My Scrambled Family

I have been given a still blossoming gift recently only because I occasionally check an old email address. And I’m grateful and anxious and excited and nervous all at once.

The email served a couple of purposes. First, it let me know my father had died about a year ago. I celebrated with some Bourbon Sours made with Four Roses, Mama’s favorite drink (when she bothered to mix one). After calling Mama’s energy to me, I made a toast in his honor, which was a simple “The SOB FINALLY died! Yeehaa!”

My father was abusive towards everyone in the family—physically, sexually, emotionally, and especially mentally. The easiest way to explain it is that he first created an Achilles Heel in each of us, then used it as a target for his abuses and neglect. He also used the “divide and conquer” tactic to pit us against each other, as well as threats.

My parents divorced when I was seven, but the after effects lingered. And some of us had contentious relationships with Mama, too. She was the glue that kinda held us together, but some of my sibs scattered even before she passed over to whatever’s next when I was 21, with a couple of us staying local. Many of us just haven’t kept in touch, myself included.

The second reason for the letter is that five out of the seven of us “kids” recently got together and were apparently wondering about me. My niece has obviously inherited the family’s stubbornness gene and worked at tracking me down. She shared contact info for her and her brother, and all six of my sibs.

From the outside, my life can look like crap. I’m mostly bedridden while I’m jumping through Medicare’s hoops to get back surgery. Next month a friend is letting me buy the scooter his girlfriend used before she recently passed over so I can get to the convenience store a block and a half away.

After eight months of homelessness I now own an old, broken down trailer in a park that’s considered to be the worst in the county, in Largo. It’s referred to as “Larghetto” by the locals. I can’t keep up with the housework, and still haven’t gone through my roomie and best friend’s things, though she passed over to whatever’s next a few years ago. Now my roomies are cockroaches, spiders and termites. (And a sweet miniature Schnauzer I inherited from my best friend.)

From the inside, though, I’ve never been in a better space. I’ve healed my past as much as I’m able, feeling grateful for who I am now, and I have a whole toolbox filled with ways to deal with my PTSD, Bipolar 2, and DID. I’ve come to an incredible understanding of my Spirituality through two near death experiences, study and meditation, which allows me to accept my situation while still desiring improvement. I feel unconditional love and compassion for all, and look for the best in everyone I meet.

I have a couple of very close friends, which is good for an introvert. I’m using natural remedies like CBD’s instead of opiates, which means I’m not thinking through a haze. I meditate regularly and am in touch with the Divine Energy through which we’re all connected. I write, play games on my phone, read voraciously, and watch TV.

It’s a simple, peaceful life. And I like it that way.

I’m so very grateful to have been given the opportunity to get in touch with my sibs again. I’ve felt like the “black sheep” of us because I used to be opinionated and judgemental, not to mention also being bisexual, disabled and poor. While I grew up kinda Catholic, I’ve replaced religion with Spirituality.

I answered my niece’s email, and have been in touch with her mother, who I was closest to. I owed her an apology, and she gracefully accepted it. I haven’t gotten in touch with anyone else, but I’m in no hurry. I’m enjoying how awesome it feels to have the opportunity to be back in touch with my blood family, as scrambled up as we might be.

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