An Open Letter to my Siblings

Dear Susan, Douglas, and Joe

First of all, I would like to apologize and ask forgiveness. I know that in the weeks and months after Mom's death, I said and did things that caused you added pain and grief. My only defense is temporary insanity. The grief I was experiencing after losing not only my mother, but my best friend, was so intense, I literally thought my heart wasn't going to make it. Added to that was the shock of finding out that all the things I believed about my family were lies. None of you ever loved me, and things you said and did cast doubt on whether or not Mom had loved me as well. I know that doesn't erase words and deeds, but I am sincerely sorry for letting my grief override my judgement, and allowing me to say and do things I normally would not think of expressing.

But for me, at least, it's all in the past. I also forgive you for all the things you said and did that added to my pain and grief. Mom worried constantly that our family would fall apart after she died, and I never understood why. Now I do. I've tried to reach out to some of you, only to be ignored. I'm trying one last time to heal the rift. I know we'll never be best friends, but I wish with all my heart we could at least be civil to one another. For Mom's sake. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you. Maybe you hate me so much you can't accept my apology. I hope not. I'm holding out my hand in peace and in hopes that we can put the last 18 months behind us and keep the family bond intact.
I do love all of you, and miss hearing from you.
Love,
your sister

No Manilow For You!!

I was reminded today of that Sienfeld episode, "The Soup Nazi". Remember that one, when Jerry and George go to get soup, and they have to follow the soup nazi's rules for ordering. George gets his soup, but not his free bread. When he complains, the soup nazi gets angry, and refunds his money, while taking away his soup. Elaine, who wasn't with the two at the time, goes to get soup, ignores advice about how to order, and annoys the soup nazi to the point where he not only refuses her soup, he bans her from his store for a year.

Sound familiar? It should. Perhaps the new name for tptb or HWSNBN should be "The Show Nazi".

Barry Manilow, Bob Dylan, and me

I was listening to the radio the other day on my way home from work. This in itself is unusual, since I prefer either silence or songs from the dozen old cassettes I keep in the car. But I digress. As I said, I was listening to the radio, and I hear a commercial for Bob Dylan's upcoming concerts. And it made me remember a quote I used to loved, from a writer by the name of D.G. Fulford. Over 20 years ago, she wrote a column for the LA Daily News. I don't remember where I read it, possibly it was printed in the local San Jose Mercury News. Whatever. She was writing about Boy Dylan, and she's describing how his singing affected her: "I used to think that Dylan's voice was my personal silent dog whistle. It affected me viscerally."

Viscerally. The dictionary defines that as "deep, instinctive", or "dealing with elemental emotions". In layman's terms, it hit her right in the gut.

I remember that quote because it described how I used to feel about Barry Manilow. I used to feel a connection to him that couldn't be explained. I remember buying my very first Manilow album. I was just browsing through the local five-and-dime, wasting time til it was time to pick up my youngest from kindergarten. I picked up a record album, and looking into the eyes of the singer on the cover, I literally felt something snap into place. I didn't realize what was happening then, I just knew I had to buy that album. And eventually, every album I could get my hands on.

There's a book by Richard Bach, called "The Bridge Across Forever". One of the main characters talks of being lonely, even in a crowd. She askes "Did you ever feel you were missing someone you've never met?" I had felt like that my entire life, even after I met and fell in love with my (now ex) husband.

Barry's voice spoke to me, and filled up the spaces that had been empty and lonely.
I imagined a connection between us, a soul connection I was convinced came from past lives together. In 1987, when the call went out for questions for a Q&A at the fan club convention in Washington DC, I sent in my postcard. My question was "Do you believe in reincarnation, or at least acknowledge the possibility of the soul having more than one chance at human existance?" I attended the convention, and the Q&A. Imagine my shock when I realized Barry had picked my question as one of those he would answer. And his answer was yes, he did believe.

Over the years, I had several opportunities to meet Barry. Each time, I hung back, and let the others with me have their pictures taken, or, on the one instance I actually was in the photo, I stood off to one side.

D.G.Fulford understood. Defending herself to disparaging friends, she said "You're not from the same planet that Dylan's from. If you were from the planet, and spoke the language, you would be worthy to talk about this. But you don't get it. I do. Me and Dylan, man, we're tight." "Well, please. Me and Dylan, man, we're not tight. I had a chance to meet him once but was too afraid. I would have died, you see, if this idol had met me and not recognized me from the aforementioned planet."

"I would have died, you see..." My greatest fear was not that I would never meet Barry Manilow but that we would meet and he would not recognize me as his soulmate.

During the period of my most intense Manilow addiction, I was also a student of New Age philosophies. I remember reading a book that discussed harmonic resonances. The idea was that everything in the universe vibrates with a certain frequency, and if you hear something..a symphony, a bird song, whatever, that vibrates at the same frequency, the resonance brings a sense of well-being, and can awaken memories or inspire action. Some even suggested that certain vibrations could bring about world peace. I've often wondered if that explains Barry's success. Does his voice vibrate with a frequency designed by the cosmos to touch a chord in humanity? Is there some hidden message in his songs that mankind needs to hear?? We'll probably never know.
But I do know that his voice has always been MY personal silent dog whistle.

