I am...


...(to be continued) 


  #being me