You'd have to have lived under a rock the size of Stone Mountain if you don't know the subject that has been on the lips of almost everyone over the past month: health care.
In the wake of passage of the healthcare bill, there have been accusations of all sorts fired at the current Administration (all of which I agree with, I have to admit.) The most damning and accurate accusation is the one that this bill smacks of socialism. (And, in my opinion--it does alot more than 'smack' of socialism. It's a sucker punch.)
....which has inevitably led to a re-examination on my part to 'socialism' as outlined by Karl Marx; the leaders of the most famous socialist movements in the 20th century--and the hypocrisy that exists among those socialist revolutionaries. I've always been fascinated by history, and in another life, was a history major. And after my nursing degree is finished, I may go back and finish my history degree yet. (There's always a community college that can use a part time history professor.)
George Santayana stated that 'those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it'. With the exception of perhaps China and North Korea--true communism--the ultimate goal of socialism--has failed, and failed miserably. And even in China and North Korea, there exists not true communism as outlined by Marx; but totalitarian regimes in which the government and its sycophants live in the lap of luxury while the people live in abject poverty. They epitomize the statement that 'absolute power corrupts absolutely'. Socialism and communism, IN THEORY, are ideal economies. The problem is this: these economies won't set themselves up--they have to start somewhere, and people have to get the ball rolling.
Note here that I said 'economies'. According to Karl Marx, in order to set up a communist regime, communism wouldn't require government after an unspecified amount of time known as 'the dictatorship of the proletariat.' I point out that it was unspecified because history has proven: the dictatorship of the proletariat drags on in the still-existing communist regimes. The former Soviet Union was still governed by a system no better than the tsarist government they overthrew when the Soviet Union ultimately collapsed in 1989.....72 years after the 'workers' revolution of March, 1917; 71 after the Bolshevik revolution Lenin launched in 1918.
China. Mao Tse-tung secured power in 1949. 81 years later, the people of China are still the subjects of a government that is recognized by the UN as a government that is in perpetual violation of human rights.
China and the Soviet Union are the most notable communist regimes, because of their place in world history. Before I go on into an examination of socialist leaders--first I would like to repeat here the definition of 'proletariat'--as defined by Karl Marx (the original definition of 'proletariat' was a class who had no wealth other than sons):
Proletariat as defined by Marx is a worker--one who uses their 'labor power' to earn a wage. Remember again Marx's philosophy of the 'dictatorship of the proletariat.'
The problem here is....without exception, those who succeeded, however briefly, in establishing socialist regimes were NEVER proletariats!! If you look into the lives of the most notable socialist revolutionaries of our time, you will see that they weren't much more than poor little rich kids who had way too much time on their hands--because they were FUNDED by the regimes they eventually overthrew.
And.....people who (their behaviors and the revolutions they led would suggest they had overwhelming compassion for others) had little, if any regard for morals and human life.
Vladimir Lenin. The son of an educator who was decorated by Tsar Alexander II for his dedication to tsarist principles. The brother of a man who was executed for his involvement in the assassination of the tsar who recognized and rewarded his father--and in doing so, elevated Lenin's family to an almost aristocratic status to them. Lenin himself spent many years in exile, living off the money sent to him by his mother......his mother's income being the pension awarded by Tsar Nicholas II for Lenin's father's service to Nicholas' father.....the assassinated Alexander. (It should be noted here that Lenin wrote Karl Marx just before Marx died, and asked him how to precipitate a socialist revolution in Russia. Marx's response was that a socialist revolution would be virtually impossible in Russia because--even with the vast wealth of the Romanovs--the tsars--there was not enough wealth to go around.) It should also be noted that every socialist revolution in history have taken place in countries of abject poverty....populations with illiterate, uneducated people who would naturally fall under the spell of someone who would promise them the world. The ruthlessness of those who promised them the world keep them silent. There is a story about Lenin at the time his mother in law died. His wife, nursing her dying mother, asked Lenin to wake her if her mother needed her. Lenin's wife woke to find her mother dead. When she asked Lenin, "Why didn't you wake me?" Lenin's response was, "She was dead.....she didn't need you."
Stalin. Born to a relatively wealthy family in what is now the country of Georgia. Studied for the priesthood before embracing socialism. Went on to murder 30 million of his own people.