Today is my birthday. I woke up this morning, got up and put on my shoes and coat to take the dog for a walk, and as we stepped out into the 5am cold and dark, I remembered, and I started to cry. I miss my mom and dad so much. And I miss my sister. I still don't understand how I could misread her affection for so long, or why she hates me so much.

I am so very very sad. Every day I get up and put on a mask for those around me who say they love me. I guess they do, at least for now. but I'm not sure anymore. I can't believe anything is real any more. I've been lied to and smacked down so often, I can't believe in goodness anymore.

I wish I could die. I wish I could do something about that. I'm either too noble or too cowardly to do anything. Hurting those around me is something I go to great lengths to avoid. And I know if I died it would hurt my daughter and my grandkids. So I suck it up and pretend everything is ok, and I start to cry the minute I get in the car at night, and the tears continue until I go to bed.

It makes me mad that I can't appreciate what I have because I'm so sad about what I'm missing.
What a rotten way to spend a birthday.

The sun is finally shining outside. It's still cold, but at least the sky is blue. Too bad it's so black in my heart. I'm so tired of feeling like crap. I'm so tired of people treating me like something to be avoided. I'm not really that bad a person, am I? If I am, I think I should just die now and get it over with. I really do want to die. I just don't have the guts to do anything about it. I'm such a pushover. I never say no to anyone (Marc Hulett excepted). I worry constantly about upsetting my family. I put on this mask every day so no one knows how sad and hurting I am. If I were to get sick, I would just curl up and die, willingly.

I was out walking the dog tonight and as I passed a neighbor's yard, I caught a whiff of fresh mown grass and suddenly I was transported to a late summer evening, sitting on the step of the trailer, sipping a glass of wine and watching Mom clipping back the ferns by the patio door. I can't believe that it's been over 13 months, and I still miss her as much as I did the day she died. Maybe more. When I pull the car into the garage I think of her. When I fix dinner, and set up my tv tray, I think of her. When I put on my pajamas, and get ready for bed, Ithink of her, and wish with all my heart I could walk down the hall to her room, lean in and kiss her goodnight. I would give just about everything I own if I could have one more day with her to talk to her, to ask her all the questions we left unanswered, to tell her how sorry I am for all the times I lost patience with her, how grateful I am for the gifts she gave me in her lifetime. I miss her caring about me, and fixing me dinner, and all the times we just hung out, talking. damn. It's not fair.

I suggested to God today that if He needs another soul, he can take me, if he would spare Layla Grace. I know he doesn't want me, cuz I'm not going to heaven. I wish I was, cuz then I'd see Mom again. I wish I could go to sleep and have Mom visit me in my sleep and tell me all the things I don't have answers to.

Time flies....

I used to say that to my Mom..."Time flies" and she would reply..."No, time stays. Tis we who fly." And she flew away. I haven't posted anything in over a year and a half. Small wonder I even remembered this was here. The last few months of 2008 were chaotic, to say the least. Babysitting the grandkids, calling 911 over and over. My trip to Ireland. The holidays. And then, just as 2009 was beginning, Mom was ending. For the rest of my life, I'll see her face as she died, holding my hands and gazing at me with love and reassuance. It's ok, she seemed to be saying. This is what I want. It's ok. I'm ready to go.

She was ready to go, but I wasn't ready to have her gone. All the bitching I did about her when she was alive, seems so childish and pointless now, 13 months after her death. I think what I really wanted was my old Mom back. The strong, independent Mom. Not the Mom she was after her heart problems. I wanted to make her well. And I could never do that.

For nine months after she died, I just existed. I hated what was happening, and couldn't stop it, since the living trust she and Dad had put everything in was being administered by their lawyer. The problem is, she had trusted the lawyer, and he wasn't capable of being trusted. He had stake in what happened, and Mom's specific handwritten wishes were ignored, and he used the "law" to justify it. Whatever.

I remember saying a week after Mom died, that I would be glad if I never had to see or hear from my siblings again. Several times this past holiday season, I regretted that, but looking back, and remembering what was said and done, I think I was right. I still regret that my sister and I aren't on better terms, but realistically I know what a bitch she is, and I really am better off without her.

I love my new little house, the sunny kitchen, the tiny patio. I can't wait to start my green beans and other stuff, and plant tomatoes. I love a rainy winter night with my fireplace going. I love my quiet craft room and all the storage. I have Mom and Dad to thank, because it was the money from the trust that allowed me to buy this place. I hated leaving Mom's house, and if the lawyer hadn't insisted on selling it, I could have lived there quite happily on my own. Yes it was big, but I could have done it. I wish I had had the money to buy out the sibs, and renovate the bathrooms and kitchen. I could have rented out four of the bedrooms, and used the family room for my craft room. Buster would have had his yard, and I would have had the apple tree and the garden. Still sends a pang through me when I think about spring at Mom's. The forsythia blooming, and the lilac, and the apple tree. And I'm not there to see it. Course, Mom isn't either, so maybe it's good I'm not there. Too many memories, too much grief.