Sibling Sorrow and Resolution

Much has been said about my oldest brother, Alan, but this is the first time I have written about him.  I've decided to record his story and my feelings about him, and from this point on, he will be discarded from my life.

He was 16 years old when I was born.  He is actually a stepbrother.  We share a father, but right from Day One of my Dad marrying my Mom, it is my understanding that he and my Mom were like oil and water.  The stories are the stuff of legends among those who attended Tonawanda High School in the early '60s.  Apparently, he was not happy unless he was in trouble with someone and ultimately causing problems at home.  It escalated to the point where my Parents asked him to leave after he graduated from high school.  Two years later he left Western New York, not to return to live for close to 40 years.   I was four years old at the time.

My early memories of him were vague and foggy.  He would mysteriously appear and disappear around holiday time- not every year. not even every other year.  He had settled in Connecticut.   During my senior year of high school, he became engaged to Corinne.  We all met her and her family, and while we thought that her younger brother was a bit of a jerk, we loved her parents.  I thought she was pretty cool.  She was the lead singer of a cover band, a grade school music teacher and a church organist.  She was really opinionated and everything with her was very black and white.  This would prove to be problematic down the road.  For the time being, all was well, and we thought that my brother had finally grown up.

Years passed, children came, family vacations ensued.  On one of these trips, Corinne decided that the time was right to tell my husband a story about my birth and how Alan felt that, had I never been born, that all of my step-siblings would have been reunited to live together again (the two youngest grew up together with foster parents.  We were all friends and spend a lot of time together - all of us except Alan, that is).  The really bad part of the story was how she told him that all of them felt this way, not just Alan.  I had this vision in my head of a movie with a bunch of rag-tag brothers and sisters torn apart after their mother deserted them, pining away for one another until this unplanned, accidental baby comes along and is just this total wrecking ball, smashing their hopes and dreams.  I was the spoiled princess who went to Hawaii with the folks when I was five, to meet my paternal grandmother and be pampered beyond belief by my Aunt and Uncle.  How could they not hate me?  I finally worked up the courage to ask my second-oldest brother (who I was closest to) about this after my Mom's death.   I felt oddly vindicated by his anger and his vehement assertion that, at no time did any of them other than Alan ever think that this mythical "family reunion" would happen, nor was there ever any blame put on me. Alan was seven or eight years old when his mother left - he was the oldest child, and in today's world, he would have received counseling.  I don't think anybody knew how to deal with this situation back then.  In the 1950's, women did not desert their children. Still,  I cannot imagine what possessed Corinne to tell this to Bill, but in the end, I think it says a lot about her character and how she, in her own way, contributed to the demise of hers and Alan's marriage.

Alan had his share of hereditary health problems - osteoarthritis, a rare form of cancer(cured in 1999), and extreme obesity.  He was also a heavy drinker.   About 12 years ago, he broke his leg and became addicted to Oxycontin.  I don't think I will ever know the full extent of what he did to get his hands on the drug, but I do know that he forged Corinne's signature on 401(k) withdrawal paperwork (not sure whose 401(k) it was - maybe both!) to take a withdrawal to buy the drug.  Needless to say, their marriage came to an end in 2007, and in 2009 he announced to us that he was moving back to Buffalo (leaving two teenage sons behind, but that's a whole other story).  I guess we were supposed to all greet him with open arms, open homes and open wallets.   I, who felt little connection to him to begin with, was extremely suspicious of just about everything he said or did.  We all tried to find a reasonable apartment for him, but nothing would do but for him to rent a house from my brother Gary (my youngest step brother).  Why rent from a total stranger when you can take advantage of a relative -which is exactly what ended up happening.  He has spent the past five years asking each of us for money, owing thousands in back rent, taking disability time from his job(which supposedly pays six figures) to have shoulder and knee surgeries, spending time in rehab (of both the physical and drug variety), sponging dinners off everyone, collecting DWIs, driving with a suspended license (those Connecticut plates come in handy), and ......I think that's just about enough, thank you!