Mao Tse-tung. Son of a wealthy trader. Educated at secondary schools and universities (in China at that time, a miracle in and of itself.) Married a woman already promised in marriage by her father--Mao's professor--only to have her murdered while he lived openly with a 17 year old girl. Mao raped countless young girls--the younger the better--only to have them executed or resigned them to live as his concubine for as long as he willed. In his little red book, Mao stated that 'political power grows from the barrel of a gun.'
Ho Chi Minh. Son of a lawyer and a baroness, under then-French ruled Indochina. Educated in Europe. The guerilla war he fought against South Vietnam and the United States cost North Vietnam 900,000 of the people he pledged to protect. And ironically enough.....worked for a U.S. intelligence agency.
Pol Pot. Born to an aristocratic Chinese-Khmer family. Moved in high circles in French-run Indochina. Attended college in Paris. Joined the communist movement in Cambodia and later went on to lead a revolution and founded the Khmer Rouge, who would ultimately kill 1/3 of Cambodia's population, and who systematically tortured and killed 'educated' members of Cambodia, whom he felt a threat to his system and the agrarian society he wanted to establish.
Kim Il-Song. Here is one example of a man who lived neither in poverty nor in particular privilege. Born in Vladivostok to a minister. Only formally educated for eight years. Kim Il-Song's placement in power can be attributed only to being in the right place at the right time: Stalin need a puppet regime for North Korea. Kim Il-Song was chosen by Stalin for this task--and it is believed it was due to his lack of formal education: Stalin felt he would be easier to manipulate. During Il-Song's regime and now that of his son, the notorious Kim Jong-Il, hundreds of thousands have died of famine--and there is open cannibalsim in North Korea in hopes of staving off starvation--while the government lives in obscene luxury.
Which leads me to what would appear to be the next socialist revolutionary on the world scene. President Barack Obama. Born in Hawaii (we would be led to believe) to an American mother and a Kenyan father (whom, after the age of two, only saw once in his life.) Educated in Indonesia at parochial schools. Attended Harvard and Yale. Elected to the U.S. Senate after having worked (and at least he's had a job, I'll give him that) as a constitutional rights professor and a lawyer. Spent 158 days in office before deciding to run for President, wins the election and manages in his first year in office to trample of the constitutional rigths he formerly taught (and how I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall in that class, because I wonder what he taught.) Passes openly socialist legislation in spite of a public who did all but launch an armed assault on Washington to stop it. Which makes me wonder what he would do if he were really backed in a corner--what would armed resistance be met with?
Reverend Al Sharpton openly admitted recently that when the American public voted for Obama, they voted for a socialist agenda. If that is true, I would encourage Americans--and those of you who read this, encourage your liberal Democrat friends to research the history of socialism.......and remind:
Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The heart of the matter...
"The Heart of the Matter" is one of my favorite songs by Don Henley. It's a lesson to everyone.....more profound words have hardly ever been written.
I have been honest here on my blog about bipolar disorder...although I am lucky in that mine is not as bad as it could be--that doesn't mean I don't have bad cycles. I do.
And the past month has been one of those bad episodes. It's the first depressed episode since I was diagnosed five years ago. I consider myself lucky....and thanks to a good doctor and good meds, I am already on the mend.....
....two weeks ago, I couldn't say that. I sat in my car in the parking lot of the skate park and just sat behind the wheel and cried. I was so close to not going home that I actually made a left hand turn toward 575 and reluctantly turned around....only after I remembered: my babies.
During a check up today, to see how the new meds were working and to talk about what was bothering me....I broke down and cried, out of absolutely nowhere.
And--LOL--she was probably glad to see me go today. She was kind and caring enough--but today I was having a pity party of the first order......or maybe not.
It's alot of things that are bothering me. Things I haven't been able to give a name to. For someone I hadn't seen in years and years, my cousin's suicide haunts me.
It's George, but it's other things, too. It's the desperation to get into clinicals in the fall. It's work....I am so very disgusted with the situation there.
But today, the doctor was able to put her finger on it and name it, and it was so obvious that I am ashamed to admit I couldn't give it words: my overwhelming need to have people like me, to need (for the most part) forgiveness.....that nothing I am doing in making a difference, and that I am a burden to others. My condition alone is a burden.
It's when my paycheck falls short. And when it does, Bill has to pay for groceries. It's the look on his face at the check-out....pure disgust. It makes me feel helpless and yeah--like it's a burden to him to have to feed his family.
It's the messes the kids leave everywhere. I clean like crazy on my days off.....it does absolutely no good. I come in most nights and have to pick up, or clean up a mess the dog has made they didn't bother to pick up. I woke up this morning to find my son had emptied his backpack of his gym clothes......and had strewn them all over my office floor. What kind of shit is that?
