Family Found-Part 2....The New Baby

As I sit here trying to gather my thoughts about my brother, David....I find my thoughts pinging around inside my head like a pinball machine. The logical thing to do is tell the story from the beginning. This is where the story gets, for lack of a better word, weird. Truly, there needs to be another word that covers all aspects of this crazy, amazing, miraculous thing! The first time I spoke to my father was on the evening of June 27. We discussed David and I suggested that he mention me to him before I just barged into his life. I tend to be a 'both feet' jumper, so although I told my Dad that I would give him time..I actually gave him until the next morning because I just couldn't stand to wait another second to talk to my brother. I sent him a private message on Facebook that began with, "Well, Hello BROTHER!...". I can only imagine how that must have felt to wake up to a message like that. I saw that David had read the message...but then nothing. Crickets chirping...for a few hours. It was torture. He was a complete stranger who could have chosen to never, ever responded to that message. Instead what I got (6 agonizing hours later) was a very sweet and uncertain response saying that he was excited to get to know me and that he couldn't get the cheesy grin off his face. We chatted back and forth for a couple of days before either of us got the nerve to call each other. I don't know why it took so long, I suppose there was a fear on both sides of rejection or more heartache. Remember, we are missing one of us. Our brother Scott, who took his own life in 2001. David had to endure that loss without me...and while I can never know the extent of my family's grief, because I didn't know Scott, I still feel the hole in my heart that is left by his absence...but that story is for another blog. Back to the 'baby'. The first night that my brother finally called me we spent about 4 hours on the phone. It was like we were both 16 again talking to our new bff's. I think we covered all the silly and superficial stuff anytime we would start to stall in the conversation. Favorite food...Mexican. Favorite Candy bar...Hershey's with almonds...Surf or Turf...Turf, always! It just went on and on like that for 4 solid hours. Instant, strange connection. Same laugh...same face....same smart mouth & 'Don't give a fuck what people think' attitude...weirder and weirder with every single conversation. When we finally hung up that first night, I was on cloud nine! I was recounting all the things we had talked about to my husband and at one point he said to me, 'it's like you have a crush, or are in love'. My response was- 'You bet your ass I have a crush! I AM in love with my baby brother!! How could I not be?' It was the craziest burst of love and emotion that I have ever felt, second only to giving birth to my two boys...It's that kind of love. Instant unconditional love, instantly protective like a mama bear. Instantly heartbroken for all that the boys endured without their big sister there for support... this is where my heartache comes from... not being there for them when nobody else was either. Scott and David weren't alone entirely, they have another half sister from their Mother. It would seem that her life wasn't really any rosier than the boys'. The other thing I should note is, I think my grandmother told me about the boys' sister. I think she called her Chrissy. I was always under the impression that I had a sister and a brother, Chrissy and Scott, but I never knew about David. I want to take a second to clear something up. The 'half' brother thing...is crap. I have two 'half' sisters that I have had the pleasure of tormenting for their entire lives. I changed their dirty diapers, I taught them all the bad words, I chased them through the house with butcher knives (for fun of course...they loved it), gave them swirly's....I could go on and on but the point is that they aren't my half anything. They are my sisters, as David is my brother. Back to the story...it just so happened that I had already scheduled a trip to Kansas City, for my Mom's 60th birthday, about one week after the first phone call to my Dad and brother. It was a quick,two day trip home to see my family and now, all of a sudden, my family had grown...and I was torn. How could I go back and NOT see these guys? How could I go back and see these guys, without hurting my mom's feelings. It was, after all, her birthday I went home for. Turns out that while she was none to thrilled with the Dad thing, she was very happy about me meeting my