As I write this, I have washed my hands of him.  In reality, I did this over two years ago.  It has taken my siblings a bit longer to catch up.  Understandably, they still harbored feelings of loyalty and duty toward him -  their oldest brother, after all.  I have no idea where he's living or what he's doing, and I simply can't bring myself to care.  He told Dick that he wanted to come to my Mom's funeral service to"start over" with everyone.  I can still hear Dick telling me the story.  He said "I asked him 'Why do you want to come?  She hated your guts!!'   There's no money left'...."  This was not entirely true, but certainly there was no money for him as far as we were concerned.   The day of my Mom's funeral came and went without an appearance by Alan.  In the end, we think it was about money, as it always was in the past - money for alcohol, marijuana and pills.  And if he was really lucky, he'd get a dinner out of it too.

I could write volumes about the crazy things he did to get money for drugs and alcohol, and the insane way that he lived his life after he moved back here.  I honestly believe that he may never straighten out, and he definitely will not as long as there are enablers in his life.  I stepped away from my enabler role and I will not ever go back.

I am trying now to find the positives that I have been left with.

I am wiser.  I know that addicts will do or say anything to convince someone to give them money when they need their fix.   I know that the fix becomes more important than jobs, families or relationships.  Until it is satisfied, at which point the sorrowful regret and "woe is me, I'm so misunderstood" routine kicks in.  Alan was always downtrodden, life was always against him, luck was never in his favor.  He never accepted real responsibility for his problems or his actions.  Maybe he has now or will someday.  But he'll be doing it without me because I will never, ever trust him again.

I have real respect for people who have successfully overcome addictions.  But maybe these people have family members who will never trust them again, and I can't judge them for this.  That's why God brings new people into our lives - to give us a chance to start fresh.

There are a lot of people in the world who have been touched by addiction - either their own or someone else's.  If we're lucky, we get the chance to use our own experiences to help others.

Sometimes it's good to just listen.  Listen without judgement and without trying to advance your own agenda.

Always, it's good to pray and have faith.  Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.  And you have to tell yourself that it's OK that praying is the only thing you can do.   Do it for everyone else, but mostly.... do it for yourself.

Dorothy had it right ...

I saw people sitting at computers talking on phones ..... why I would miss that particular activity is beyond me - but I do. 

I just had the umpteenth argument with my daughter about her overpacking.  Plus, she read a tweet from her ex last night that sent her into a funk.  He seems to be courting another girl at school. 

Europe is beautiful. The architecture in particular is stunning.  I really like the fashion sense of the women on the streets in France.  Understated, fictional, but never sloppy. 

I'm ready to hear American English on the street again, though.   And I'm ready to let my child fly away again for a few weeks.  I don't understand the 30 year olds who still live with the folks.  I'm looking forward to having my house back again.  

I wonder what will happen if I click my heels together three times...

Family Vacations are not for the Faint of Heart

Mix one person who's neurotic about timetables and planning with one person who is not a planner but is a control freak who insists on making the plans, and throw in one 20 year old who thinks that a day begins at 1:00PM.  It's a wonder any of us will survive the weekend. 

London is as I remember it.  Piccadilly Circus strongly resembles Times Square in that there are thousands of people all seemingly trying to walk into one another. 

Words I never thought I'd hear myself say in London: "That was the best cappuccino I've ever had in my life."

London highlight:  Jack The Ripper walking tour, complete with "Rippervision".  Two hours and thirty minutes around London's East End with an animated and entertaining female guide named Harry.  

On to the Chunnel. 

 

Conflict Resolution - Part 2

Sooooooooooooooo..........................................................

How far have I progressed since my last post?  Have I been able to improve my situation or that of those around me?  Not likely.  The facts as I see them, or perhaps more accurately - the facts and the way they make me feel:

 - decisions regarding a major point of conflict in my household are made without my involvement.  Then, they are communicated to me very casually......
Him:  "So, you're ok with me taking Mandy to the concert on Friday night............." in a manner that might suggest a trip to the Galleria Mall rather than an 8 hour round trip drive to a 3-hour concert held within spitting distance of the murder capital of the USA.
Me: "Ahhhh, no, I never said I was ok with any of this, in any iteration."
My daughter was instructed to say nothing to me, because we  both have "short fuses."  So what, I wonder, is more upsetting?  The trip to this concert or the blatant disregard for my wishes and feelings?  I suspect it is the latter, which .... makes me self-absorbed, I suppose.