It's when I clean the living room couch and chairs, and lift the cushions--the shit I find. I took covers off the couches the other day, washed them, steam cleaned and Febreezed, and found yogurt cups, spoons, broken pencils (Christopher) and any number of small toys and doo-dads.
It's going in to work to find a packdown list a mile long, and it all requires using the lift equipment--and that means me.
It's Bill telling me that respect is earned. It was a blow.....three kids. Worked up until the day before the girls were due. Came home from the hospital and cooked dinner after they were born--he didn't want to spend money on eating out. Work. Raise the kids. Go to school.....all this with a heart condition--not to mention the emotional issues.
It's Misty......when she says, "Go take a pill--you're good at that."
It's my father's wife, for whom I can never do anything right. It's the scares-the-living-shit-out-of-me fear that something is going to happen to Dad and she'll keep me away. When wondering aloud why she thinks I'm such a bad person--both my Dad and Misty ask me, "She never said you're a bad person...." Does she really have to? She won't speak to me and has spurned my efforts to make things right. I know that Misty has had at least one discussion with Dorothy about the whole situation.......that knowledge that Misty and Dorothy have discussed me feels alot like betrayal....because I know that Misty is willing to do just about anything to stay on her good side--up to and including writing me off. While I don't want my sister to write me off......the small part of me wants to write her off for siding with Dorothy. And while she says she isn't taking sides--her actions say different.
It's my father-in-law. Bill--without thinking, no doubt--revealed a conversation he'd had with his parents a few weeks ago. The impression I got was that, once again, his father was putting me in an unfavorable light. The fact that Bill allowed the conversation to go on makes me feel pretty shitty. For the kids' sake, and in the interest of hoping--as I always do--to repair and make amends.........allowed him back in my life. Temporarily. And damned if he didn't turn right around and piss me off once again about my lack of submissiveness and the fact that I am not under the authority of my husband--nor do I obey him. (I never promised I would--there's no way in Hell I'd agree to that.) Since Bill allows this of his father, I decided to let Roger in on what his beloved son--you know, the one whose authority I'm supposed to be under--has pulled here lately. He lashed out at me for airing dirty laundry.....and I told him he seemed pretty eager to air mine; and that if he wanted to bitch me out on the Biblical characteristics of a wife, Bill's job is priest, provider and protector--and that he's got the provider part down for the most part--but I still have to work, so he's not holding up that end of the proverbial deal. If he was providing, I wouldn't have to. And as to protector--there have been times I'd have been better protected by a serial killer........
It's Rebecca. She is steeped in her own issues right now, and I haven't been such a great friend to her. I am trying to do more of the listening.....I hate to think she is going through what I am, because it's a living hell that I wouldn't wish on anyone, especially not my best friend. She doesn't deserve this.
I think I have decided that my need for forgiveness......and it always points back to this--and I don't mean for it to; Mom is dead and not here to defend herself. But......I always wanted Mom's love and forgiveness.......and yeah, for her to like me. Ultimately, I know she loved me......but I don't think she ever LIKED me.
And.....back to the heart of the matter. I have done what the lyrics say--I am carrying alot of anger--among other things, and it is eating me up inside right now, I do believe.
While I'm doing better than I was two weeks ago, I'm still ironing some things out. There are some things that I have to work on--as always.
Now these times are so uncertain
There's a yearning undefined
And people filled with rage
We all need a little tenderness--
How can love survive in such a graceless age?
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
They're the very things we kill, I guess
Pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms
And the work I put between us
You know it doesn't keep me warm
I have been honest here on my blog about bipolar disorder...although I am lucky in that mine is not as bad as it could be--that doesn't mean I don't have bad cycles. I do.
And the past month has been one of those bad episodes. It's the first depressed episode since I was diagnosed five years ago. I consider myself lucky....and thanks to a good doctor and good meds, I am already on the mend.....
....two weeks ago, I couldn't say that. I sat in my car in the parking lot of the skate park and just sat behind the wheel and cried. I was so close to not going home that I actually made a left hand turn toward 575 and reluctantly turned around....only after I remembered: my babies.
During a check up today, to see how the new meds were working and to talk about what was bothering me....I broke down and cried, out of absolutely nowhere.
And--LOL--she was probably glad to see me go today. She was kind and caring enough--but today I was having a pity party of the first order......or maybe not.