brother. So happy, in fact, that she invited him and his wife over to her home so that he and I could actually meet in person. When I told David that I was coming and that I didn't know if we were going to be able to see each other on that trip his response was beautiful and very David. It was something like..."fuck that, you're my blood, I will see you even if it's only at the airport...". We were both surprised and nervous and happy as hell to get to meet in person. When they pulled up, I met him at the end of the driveway, away from everyone. I wasn't really sure how I would react. He was wearing sunglasses and I needed to see his eyes. My eyes. Scott's eyes. It's very strange looking at your own face on another human being. After we got past being struck dumb...we went inside so he could meet my family, which was a bit uncomfortable for him. He didn't have a close knit family growing up, it was an awkward experience for him to meet me and all my peeps in one sitting. He took it like a champ though. We exchanged pictures of our kids when they were babies...hell, we exchanged pictures of ourselves as babies, or at least younger versions of ourselves. We got to spend a few precious hours together before they had to get home. It wasn't nearly enough time, but then how can you ever make up for a 37 year absence? I don't think you can. I was a big girl when they left, I didn't cry one single tear... Until everyone went to bed that night. David and I texted for about an hour after they got home. It was comforting and heartbreaking at the same time. To be so close but so far away. I'm fairly certain I cried myself to sleep that night, and I woke up crying the next morning. The ache from missing him was so incredibly strong it made me sick. In those first few weeks we teetered back and forth between extreme happiness to anger and heartache. We have tried really hard to not let the anger and resentment take over the happiness...but it depends on the day and the topic at hand. Sometimes anger wins. We should have at least known about each other...we should have had sleep overs, birthday parties, sibling arguments...we should have been able to decide if we wanted to be in each others lives. I should have known Scott. I Should have been ALLOWED to know them and them me. I asked David to take me to the airport when it was time to leave. Our Dad and step mom were going to meet me at the airport about an hour before my flight. I asked David to pick me up about an hour and a half before that so that we had a little time before we saw Dad. It would be the first time I had seen my father in 23 years and the first time he ever saw his son and daughter together. David and I literally sat in the car in the KC airport (HELL) and purged 37 years worth of life, loss of life, loss of innocence...a lot of shit! Then we went in, hand in hand, and met our father. We sat, my brother, me and my father side by side holding hands like a lifeline. Like if one of us let go the other would disappear. I told airport security the situation and that I wasn't getting on the plane until I absolutely had to. We all three stood and hugged and said our I loves you's, which came as naturally as breathing to me. Finally, I had to go...and David was very brave. No tears that I could see. Once again, I was also very brave. After all, I didn't need to be snotting all over the strangers that I was wedged between on my flight. At one point, while I was waiting to board, I looked over and there was his sweet face pressed damn near to the glass....waving at his big Sis. Shit, that was hard. I put on my best 'We got this, bud!!' face, gave him a wave and marched onto the plane. I didn't look back. Couldn't look back. By the time I got back to Denver and got in my car in the parking garage, I was a hot mess. David had given me a precious gift before I left, a tape that our brother had made of himself singing with his band, in prison (another blog). I put the tape in...and that was it. I didn't just start crying, I was bawling like Ben Stiller in the final scene of "Something about Mary"...ugly, uuuugly cry. I probably cried until about 10:00 pm that night. My flight landed at 7. Now, I am happy to report that after 6 weeks...holy shit it's only been 6 weeks...things are calming. We are all settling in to this still new and yet familiar relationship. David and I have settled probably easier than everyone else has, because to us, this relationship is easy, natural, almost like we have been brother and sister before, in another place and time. I wish it were as easy for our loved ones...

