We were a group of 6 children, abandoned in an apartment complex on the outskirts of San Diego, CA in 1971. The oldest of us was 9; I was the youngest and 8 months old. Social services placed us all in separate homes by two's, the two oldest boys, the two younger boys, and my sister and I. Some of us had it good, as far as foster homes go, some of us not so good. After four years, we were handed back to our biological mother for a trial period, and during that time our last names were changed to Jones and we were taken out of California to live out our childhood in hidden torture. We all left "home" very young, very tough, and much scarred.
A week ago I said my forever goodbye to the first of us siblings. Jeff was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, an artist, and an excellent cook. He met a wonderful woman with children and they eventually added one to the brood. He had a problem with alcohol though; it claimed his liver, and eventually helped claim his life. He always felt guilty for leaving me...even asking for me before he slipped away. We lost track of each other when he left "home," but a few years later we reconnected. I was 16, and at a festival in NM (The Great Enchilada Festival haa haa) when I heard my name being called. I tried not to turn around because I didn't go by that name anymore, but recognized his voice and turned to see my brother again. He kept track of me from then on, even attending the church where my foster dad ministered. I'm happy he's no longer in pain, sad to see him go, and just a tad bit jealous that he got to see Jesus first...I sure will miss him.
I left for TX the night Jeff passed away. (Thanks to my siesta's who prayed my hoopdie down there and back.) I stayed with my adopted parents in Trinidad, CO Friday night and a foster brother in NM Saturday night. Sunday I arrived in TX. It broke my heart seeing my sis-in-law. I hugged her neck and choked back tears. Soon my biological mother arrived. As I walked passed her to hug my brother, she asked when I was going to arrive. When all heads turned toward me, she guessed who I was. :) It was such a strange feeling to be around this woman who tortured us as children, the woman from whom I tried so hard to earn love. As she stood there staring at me while ringing her hands, I realized I didn't need her, or her approval, or her love for that matter...the tables had now turned as she waited for me to turn my attention toward her. I said "hi" and listened to her talk and walked away...that was it. I didn't talk to her again. I didn't need to. I heard her stories and realized she is still a narcissistic, psychotic, pathological liar, and I didn't feel the need to respect her for any loss she might feel...I KNOW Jeff wouldn't either. I understand that sounds harsh, but had she owned up to anything instead of disrespecting his memory by telling lies, I would have respected her for simply being a human being who gave birth to a fabulous little boy who she had to say goodbye to far too early.
It was a strange time to say the least; a time of facing fears, enduring heartbreak, realizing who I am now apart from who I used to be, and a time of sad but sweet good-byes. However, during this time, I gained a deep need to know the paternal side of my family, and I am now on a hunt...this part to be continued.
I know this is long, and not exactly happy, but I wanted to share it anyway. Thanks for bearing with me.