It's alot of things that are bothering me. Things I haven't been able to give a name to. For someone I hadn't seen in years and years, my cousin's suicide haunts me.
It's George, but it's other things, too. It's the desperation to get into clinicals in the fall. It's work....I am so very disgusted with the situation there.
But today, the doctor was able to put her finger on it and name it, and it was so obvious that I am ashamed to admit I couldn't give it words: my overwhelming need to have people like me, to need (for the most part) forgiveness.....that nothing I am doing in making a difference, and that I am a burden to others. My condition alone is a burden.
It's when my paycheck falls short. And when it does, Bill has to pay for groceries. It's the look on his face at the check-out....pure disgust. It makes me feel helpless and yeah--like it's a burden to him to have to feed his family.
It's the messes the kids leave everywhere. I clean like crazy on my days off.....it does absolutely no good. I come in most nights and have to pick up, or clean up a mess the dog has made they didn't bother to pick up. I woke up this morning to find my son had emptied his backpack of his gym clothes......and had strewn them all over my office floor. What kind of shit is that?
It's when I clean the living room couch and chairs, and lift the cushions--the shit I find. I took covers off the couches the other day, washed them, steam cleaned and Febreezed, and found yogurt cups, spoons, broken pencils (Christopher) and any number of small toys and doo-dads.
It's going in to work to find a packdown list a mile long, and it all requires using the lift equipment--and that means me.
It's Bill telling me that respect is earned. It was a blow.....three kids. Worked up until the day before the girls were due. Came home from the hospital and cooked dinner after they were born--he didn't want to spend money on eating out. Work. Raise the kids. Go to school.....all this with a heart condition--not to mention the emotional issues.
It's Misty......when she says, "Go take a pill--you're good at that."
It's my father's wife, for whom I can never do anything right. It's the scares-the-living-shit-out-of-me fear that something is going to happen to Dad and she'll keep me away. When wondering aloud why she thinks I'm such a bad person--both my Dad and Misty ask me, "She never said you're a bad person...." Does she really have to? She won't speak to me and has spurned my efforts to make things right. I know that Misty has had at least one discussion with Dorothy about the whole situation.......that knowledge that Misty and Dorothy have discussed me feels alot like betrayal....because I know that Misty is willing to do just about anything to stay on her good side--up to and including writing me off. While I don't want my sister to write me off......the small part of me wants to write her off for siding with Dorothy. And while she says she isn't taking sides--her actions say different.
It's my father-in-law. Bill--without thinking, no doubt--revealed a conversation he'd had with his parents a few weeks ago. The impression I got was that, once again, his father was putting me in an unfavorable light. The fact that Bill allowed the conversation to go on makes me feel pretty shitty. For the kids' sake, and in the interest of hoping--as I always do--to repair and make amends.........allowed him back in my life. Temporarily. And damned if he didn't turn right around and piss me off once again about my lack of submissiveness and the fact that I am not under the authority of my husband--nor do I obey him. (I never promised I would--there's no way in Hell I'd agree to that.) Since Bill allows this of his father, I decided to let Roger in on what his beloved son--you know, the one whose authority I'm supposed to be under--has pulled here lately. He lashed out at me for airing dirty laundry.....and I told him he seemed pretty eager to air mine; and that if he wanted to bitch me out on the Biblical characteristics of a wife, Bill's job is priest, provider and protector--and that he's got the provider part down for the most part--but I still have to work, so he's not holding up that end of the proverbial deal. If he was providing, I wouldn't have to. And as to protector--there have been times I'd have been better protected by a serial killer........
It's Rebecca. She is steeped in her own issues right now, and I haven't been such a great friend to her. I am trying to do more of the listening.....I hate to think she is going through what I am, because it's a living hell that I wouldn't wish on anyone, especially not my best friend. She doesn't deserve this.
I think I have decided that my need for forgiveness......and it always points back to this--and I don't mean for it to; Mom is dead and not here to defend herself. But......I always wanted Mom's love and forgiveness.......and yeah, for her to like me. Ultimately, I know she loved me......but I don't think she ever LIKED me.
And.....back to the heart of the matter. I have done what the lyrics say--I am carrying alot of anger--among other things, and it is eating me up inside right now, I do believe.
While I'm doing better than I was two weeks ago, I'm still ironing some things out. There are some things that I have to work on--as always.
Now these times are so uncertain
There's a yearning undefined
And people filled with rage
We all need a little tenderness--
How can love survive in such a graceless age?