- trying to control a situation that I can't control, in order to make things happen.  If I'm supposed to be one of the doers or one of the movers and shakers, but someone is throwing constant roadblocks at me, when do I just say "it's too much"?   I can't seem to get any help from anyone with this problem.  I'm continually being told to keep on top of things, but no matter what I do, there are a hundred little things that this person puts in my way.    What will I do when I can't get past him no matter how hard I try, and in the end, I've just failed and let people down?  Sometimes I think that this is what drowning must be like.  You want to breathe, people aren't throwing you a life preserver, they just keep telling you to breathe, but the harder you try to breathe, the more the water fills your lungs.    And then you're dead, but it's your own fault because you didn't try hard enough.  Everyone is disappointed.

Life really is a roller coaster.  I never would have thought it possible to simultaneously love and hate so much about mine at one time.

Conflict Resolution

So many things you can't control
So many hurts that happen everyday
So many heartaches that pierce the soul
So much pain that won't ever go away

How do we make it better?
How do we make it through?
What can we do when there's nothing we can do?

Lyrics from one of my favorite songs.  The thing is, sometimes when you're caught in the middle of something that you have no control over, you just get this overwhelming urge to bolt.  At what point do you just say "enough", it's not worth it anymore".?

I used to think that I'd found what I was looking for.  I'd spent the first 18 years of my adult life doing nothing but working, eating, sleeping and raising my daughter.  The "raising my daughter" part wasn't so bad....  the rest of it was pretty freakin' boring.  I would rather sing than do just about anything else on this earth.  So, finally...  I did.

This..... this I did not sign up for..... or did I?  Well yes, I guess I did.  If I close my eyes and focus really hard, I can see the good things happening.  And there really are a lot of good things happening.  Why is it, then, that angry words and petty differences can so easily overshadow the good things?  And I'm supposed to rise above all of this.

Pressure.  

The punchline to those song lyrics is ........  "We can be kind."  Sounds so easy. But if it were easy, I wouldn't be in this mess now - would I?   Will kindness help me to overcome this feeling that I'm trapped in a never-ending series of derogatory e-mails and back biting?  Oh wait, that's right. I'm doing this because I love to sing.  Singing.  There has got to be an easier way to just sing.

"We can be kind"..."We can be kind"..."We can be kind"..."We can be kind"........  there has got to be an easier way to just sing ....  I read somewhere recently that the true challenge of Christianity is taking part in organized religion and accepting the challenge to be kind to the person sitting next to you in the pew whose actions and thoughts are diametrically opposed to yours.  This can be extrapolated to cover more than just religious organizations.  These days, I'm finding the church challenge to be much simpler.

Why Write?

So, why do I write?  For the longest time, I haven't really known the answer to this question.  It's not as though I could make a living doing this.  Forget fiction.  I couldn't find a good fiction story with two hands and a map.   I can't just sit down every day and write.  I have to have something that drives me to the keyboard.

Some people like to read what I've written.  Sometimes I look back at what I've written, and I think - why?  But here's the thing.  I write when I need to get something out of me and I don't have the words to express myself verbally - or in some cases, when I have nobody to express them to.

I could have used this blog during the aftermath of 9/11.  I was desperately concerned about someone I knew who'd survived and was working at a contingency location in New Jersey.  I felt helpless.  From Buffalo, NY with no cell phone, tied to my job, there wasn't much I could do.  I chose not to eat and to run excessively(excessively for me, anyway).   I sort of floated around in a dream state for over three months.  I forced Bill into taking me to New York to see her. Having her physical presence in front of me was ultimately what put me back on the track to normal.  I can't help but wonder if writing would have gotten me through that in a more healthy way.

So, now I find myself in a similar predicament.  And I am writing.  And this is how I feel.

