The Twenty-Seventh One, Part One.

Evening,

Subheading: On Abandonment.

I will preface this piece with the following disclaimer: I have no idea where this is going; I just know I need to get some thoughts out.

When I was a baby, my Mom moved to California and left me behind. I know that's a loaded place to start a story, but it was the beginning of my life, and a pattern. She moved back after a couple years, but I was raised primarily by my Grandparents until I was about 5 years old. I have memories of waiting by the door for my Mom to come visit me. Sometimes she came and sometimes she didn't, but I remember this unwavering conviction that this time would be the time she showed up. Every single time I'd tell my Grandparents, "Mom is coming. She promised." I wish I could tell you that I outgrew those baseless beliefs, or that my Mom started to show up for me as I got older, but that would be a lie.

When I was about five years old, give or take, my Mom met a man named Glenn. I remember meeting him in the park in Belleville, and going to get ice cream. We would do this a lot. He would sometimes hold my hand, or he would put me on his shoulders while we walked to the ice cream shop. As I am typing this I'm realizing that the first time I took my children to meet my ex husband Alex, we met at that same park and walked and got ice cream. I suppose I internalized that that was a safe place, which makes me happy and sad at the same time.

Anyway, my Mom and Glenn got married, (at the State Fair by a country radio DJ, with a ton of other couples, and then there was a pig roast and line dancing) moved in together, and brought me with them. He came into our lives and then suddenly I wasn't waiting at the door for my Mom anymore, I was coming home to her every day after school. We were a family. I called Glenn Dad because that was who he was to me. He took me on adventures, gave me baths, helped me with homework, and all the other things a Dad does. When he was around my Mom didn't smell like beer all the time. When he was around things felt safe.

When I was 8, my brother Josh was born. Like any kid, I was jealous of the attention my brother got, and I vaguely remember that I was acting out in school and at home and I got sent to therapy. I obviously only understand it was therapy now, when I was a kid it was just some lady I went and talked to and colored pictures with while she asked me about my life at home, and my Mom would often argue with my Grandparents about whether I should go or not. My Mom thought I shouldn't go, my Grandparents insisted that I did. My Grandparents started insisting on a lot of things, because I'm sure the therapist was reporting to them what I told her, which included things like Glenn going to work a lot more because we needed more money, damnit. I remember so many fights about money. Really I just remember so many fights, and that often Glenn would leave when they would happen, and then my Mom smelled like alcohol again, which would make Glenn mad and they would fight more. I had a mountain of those purple Crown Royal bags in my room that I used as purses for my toys and treasures. 

I took care of my brother a lot. While Glenn would work sometimes my Mom would work too, or she'd say she was going to see friends, and she'd leave me at home by myself with Josh. One day we ran out of food, and I went to a neighbor's house to ask for food because Josh was hungry and crying. Please remember that I'm 8 or 9, and my brother is a baby, and we're utterly alone. The neighbor called my Grandparents who very swiftly after that took custody of me and, for a short time, my brother. 

My Mom and Glenn divorced not too long after all of this. I don't know all the reasons for their divorce- I know what my Mom told me, but a lot of what my Mom told me about my childhood is a lie, so I don't really accept that as evidence of anything, and I never discussed it with Glenn as an adult. What I know is that I spent a lot of time waiting at the door again. Waiting for my Mom, waiting for Glenn, waiting for anyone who might come for me. Not long after the divorce though, Glenn no longer came for me. He would come pick up my brother and I would be left behind. At first I kept chanting those same old promises, "This time he will take me. He promised." I'd pack a backpack with clothes and toys and be ready, just in case. I never needed the backpack. I stopped chanting promises.

I saw Glenn a lot over the years as he came to either pick Josh up or drop him off, but I never really discussed my life with him, or tried to rebuild a relationship, or anything like that. I briefly did as an adult, but he made it pretty clear that he wasn't interested in doing that.  

Very recently, Glenn was diagnosed with cancer in his eye, and they removed his eye and the cancer thinking that would be enough, but it wasn't. The cancer spread, and a few weeks ago my brother came into town to visit (he lives out of state), and he told us that the cancer was incurable and that Glenn would be passing away soon. My Mom and I were invited to go with my brother to his home with his wife and their son for a family/close friends BBQ, which was basically an invitation to come say our goodbyes. I mostly went to support my brother, and to make sure that our Mom kept her shit together. I thought a lot about what I would say to him the night before, and what I settled on was nothing really at all. I talked to him for about 5 minutes in total- he was in too much pain to stay outside with us and went to lay down pretty quickly after we arrived. I mostly talked about the fact that I had recently been living in Brighton near them and that it was nice, and that the weather was nice that day, and I told him I was doing fine. 

He passed away since then, and I'm not doing fine.

I've been thinking a lot about my childhood and his role in my life since all of this happened, and how abandoned I felt, and how that abandonment has likely impacted my view on love and relationships, and honestly thinking about any of it just makes me feel like a terrible person, because a man is dead, and this isn't about me. This is about another little boy, his son with his wife who is 12 years old, who just lost his Dad not much older than I was when I lost him. This is about my brother who lost the Dad that always showed up. This is about the wife who lost the husband that stayed with her for two decades. This isn't about the child he briefly shared with the wife he left. 

Only it is, because it's affecting me too, regardless of whether that's convenient, or fair, or reasonable. I guess I am just trying, like I do, to figure out a way to pull something meaningful from this. That blog will come next- it doesn't belong with this one, this one is about Glenn, and grief, and things unsaid. It's a weird memorial for a person I didn't get to know, but who stayed with me in ways I've tried to avoid. 

This weekend is his celebration of life party at his wife's house which we have been invited to, and I'm going to go with my Mom, brother, my brother's girlfriend, and my son Wesley. I'm hoping Wesley and their son can play, and that will bring some small amount of joy. I'm not sure how it's going to feel hearing everyone share stories about him. I'm not going to share anything at all, I don't know what would be appropriate to add, so I am just sharing what I am really feeling here in my own personal bubble. 

If you made it this far, thanks for listening. As usual I hope you enjoyed this stuff, and come back for more things. 

No funny meme for this entry. Even I have some tact.