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
They're the very things we kill, I guess
Pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms
And the work I put between us
You know it doesn't keep me warm
Friday, March 12, 2010
Black sheep
Everyone has a black sheep in their family. In my family, that would definitely be me.
I have struggled with this blog for days--over a week, easily. This is my little spot where I can be completely and totally honest with myself and others. I don't want to come across sounding bitter and angry, because there's already been enough of that in this matter. And the truth of the matter is, most of the biterness and anger has been on my part. (That's also not to say I'm not still bitter and angry--I am still very bitter....but the anger has turned to defiance.)
Defiance....not one of my finer qualities. Bitch is another one. People need to realize that calling a woman a 'bitch' doesn't even hurt anymore. It's a badge of honor. It means I'm not going to put up with anyone's bullshit. If I think something's not right--you can bet I'll call you on it. The way I call you on it depends entirely on the way the offender has treated me in the past. I have tact. Sometimes, I can show a great deal of it.
Other times, I will show my entire Morgan ass--and it's big and ugly.
And here goes the honesty--my thoughts and feelings; proceed with caution.
Let us start with this: a couple of weeks ago, my stepniece (whom my father insists has NO idea who I am) messaged me on Facebook with some very interesting things to say. Very interesting vocabulary and sentiments from a nine year old. I'm not saying someone put her up to doing it, what I am saying is--she heard this from an adult, and kids, God love 'em, will say exactly what they have heard.
My first reaction was this--there is no way on Earth or in Heaven my father would have tolerated that from my sister or I. We would have needed a dentist, if we weren't buried in the backyard for it.
The argument from Dad and Dorothy--she doesn't even know who you are. Oh, really? So--I'm to believe that 1) my stepsister allowed her to become 'friends' with someone--an adult--with absolutely NO explanation as to who I was; and 2) Not only would the child talk to an adult like that, but a complete stranger, too?
Does anyone smell shit yet?
My father once told me I'd be a GREAT lawyer. Because I can catch someone shoveling crap, and damn if I won't question it. My father and I had a very heated argument. I got a double dose of temper. My stepsister then messaged my daughter with a message I didn't like at all--and I heatedly called my father and told him to tell his stepdaughter to keep her f****** mouth shut to my kids.
I admit--that was an overreaction. I am in no way claiming to be perfect here.
I asked my father's forgiveness. Publicly. He said that he, of course, forgave me, and I would never stop being his daughter. But that there were two other people that I needed to ask forgiveness of.
I never spoke a word to Dorothy or Sonica. Not one. And....to back up a little here, I've been more than a little galled by the following:
Dorothy is 'friends' on Facebook with my Dad. Her daughter. Her granddaughter, my sister, and my kids....
But not me. She blocked me, and it hasn't been just since this argument. She has never allowed me to be among her 'friends'.
So, I have no way of apologizing to Dorothy, other than to do it on Dad's page where she is sure to see it--I'm sure she has. I have called Dad.......and at first, he told me to give it a week, and I mighthave to eat some crow. Okay. A week became two or three. And now two or three has become, "Maybe you two can sit down and talk at the family reunion....."
The family reunion is in July.
Now, I ask--if someone doesn't want to talk to me until July, that tells me that they're hoping I'll forget all about it; and that she doesn't want to talk to me, not now, and yeah--not ever. Would that not say the same to my readers here?
I'm a pretty black or white kind of person. I see that my Dad and my sister have their place in her heart. I don't. And neither my Dad or my sister are willing to plead my case to her because they don't want to rock the boat (I'll rock the boat. I'll turn that son of a bitch over.)
I admit here--I want my Dad to intervene on my behalf. I want my sister to do it, too......because they are the only way I have of reaching out to her. She will not speak at all to me. There's nothing I can do. Dad's the one who told me I have to apologize--and now she refuses to accept it.
There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it like it is: being the black or white person I am--their attitudes and their refusal to intervene for me spells betrayal. I understand that Dad has to keep the peace with her--she is, after all, his wife. My sister's continuation of any sort of relationship with her hurts like hell.
On this note I will end it: she wants me to wait until July to speak to me. Which to me says, "You can stew in it until then." I am going to do my level best not to stew in it another minute. And I've got SUCH news for everyone concerned--she wants to wait until July.........and she'll keep right on waiting. Because I'll be damned if I go crawling to her for anything after she has time and again spurned my attempts at making things right. She can take her forgiveness and shove it up her ass--because that's sure as hell where I'll put my apologies.