I wish I could reverse time for you.  I would take you back to when the biggest issue you faced was challenges on the job.   Why is it that we think that the worst things happen to us at work, until we find out the hard way that this isn't so?

I wish I could have five minutes in a room with those who are hurting you so that I could tell them how foolish and selfish and short-sighted they are.   Sometimes, I grit my teeth so hard that it hurts.

I wish I could give you what you need to ease your pain - whatever that might be.

They say that time heals all wounds.  I wish I could guarantee you time - loads and loads of time.

I wish I could calm your mind, because I know that it is anything but.

What I can offer are my eyes, my ears, my heart and my "pen".  These I give to you 100 percent and wholeheartedly.

The Evil Carb

Since approximately the first week of June, I have been on an adventure called "Total Overhaul of my Lifelong Eating Habits".   Based on my track record, the odds of this actually sticking and lasting are at about 15%.  I think I'm being generous with that assessment.   Let's review my diet/exercise history:

Before I begin, remember that my weight since childbirth has ranged from 130 pounds to an all time high of 180.

 - 1998.  My first real diet.  It has no name but consists of a lot of Gogurt and brown rice.  Paired with some breathing routine which proclaims that 10 minutes of violent exhalations are the equivalent of 30 minutes of high impact aerobics, I manage to actually lose 35 pounds.   This lasts approximately 5 months, and my downfall coincides with the new "Mr. Cool" ice cream truck which makes a nightly appearance on our street.

-2001.  I discover running.   By the time 9/11 happens, I am up to 6 miles a week of full-tilt running.  After 9/11, I really plunge into it in an attempt to drive the demons from my brain.  In December 2011, we visited my friend who survived the attack, and I recall her telling me that she needed to hug "what was left of me".  I was down to 140.  A few months later, I suffered what was to be the first of many calf pulls in my left calf.

Between 2002 and 2011, I attempted to become a real runner 3 different times - always ending with my being hobbled at the calf.  From a diet perspective, I tried Atkins, South Beach, the Zone Diet, the Blood Type Diet, Weight Watchers and (briefly) vegetarianism.   In all cases, I was just hungry.  all.   the.  time.    That hunger was the common denominator among all of these diets.  And that hunger, I believe, is why they all failed.

Finally, I have faced my true demons -white flour, white sugar and starches in general.   I read that someone I knew had lost a lot of weight and gotten down to his high school weight on the Ketogenic diet.  This diet embraces "good" fat (nothing manufactured in a test tube) and animal protein.  The makeup is 10% carbs derived from vegetables and fruits,  40% protein, and 50% fats.   Based on various websites,  carbs should be curtailed to 30 - 50 grams daily.  So, I figured - what do I have to lose?

About five days in, I experienced "carb crash".   I was bone tired for almost three days.  Luckily, I did not experience the "South Beach" headache and - unbelievably - was not hungry.  The hunger I did experience was controllable with a few almonds or  cheese curds and was not accompanied by the cold sweats and weakness of past diets.   My carb cravings diminished and the abdominal bloating that I'd been walking around with for most of my life began to go away.

In July, I ventured into running again.  Not full tilt, as in the past, but a gradual build up with run/walk intervals.  So far, so good, and as I type, I have lost 10 pounds.

So what am I still fighting against?  Carb creep - otherwise known as complacency.  So I'm doing great, and eating that hamburger bun won't hurt........right?  I am already dealing with it, particularly on the weekends.  Weekends are so much more unscheduled, and that's when I feel the urge to eat ice cream or sausage buns.    Next weekend, Bill will be gone for 2-3 days, and I am dreading being alone with these cravings.  I must fill the time with something.......

It's hard to believe that I have been taking two different blood pressure pills for years just to keep my BP hovering around 140 over 80.    Eliminating bread, sugar and starches has caused it to drop as low as 111 over 70.   Even when I weighed between 140 -150, I was fighting with my BP.  Who knew?

So, this would all seem to be an incentive, wouldn't it?   An incentive to stay disciplined with my eating plan and my exercise.   History and the odds are not in my favor.  But I feel as though my future depends on it.   One day at a time .....