JUNE 30

I've always refused to talk about my 'real' family, my biological family.  I never believed the things that happened to me were my fault but at a certain age, I slowly began to realize that others sure seemed to.  I became very ashamed of who I was although nothing was ever under my control. 

My family was really poor.  My mother had 10 kids in all and finally maried after the last one, something completely unheard of in that day and age.  We didn't know it at the time as we were so young, but we were already 'marked' at birth.  Born to an unwed mother in the 60's sentenced you automatically to a life of welfare, squalor and rejection.  Nowadays, young girls pop out 'illegitimate bastards' all the time.  That's what they called us, you know, and that meant there was no hope for us.  Oh, I know there was the whole peace and hippie movement and 'love' children were being born, but that seemed to be further away, somewhere else.  Where we lived, everyone lived in perfect families in perfect harmony...and then there was our kind...the kind that were embarrassing to live near.  The kind that you pretended not to see on the street or crossed over the street to avoid and tried your best to move away from.  The kind that brought your property value down...but what did any of that have to do with me?  Or any of my siblings?  At birth and toddler-hood, we were still innocent...mostly of the fact that we were already 'marked'!

http://www.dealwithwhites.com/

JUNE 23

Because I know (hope!) that this will not be read until I'm gone, I feel free to write as I wish.  You can't stop me, no one can!  I can call you any name I want, tell any story I choose and no one can stop me!  Do I sound a bit like an immature brat?  A bit like a 'nah-nah, you can't stop me' brat?  Well, on these pages, I'm free to be that, too!  But really, I just want to tell you of who you are and how your family came to be.  And maybe a touch of the other, too!  Tee Hee!!!

I write bits and pieces of this on days when I when I am feeling inspired and energetic.  Inspired and energetic.  If only those 2 things would occur on the same day more often.  Sigh!

There are certain subjects that no child wants to think about in connection with their parents.  No child should ever have to know.  So I will refrain from any of that.  I will spare you the details!

JUNE 20

My reasons for writing this are two-fold, selfish and unselfish.  I've always wondered if I could write so it's time to try.  I know that I can't sing, dance, rap (thank goodness!) or write poetry.  I've never been, nor will I ever be, a raving beauty.  The raving part, for sure at times, but never the beauty.  I'll never sprout up to 5'10", the boobs sank south long ago, the extra weight that I managed to lose a few times is back and I guess it will see me to my grave.  There's not enough time left for me to lose it again.  Sigh...  The blond hair of my youth, long ago, could be had again.  Not sure how many bottles of bleach it would take but I could make it happen!  But why bother?  There are enough bottle-blonds in this place already, I figure they don't need another.  Sooo, perhaps I can write.  Or, perhaps not.  Either way, I won't be here to care!

Mostly though, I want for you and your 5 siblings to know what went on before.  When you're all older, grayer and wondering why you are as you are or, more likely, why your siblings are as they are, you can refer back to these letters and say, "Ah, so that's why John is the way he is.  He takes after Dad!"

Best part about writing this?  It's supposedly therapeutic to write things down but there's nothing therapeutic about writing things down if you 'get caught'.  If someone reads this while I'm still alive, I'll feel as though I've been 'caught' and going to get 'shit' from someone.  I'd be afraid that someone would confiscate it, like a school child, or worse, read it or worst of all, read it out loud!  I've been treated with enough disrespect, criticism and contempt to last 10 people a lifetime and cannot take any chances.  I'm hiding these letters really well.  When I'm gone, they'll be mailed to you and I will never have to see your reaction.  I'll never have to see anyone's reaction ever again and that's kind of a relief!  Not the way I imagined my life playing out but does anyone get to live his life the way he wishes?  The very thing that I have dreaded the most, the certainty of my impending death, has indeed freed me to do things I feared so much in the past!!

I've added this picture of a blond Miss Piggy, dear daughter, to help to lighten the mood for you.  It's a pretty heavy subject matter and maybe I'm doing more for myself!

http://www.cherishedfriends.com/

TO MY DEAREST DAUGHTER. JUNE 14

As I sit here dying a little more each day, approaching death's door little by little, I've come to realize a few things.  I realize how quickly time flies.  I realize that I need to put my thoughts down on paper before they are no more, before time leaves me for good. 

I realize that people spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how they became who they are and why they behave as they do.  The sum of our total does not derive only from own experiences but also from the experiences of those who have gone before us.  We pass on our own fears, worries, expectations and our lack of expectations from certain kinds of people and certain situations. 