I have struggled with this blog for days--over a week, easily. This is my little spot where I can be completely and totally honest with myself and others. I don't want to come across sounding bitter and angry, because there's already been enough of that in this matter. And the truth of the matter is, most of the biterness and anger has been on my part. (That's also not to say I'm not still bitter and angry--I am still very bitter....but the anger has turned to defiance.)
Defiance....not one of my finer qualities. Bitch is another one. People need to realize that calling a woman a 'bitch' doesn't even hurt anymore. It's a badge of honor. It means I'm not going to put up with anyone's bullshit. If I think something's not right--you can bet I'll call you on it. The way I call you on it depends entirely on the way the offender has treated me in the past. I have tact. Sometimes, I can show a great deal of it.
Other times, I will show my entire Morgan ass--and it's big and ugly.
And here goes the honesty--my thoughts and feelings; proceed with caution.
Let us start with this: a couple of weeks ago, my stepniece (whom my father insists has NO idea who I am) messaged me on Facebook with some very interesting things to say. Very interesting vocabulary and sentiments from a nine year old. I'm not saying someone put her up to doing it, what I am saying is--she heard this from an adult, and kids, God love 'em, will say exactly what they have heard.
My first reaction was this--there is no way on Earth or in Heaven my father would have tolerated that from my sister or I. We would have needed a dentist, if we weren't buried in the backyard for it.
The argument from Dad and Dorothy--she doesn't even know who you are. Oh, really? So--I'm to believe that 1) my stepsister allowed her to become 'friends' with someone--an adult--with absolutely NO explanation as to who I was; and 2) Not only would the child talk to an adult like that, but a complete stranger, too?
Does anyone smell shit yet?
My father once told me I'd be a GREAT lawyer. Because I can catch someone shoveling crap, and damn if I won't question it. My father and I had a very heated argument. I got a double dose of temper. My stepsister then messaged my daughter with a message I didn't like at all--and I heatedly called my father and told him to tell his stepdaughter to keep her f****** mouth shut to my kids.
I admit--that was an overreaction. I am in no way claiming to be perfect here.
I asked my father's forgiveness. Publicly. He said that he, of course, forgave me, and I would never stop being his daughter. But that there were two other people that I needed to ask forgiveness of.
I never spoke a word to Dorothy or Sonica. Not one. And....to back up a little here, I've been more than a little galled by the following:
Dorothy is 'friends' on Facebook with my Dad. Her daughter. Her granddaughter, my sister, and my kids....
But not me. She blocked me, and it hasn't been just since this argument. She has never allowed me to be among her 'friends'.
So, I have no way of apologizing to Dorothy, other than to do it on Dad's page where she is sure to see it--I'm sure she has. I have called Dad.......and at first, he told me to give it a week, and I mighthave to eat some crow. Okay. A week became two or three. And now two or three has become, "Maybe you two can sit down and talk at the family reunion....."
The family reunion is in July.
Now, I ask--if someone doesn't want to talk to me until July, that tells me that they're hoping I'll forget all about it; and that she doesn't want to talk to me, not now, and yeah--not ever. Would that not say the same to my readers here?
I'm a pretty black or white kind of person. I see that my Dad and my sister have their place in her heart. I don't. And neither my Dad or my sister are willing to plead my case to her because they don't want to rock the boat (I'll rock the boat. I'll turn that son of a bitch over.)
I admit here--I want my Dad to intervene on my behalf. I want my sister to do it, too......because they are the only way I have of reaching out to her. She will not speak at all to me. There's nothing I can do. Dad's the one who told me I have to apologize--and now she refuses to accept it.
There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it like it is: being the black or white person I am--their attitudes and their refusal to intervene for me spells betrayal. I understand that Dad has to keep the peace with her--she is, after all, his wife. My sister's continuation of any sort of relationship with her hurts like hell.
On this note I will end it: she wants me to wait until July to speak to me. Which to me says, "You can stew in it until then." I am going to do my level best not to stew in it another minute. And I've got SUCH news for everyone concerned--she wants to wait until July.........and she'll keep right on waiting. Because I'll be damned if I go crawling to her for anything after she has time and again spurned my attempts at making things right. She can take her forgiveness and shove it up her ass--because that's sure as hell where I'll put my apologies.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thanatopsis....
'Thanatopsis' is a famous literary work by someone whose name I'm not remembering right this very moment. I remember studying it in eleventh grade American literature.
The definition of it is a meditation of death...not in terms of doing something to precipitate your own death, but thinking of death from a philosophical point of view.