Family Found...a story of life, loss and love.

I grew up knowing that I had a father somewhere in Kansas and that we just were not going to have a relationship. This was neither my wish nor my intention. It was made so by the adults in my life. I was allowed to spend time during the summer with my paternal grandmother, whom I looked up to and adored. I still adore her to this day even though she has long since passed into the spirit world. My grandmother and I had and still have a connection that goes deep into the soul. She is the voice in my ear when I need encouragement, she is the old woman in my dreams giving advice and she is the tough, wise Cherokee woman who gives me a push when I need it. She was my father's mother and she is the reason I decided to contact my Dad. We had seen each other once in my life,my dad and I, when I was around 20, at my grandmother's funeral. Not a great place to meet 'that man' for the first time. I was devastated and I was postpartum and divorcing my son's father...so there could not have been a worse time for a first meeting. Let's just say that it did not go well. He was a stranger to me...and so he remained for another 5 years. The next 'meeting' we had was over the telephone. My new husband, myself and my son had just moved to St. Louis and were expecting our first child as a newly married couple. I was homesick and not in a great frame of mind. My ex husband was signing off his parental rights to our son so that my new husband could adopt him. Such an unexpected blessing for us all, except my 4 1/2 year old didn't understand 'why his dad didn't love him anymore'...when my father's wife contacted me, I had no idea what a few conversations would lead to, so I gave it a shot. Turns out, I still wasn't ready. It was to much to fast. Their excitement scared the shit out of me and I couldn't deal. So I bailed instead. Fast forward 19 years. I mean, I could give you 19 years worth of BS...or I could simply say a lot of shit happened. We got therapy and got healthy and here we are.... My grandmother had been creeping(loudly)back into my dreams, I knew it meant that it was time to do something about this missing piece. Little did I know what a huge piece of me it would turn out to be..and how much heartache and jealousy it would bring into my world. By the way, that heartache and jealousy isn't mine. okay, maybe some of the heartache. Here's what happened. I looked up my father's wife, she was searchable, my father wasn't so much. As this story takes shape I'm sure you will be as surprised by a few things as I was. First of all, I had seen my step mom on Facebook several months earlier via one of my Mother's cousins, but when I clicked on her profile, there was no way for me to contact her. No message button, no friends list, nothing. SO I let it go. THis time around, I decided to Google her and I found her on Linked IN...so I went to my account and looked her up and found where she worked, got the phone number, summoned my Grandmother for courage...and made the call. When she answered the phone, my heart started to pound and it instantly occurred to me, 'What if he's dead, or sick, or just isn't interested??!' To late to go back...my step mom paused after I told her who I was, excused herself, and began to cry. I asked her if she thought that he would be interested in speaking to me, and she said without a doubt he would. She also thought that it would help his heart since my brother Scott had taken his own life in 2001. Wait!!! What?! Now, I knew that I had a brother. Deep in the recesses of my memory bank lived a few precious stories from my Grandmother about my little brother Scotty. These stories were told to me when I must have been between the ages of 3-12...but I scarcely remember any of them. I think I knew that there was more children, but the way it was presented to me as a child was that my 'father was a son of a bitch with kids all over Kansas'. I guess I just thought that I wasn't allowed to have a relationship with any of them. What I did not know, was that there were two boys. Scott, 3 years younger than me and David, 6 years younger. When my step mom said that my brother David hadn't been the same since Scott died, I just about lost it. I had 2 brothers?! 2? One that I would never get to know and one that I had no idea was about to rock my world! The next question I had was,'Does David know about me?'. There wasn't really a clear answer to that, and after I introduced myself to him, it was clear that No, he did not, in fact, know about me. He had asked once, upon hearing a rumor of a girl somewhere out there, but no...he wasn't told about me. Okay, I am jumping ahead in my story. Back to my Dad. I waited to call him until I was at home that evening. I didn't need to have an emotional break down at work. I had no idea what I was in for, and I was honest with my step mother about that fact. I didn't know. Part of me felt selfish because I really missed the connection I had had with my Grandmother and I didn't want to come back into my father's life and then dip out, again. That wouldn't have been fair to him. I couldn't wait to get home and make the phone call. It went like this: ring ring ring.... Dad: Hello? Me: Hi Dad! Dad: Well, Hi there Honey. How are you doing? Me: I'm doing great, how are you? and then blahblahblahblahblah.....etc........and so on and so forth. It was just that easy. I went in with zero expectations,zero grudges, zero anger...just a lot of questions, tolerance, love and understanding (therapy is an amazing thing!). If only the world could be so kind. HAfuckingHA! My father and I spoke for sometime, and it was if there was never a loss of time. Sure, there was and still is a ton of information to share and a lifetime of hugs and kisses to give and receive...but the connection between a father and his daughter is strong and natural and easy. Let's remember that I have not said that my father is perfect, nor am I. We are just two people from the same tribe who already know each other because we share blood. He says it's easy because of me. Because I came to him with all my shit already worked out, maybe so. I say we came to each other when the time was right for us all. It's been 40 days that my father has been in my life. We speak almost every day. The connection gets stronger and stronger with each conversation. I feel blessed to have this man in my life. I don't know his whole history, nor do I need to. We are here today and for that I am thankful. Stay tuned....my next blog will be about my sweet baby brother. Talk about getting more than I bargained for! I never knew a soul mate could apply to a sibling, but apparently it can. When there are siblings that have been with you since the beginning and a new one comes along, it can present some issues in the family dynamics. Some of those dynamics are still being worked out...so hang on, it may be a bumpy ride.