I know that my own children are who they are and make the decisions they do partly because of their own experiences in life, the experiences of their friends and neighbors but also because of the attitudes, likes and dislikes of their father and myself.  It's impossible to leave our own views out of things but it can be equally uplifting or damaging.  Many choices made in my life - some by me, some for me and some against me - contributed to the lifelong sense of helplessness and rage I've felt and I KNOW I've passed it on.  My intentions may have been pure but the impact is just as intense - either wanting to curl up on your bed and wither away or tearing into the world head-on, stopping at nothing and stepping on everything in order to control the world around you.  All 6 of my children have chosen 1 form or other in order to cope, usually to some extreme.

I was her caregiver but only as a volunteer and only in a volunteer's capacity.  There wasn't a lot I was allowed to do - I was mostly there for companionship.  I believe that made your mother trust me more and her trust helped to compensate for all I could not do.  I was there because I wanted to be and she knew it.  There was no money involved and she knew that I received little in the way of appreciation.  I continued to volunteer simply for the pleasure that her company -amongst others- brought me.  I was equally lonely, having never married and we needed each other.  At least, we both needed someone and we'd always considered the timing of our friendship to be nothing short of a miracle.

It would be absurd to think that your mother shared everything with me but how much more could there be?  Hers was such a tale of sadness and woe that I cannot imagine what else there is.

Now, I don't believe that you deserve this package of letters.  You most certainly do not deserve anything that your mother labored over so intensely and lovingly.  But she made me promise to send these letters to you as her last outpouring of love and I suppose, her last plea for compassion and understanding.  I'm convinced that it's a futile effort and a complete waste of my time and the last of your mother's energy.  For her, though, I would do anything, including putting my own angst and grief aside.
I beg of you not to burn or destroy these letters.  In memory of the woman who gave you life, please return them instead!

Your mother would not speak a word against you nor allow anyone else to.  So I held my tongue.  She was so very proud of her grandchildren that I didn't have the heart to tell her that I spent your one and only visit here picking up, cleaning up and paying up after your kids.  The broken lamps and picture frames were replaced quickly so she wouldn't know.  The only blessing to your whole visit was her smile and her lack of willingness to face the truth.  It saved us all from a harsh time, I suppose.  She never asked where her irreplaceable record collection went - whether she couldn't remember it or chose not to ruin what time she had left with negative talk.  I guess we'll never know.  Either way, it was painful to watch.  Her giving, you taking right to the very end.

During the years that I looked after your mother, she told me many stories about her family.  Her life was sad, her childhood deprived and she waited her entire life, it seemed, for the abuse and neglect to end.  She told me her stories in random sprints, falling silent afterwards for days.  At that point, I think that she always regretted her decision to 'share'.  Another month would go by and she'd be ready again.  She seemed happiest during that month - after she'd recuperated from the shame of divulging her secrets and before the need to do so again swept over her.

therockologist.com

When your mother was sick for years, you were abroad.  First you were abroad studying (partying!), then you were abroad romancing, travelling, generally living the high life.  Always at someone else's expense, never your own.  Oh, I know you finished journalism school, but the rest...   I'm so grateful that your mother didn't - refused to? - know about the rest.  You were her last hope that one of her children would turn out AND come home to her.  It took her years to save up enough to send you to school and the thought that you may not have made good with it might have been more than she could bare in her fragile state.

When you finally settled down with that nice Italian boy, your mother was so happy!  One of her children was married!  Not 'living in sin'!  And not divorced!  That was so important to her, old-fashioned or not, so I guess that in a way, I'm grateful to you for lying to her and not telling her about your breakup and subsequent divorce.  It would have destroyed what was left of her broken heart.  I just wish that lying wasn't such a big part of your life.

Thanks to the two kids that 'the wealthy one' (as you called him) gave you, you got a whole mess of money in the settlement, enough to set you up for years.  Enough to keep you 'gallivanting' (one of your mom's favorite words) all over the place.  Not that this gallivanting was anything new.  I'm pretty sure you were doing so during the marriage and as they say, the ink was barely dry on the divorce papers and you were at it again.  This time, more publicly.  Publicly enough that we kept the newspapers from your mom at the care center. 

It never occurred to you to share a penny with your unwealthy, unhealthy mother or to come home for more than one visit every 15 years.  Lots more travel and designer clothes, lots more men and lots more nannies.  Nannies to look after your kids, who will no doubt turn out exactly like their mother.