Talking

It’s funny how I try to minimize what I’m going through.  Like this is a scrape on the knee and I need to get on with my life. 

When I was very young, eight to be exact; my second eldest brother was a senior in high school.  He went out to his car and found he had a flat tire.  He begged my mother to let him drive my dad’s brand new Buick to school.  She finally relented.  We couldn’t know at the time the vehicle was defective and my brother, after picking his friend up for school, put the car in reverse and it leaped forward and hit a tree.  His friend broke his arm, but my brother had lacerated his liver.  There wasn’t a lot they could do for him, and he died the next day.

Eight months later our mother died.  My father had nine kids to raise, four boys 15 – 19 in age and five girls 9-14 years old.   We were devastated.  Back then there was no grief counseling or counselors at the public schools to address the issues we were experiencing.  We just got up every day and went to school. My father got up every day and went to work. 

I guess that’s where it comes from. Nothing is going to make my mother or brother come back, just like there’s no way for the stroke to go away. 

I just need to keep moving forward.  But this time, I’m talking about it.