Today, and every day, is a rough day. Its been almost two years since I brutally lost my daddy. I put a smile on my face and I get up each day and do the things I have to do but deep down I am still as broken and confused as the day the sheriff's knocked on my front door to deliver the life changing news that my baby brother had murdered our father.
I have so much bottled up inside me. So much confusion and anger and pain and sadness. I want so much to share it and to talk about it but the topic is very sensitive, very horrific and very private. I long to talk about it though.
When I do attempt to talk through what I am feeling I can see how uncomfortable it makes people. I can see the horror in their face. I can see them stumbling for words that won't come. I don't want to make people that uncomfortable.
The truth is that there is no right or wrong reaction. There are no magic words. I am so isolated and alone inside my head that I yearn for another person's reaction so I can measure it against my own.
I should be in therapy. I was going to a therapist but it just annoyed me. Nothing is wrong. Your feelings aren't wrong. blah blah blah ... but sometimes feelings are wrong. My feelings feel wrong.
I have wanted to talk to family about it but my other brother is dealing with things in his own way and I am trying to respect his grief process. Our other family members who share our name have become estranged and at this point the divide has become so great that I think I have lost most of them.
It is mostly my fault. I had been understanding and supportive of everyone's differing point of view, but during a particular hard time, I had a break down and bad reaction to some public comments made on a newspaper website. I should have stopped and taken a breath but I wasn't capable of doing that at the time. I thought my reaction would have been taken in the context it was given. Full of grief and confusion and loss and met with sympathy and understanding. I thought my sincere apologies would have been accepted with open arms and love. I was wrong and I will regret it for a lifetime. In one year I lost most of my family.
Dad would have been the one to tell everyone to knock it off and make peace. He isn't here to do that. I really really wish he was here. I can hear his voice in my head. I have done everything I can to make amends, at this point it is up to them to decide if they want me in their lives.
So I try to move on but I am stuck. Not stuck on them but stuck on my brother. The one in jail. The one who spared the family a trial because he knew he belonged in prison. He never wavered in his guilt. He knows what he did but he doesn't remember it. Had he been in his right mind it would have never happened. Does any of that matter? I don't know.
Dad always taught his children to have each other's back. To stick up for each other. To protect each other. He was always saving my brothers from themselves. Always helping to dust them off and help them get back up on their feet. For me too, but not in the same way. I think about that a lot. Every day. Does dad still want me to protect him? Does dad still want me to care for him? Does dad want me to look out for him? I think he does, but what if he doesn't? I want to honor my dad. I want to do what is right. Feel what is right. But I don't know what that is.
I get letters and emails from jail. There is a lot of remorse and love and regret. He is doing a lot of work on his sobriety and understanding himself. He has joined a Buddhism community and is studying their ways. He plays softball and umpires games. He works in the auto shop fixing cars and they put on car shows. He gets to watch TV and sports. He has meals and exercise and a roof over his head and a bed each night. He doesn't have to pay rent or worry about bills. The more I hear, the angrier I get. I was so scared for him to be in prison. I was scared that the next 25 years would be hell and torture and he would come out hard and changed and not for the better.
Now I am angry. Angry that this seems like summer camp. Angry that the I have to get up each day and worry about our next meal and the roof over our head and he gets to spend time learning Buddhism and fixing cars and playing sports.
It is still prison though and he knows me. He knows I worry. Maybe he is just telling me the good because the bad would keep me up at night.
Either way it sucks. My pendulum is so out of whack. My equilibrium has vanished. My heart is broken and my soul is cracked. I do not know how to move forward. I am looking for the right path but I don't think there is one and I am too scared to forge my own. I want someone to forge it for me. Drag me along kicking and screaming until I get to a place that feels right and comfortable. Does such a place even exist?
I may never know.
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