I found out today that my cousin George took his own life sometime late last night. Tonight as I think about it, there is grief inside me....and, as usually is the case with me, it's not so much grief for the dead as it is for those left behind.....George's brothers and sister. My Dad, who helped care for the five boys before Joy was born. I've known my Dad long enough to know the remarks he makes when he's truly hurting, and when I spoke with him today, there was a sadness in his voice that said, "Those kids never had a chance."
From what I remember of him--and admittedly, it's not much--he was very quiet. Jeffrey and Joy were the two I was closest to....Joy I went to school with, spent the night with several times; a couple of them at our great-aunt Opal's house. She lived in a house out in the sticks and it had an incredibly high porch with a front porch swing. Joy and I used to swing that thing so high Mamaw would yell at us--she was always afraid one of the kids was going to go right over that porch. Because she lived in the sticks--Aunt Opal used to leave the back door--the one in the kitchen--open, just the screen door between the kitchen and the outdoors. Joy and I woke up one morning to find that a racoon had chewed its way through the screen and was sitting on the kitchen table, and screaming like little girls (we were--I think I was 12 and Joy was 13) and Mamaw threatening to switch us over something so silly. The racoon had fled in probably sheer terror at us screaming. Joy and I were talking at Mamaw at once--we had gotten in behind her and was pushing her toward the kitchen. It makes me smile.
They are my Uncle Gene's kids--my Dad's oldest brother. My Uncle Gene died at only 46. Tonight I am thinking about the time--when I spent the night with her at my Aunt Eva's--Joy told me about the day my uncle died. She was eight years old...I haven't seen Joy in (God, is it possible?) eighteen years. George I hadn't seen in almost 20. The last time I saw George was the last time I saw all of Uncle Gene's kids together: Mitch, Jimmy, George, Robert, Jeffrey and Joy.
Jeffrey died the same day as my mother.
I've lost aunts and uncles.....it's something you expect. But when it's the grandkids--my cousins--it feels a little closer to home. I think George was about ten years older than me--which would have made him one year younger than Uncle Gene when he died. My Mamaw had 27 grandkids...we're now down to 23. I'm thinking of Mamaw tonight, too....George is with her now. But I'm thinking about both grandmothers. My Mamaw--my Dad's mother--outlived two children, her husband, and three of her grandchildren; Mark, Jeffrey, and little Vicky, who was stillborn. My Mom's mother outlived two husbands and five children. Both of them had long lives; lives well lived: Mamaw was 82. Grandma Ayers was 94.
I don't wonder what Joy is feeling tonight--I know what she feels. But once upon a time, I knew Joy very well, and I know that she is taking this really hard. And I'm so sorry for her.
While I don't remember much of George, I only wish there was something--anything--someone could have said to him. I understand the emotions behind what he did. I wish someone could have/would have told him that it gets better. I hate to think of anyone dying alone. Our family reunion is coming up in July....I was hoping to see the surviving cousins of my Uncle Gene. It's been too long.
As saddening as death is.....once again, there is the comfort of family. While of course nobody looks forward to the death of a loved one, the gathering of family is sustaining. It eases the ache; and although most of us won't be able to make it for George's farewell (he lived in Maine)--today I spoke with alot of the family; the memories poured out, even a few funny stories (thanks, Aunt Ann) and the 'I love yous', which I love about my Dad's family. They are healing.
So many grandkids did Mamaw have--I even have cousins with the same names. There are many namesakes in my family....some of them, I think the aunts and uncles must have forgotten: "Ooops, we already HAD one of those." I say that in the purest love and a little amusement.
I am thinking of the whole family tonight. We are one less. The family reunions when I was a kid--and there were alot of them--some of my cousins are second sisters and brothers to me.
I've run down all of our names many times in my mind today...and I'll say each and every one of them here:
George (Dave). Vicky. Russell (Mitch). James (Jimmy). George. Robert. Jeffrey. Joy. Rhonda. Michael. Lisa. Jeffrey (Jeff). Darwin. Melissa (Missy). Scott. Mark. David. Eugenia (Suzanne.) Mary (Libby). Vicky. Cheri. Misty. Patrick (Rick.) Caryn. Robert (Robbie). Ginger. Amanda.
Of all of us, Baby Vicky (who died when I was a year old), one of our Jeffreys, Mark, and now George have left us. This is my remembrance to them.
And my love to those of us still here.