I'm a crappy blogger...

So, this is my second blog in how many weeks? I'm pretty sure that I warned you about my unfiltered self in my first little note...but I must have forgotten to mention my short attention span. I've sat down to write a couple of times, but each time I start putting down words, I lose interest in what I am writing. Well, Hell, If I am boring myself, I certainly don't want to pass the drivle along to you guys. I am fairly convinced that I am going to make millions with my writing, if I could ever just finish something.  I see why people have publicists. We need that little spider monkey on our backs screeching 'keep writing' in our ear. The only voices I hear are the ones telling me to go get a snack, or that my writing sucks.
Why is it that seemingly confident people can get inside their (our) own heads and do so much damage?
I think Pink says it best...
"You're so mean... when you talk, About yourself, you are wrongChange the voices in your head, Make them like you instead "
Gawd, I love her. Talk about not giving a shit about what people think.
 Isn't that really what my NOT writing is all about?  Caring to much what other people will think is the downfall of a lot of dreams, in my humble opinion. Part of the reason we care so much is that people are quick to give their opinion whether we ask for it or not. I know I have been guilty of this a few...thousand times. Shortly after I started attending Al-Anon meetings 2 years ago, I realized that I was more interested in what was going on in every one's lives around me than I was in my own life. That meant that my own life was unraveling around me, and for all my helpful meddling, no one else's lives were getting any better either. I learned to take my own inventory and to let everyone else  do the same. I learned to keep my shit in my own shit piles, if you will. My shit on my side of the street, and everyone else's on their side of the street. If more people spent their energy looking inside themselves and fixing their own problems, they would find they had less drama in their lives. Drama comes from other people's shit in your pile. You can't change how they handle their shit, so why bother trying. You can fix how you deal with your own shit, so start there. Our own problems aren't considered drama....it's called life. The car breaks down, the kid is a walking petri dish, you are fighting with your spouse...not drama just life. When we are busy living in our own lives and taking care of ourselves there is no time to judge others or care about being judged. When I look back at how much I have changed and how much better my relationships are now I am so proud of myself for being able to let go and let others have the autonomy to live their own best lives.Nobody gets to decide what that looks like to each one of us.  After all, don't we  deserve to live our best lives regardless of what others think? 
 I am reminded of a quote..."Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one and they all stink"~ Unknown

It's a bouncing baby blog!!

So here goes the first blog.... suddenly I don't have anything to say. Alright, seriously, I have been contemplating doing this for a while now and the thing that always held me back was that niggling thought in the back of my head saying, "Nobody gives a shit what you have to say!". Well, if that's the case and nobody reads this crap then so be it. It will simply be a nice way to practice my writing. 

I should just tell you right now if we are  meeting each other for the first time, I swear. A lot. If you are easily offended by swearing, open mindedness, paganism, sexual topics, or really anything else, you won't be happy here. I'm not here to agree or disagree with anyone. I'm not up for a debate...just voicing my very own humble opinion. It's just that, a lot of people think the shit I say is funny. In truth it's simply....the truth. Spoken plainly and with a snarky touch. It's just me. So please stay...or ramble on. Either way, this girl has some shit to say. 

I don't have anything in particular to say (bitch about) today. Saturday is the end of my week. I had to run some errands after work, which really puts me in a foul mood. I love calling the boy (16 yr old) to make sure he goes home to let the dog out and does his chore of cleaning the kitchen and getting...SIGH!!! on the other end of the line. I especially love it when he has the nerve to say "gawd, what's your problem, Mom?!", after I lose my shit on him. I'm going to tell you what.... If we would would have pulled that crap growing up, well, we just wouldn't have done that. We just did what we were told. Hell, we had to make dinner for our family while Mom and Dad worked. Anyone else remember that? Why don't we make our kids do that today?