The definition of it is a meditation of death...not in terms of doing something to precipitate your own death, but thinking of death from a philosophical point of view.
I found out today that my cousin George took his own life sometime late last night. Tonight as I think about it, there is grief inside me....and, as usually is the case with me, it's not so much grief for the dead as it is for those left behind.....George's brothers and sister. My Dad, who helped care for the five boys before Joy was born. I've known my Dad long enough to know the remarks he makes when he's truly hurting, and when I spoke with him today, there was a sadness in his voice that said, "Those kids never had a chance."
From what I remember of him--and admittedly, it's not much--he was very quiet. Jeffrey and Joy were the two I was closest to....Joy I went to school with, spent the night with several times; a couple of them at our great-aunt Opal's house. She lived in a house out in the sticks and it had an incredibly high porch with a front porch swing. Joy and I used to swing that thing so high Mamaw would yell at us--she was always afraid one of the kids was going to go right over that porch. Because she lived in the sticks--Aunt Opal used to leave the back door--the one in the kitchen--open, just the screen door between the kitchen and the outdoors. Joy and I woke up one morning to find that a racoon had chewed its way through the screen and was sitting on the kitchen table, and screaming like little girls (we were--I think I was 12 and Joy was 13) and Mamaw threatening to switch us over something so silly. The racoon had fled in probably sheer terror at us screaming. Joy and I were talking at Mamaw at once--we had gotten in behind her and was pushing her toward the kitchen. It makes me smile.
They are my Uncle Gene's kids--my Dad's oldest brother. My Uncle Gene died at only 46. Tonight I am thinking about the time--when I spent the night with her at my Aunt Eva's--Joy told me about the day my uncle died. She was eight years old...I haven't seen Joy in (God, is it possible?) eighteen years. George I hadn't seen in almost 20. The last time I saw George was the last time I saw all of Uncle Gene's kids together: Mitch, Jimmy, George, Robert, Jeffrey and Joy.
Jeffrey died the same day as my mother.
I've lost aunts and uncles.....it's something you expect. But when it's the grandkids--my cousins--it feels a little closer to home. I think George was about ten years older than me--which would have made him one year younger than Uncle Gene when he died. My Mamaw had 27 grandkids...we're now down to 23. I'm thinking of Mamaw tonight, too....George is with her now. But I'm thinking about both grandmothers. My Mamaw--my Dad's mother--outlived two children, her husband, and three of her grandchildren; Mark, Jeffrey, and little Vicky, who was stillborn. My Mom's mother outlived two husbands and five children. Both of them had long lives; lives well lived: Mamaw was 82. Grandma Ayers was 94.
I don't wonder what Joy is feeling tonight--I know what she feels. But once upon a time, I knew Joy very well, and I know that she is taking this really hard. And I'm so sorry for her.
While I don't remember much of George, I only wish there was something--anything--someone could have said to him. I understand the emotions behind what he did. I wish someone could have/would have told him that it gets better. I hate to think of anyone dying alone. Our family reunion is coming up in July....I was hoping to see the surviving cousins of my Uncle Gene. It's been too long.
As saddening as death is.....once again, there is the comfort of family. While of course nobody looks forward to the death of a loved one, the gathering of family is sustaining. It eases the ache; and although most of us won't be able to make it for George's farewell (he lived in Maine)--today I spoke with alot of the family; the memories poured out, even a few funny stories (thanks, Aunt Ann) and the 'I love yous', which I love about my Dad's family. They are healing.
So many grandkids did Mamaw have--I even have cousins with the same names. There are many namesakes in my family....some of them, I think the aunts and uncles must have forgotten: "Ooops, we already HAD one of those." I say that in the purest love and a little amusement.
I am thinking of the whole family tonight. We are one less. The family reunions when I was a kid--and there were alot of them--some of my cousins are second sisters and brothers to me.
I've run down all of our names many times in my mind today...and I'll say each and every one of them here:
George (Dave). Vicky. Russell (Mitch). James (Jimmy). George. Robert. Jeffrey. Joy. Rhonda. Michael. Lisa. Jeffrey (Jeff). Darwin. Melissa (Missy). Scott. Mark. David. Eugenia (Suzanne.) Mary (Libby). Vicky. Cheri. Misty. Patrick (Rick.) Caryn. Robert (Robbie). Ginger. Amanda.
Of all of us, Baby Vicky (who died when I was a year old), one of our Jeffreys, Mark, and now George have left us. This is my remembrance to them.
And my love to those of us still here.
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