Time

I love my blog. I really do. Unfortunately I don't have a lot of time for posting. Living in Maryland and working in Virginia makes for a really long day. Then I have all my "babies" that I want to love on once I'm home. And I have to say my loves do take precedence. However, I've got to have some time for me too. Ain't this modern life grand? So this is just about all the post I can manage this night. But I'm still here. I've got so many things I want to write about! My head just spins. For right now though I have to say a "rest well" to two of my uncles. Uncle Francis passed away Monday, March 14. Saturday, March 26 Uncle Larry passed over. Uncle Larry was my cousin Billy's stepfather. The only father Billy ever knew. I believe I've written about Billy before - he died when he was 17 after playing in a football game. I'm sure I'll write more about him as well. For now, I wish Uncle Francis and Uncle Larry Godspeed. Rest well.

Strangers and Friends

One of the things I like best about life is the kindness of “strangers.” You have to know I’ve never met a stranger. I come by it honestly – my mother, her mother (my grandmother); well, just about everyone in my Mom’s family have never met one either. My best friend D used to tell her girls not to act like their “Aunt” Debbie – “They’ll find her parts in a garbage dumpster some day.” I know that’s horrid, but for some reason it always makes me laugh! Shopping with my Mom is always an (usually all day) experience. The reason it takes so long? Mom is talking with people. Helping people find what they need. Giggling about some silly thing with some person she’s never laid eyes on before and never will again. Gods I love my Mom! She talks to other shoppers, the sales associates (not about anything they’re selling) and the checkout people. I continue this tradition. If I get a wrong number on my answering machine and they leave a number I call them back. Can you imagine? It happened again this past Sunday. There was a message from “Wanda.” She needed to find something that her husband (I found out later) told her to get, she couldn’t remember (some thing for the car), but did remember that her nephew would know. The message said she was at the front of the store and could he call and help her. Well, have you not just been in that same situation? I hated the thought of her standing there, husband out of town, not knowing what the hey it is she needs, calls the nephew and he’s not calling back. You know she’s got a million other things to do that day too. I had to call her. And yes, I know her husband was out of town, I know about her nephew – we had the loveliest chat for about 10 minutes. Charles (the best man in the world) comes in as I hang up and asks who I was talking with. He did indeed know I was going to call this woman and tell her it was a wrong number. He didn’t expect us to have a conversation. (gigglefit)

I met a beautiful woman at my Doctor’s office a couple of weeks ago. I have “complex migraines.” And Post Traumatic Stress. (And a couple of thousand other things, as well) I drive the BELTWAY to and from work everyday. If you don’t know the Beltway, you just can’t imagine. It’s fast, or slow and sometimes both. Eighty mph to 0 in 3 seconds. Or less. Volume. Weaving. Well, I had an appointment that a.m. before work. I picked a Dr. office near my work. (I live in MD, work in VA. Around 38 miles. Should take, what? A half hour? Forty-five minutes? Nope – one to two hours. Five days a week.) So I’m late, of course, lost, because I usually go to the Dr. from my office, not from home. And I’m panicked. I’d missed my last appt. Got charged for it. The whole nine. Don’t/CAN’T miss today. I need my refills. Anyway. They have valet parking. Time I get there I’m already 10 minutes late. Finding a space will take 15 to 20 minutes more. I have no cash. Yes, it’s free valet parking, but still, ya gotta tip. I decide I’ll do it anyway. Let them park my car, run into the Dr. and have a migraine attack. Fine. ‘ere what. On the way out to pay, I helped a very nice lady find her way to the checkout. Told her to go ahead first, I’m not in a hurry. Sweet little boy and his daddy ahead of us both. We both talk to the little boy. She pays. Leaves. I pay. Leave. Start to panic, (again) because now I’m leaving and I don’t have a thing to give them. I’ll pretend to be snooty or something. Pretend I don’t know about tipping. Give the guy my ticket and off he goes to get my car. “Nice lady” comes out of the building. We exchange pleasantries again. She says, “How much do you usually tip?” Well, I have no filter from my brain to my mouth. I tell her usually a dollar or two. (Because truthfully I never have used the valet before!) Then, like some sort of I don’t even know what, I hear myself telling her. How embarrassed I am because I didn’t think I was going to use the valet, that I was running late and didn’t want to be later and I HAD to do it and now I have no money and I could crawl in a hole from the embarrassment. She’s says, “I have two dollars. Tell you what, you take one and tip that and I’ll use the other.” I’m horrified. Try to explain that I didn’t mean, didn’t want, I'm fine, really. So sorry! She basically told me she had the two dollars to tip with, what’s a dollar, it’s basically going to the same place anyway, why don’t I just hand them one and she’ll hand them the other one. I almost burst into tears. We actually hugged in the valet pickup! Couldn’t help myself – I hugged her neck. Had a tear. She did too. Actually told me what a nice person I am! How I had helped her? I didn’t do a thing! Where do these beautiful people come from?

And now there is Wil. Married mom. Two preschool kids. Training for Ironman. Teacher. I never met her. Don’t know where she lives. But she took the time to read my first blog post and just welcome me. Gave me encouragement. And then there was the William post. And the kindness Wil showed me was just beyond the beyonds. I never thought anyone would read it. Was actually worried that someone would read it. I haven’t gotten a chance to get back to her yet and thank her for everything. But I certainly will. And I’ll try to find someway to let her know how beautiful her heart is and how much what she has done means to me. It’ll never be enough and yet she’ll know and understand. I want to say “check out her blog,” but I want to ask first to be sure she won’t mind. If you do check it you’ll be awed and inspired. Thank you Wil!! I’m sending good thoughts, strength and anything else you may need!

Blessings to you all – the friends I have and the ones I’ve yet to meet!

Why

My entire reason for starting a Blog was to be able to have a place to wish my brother a Happy Birthday. Just sort of a (very) neo-pagan kind of way to send him a wish. Yes, I've written it on a piece of paper, burned the paper and "sent" it out to him. But I wanted something more permanent. A place where I (and anyone else who may choose to) could go and see that someone remembered. Someone cared and still cares. I know I'm certainly not the only one who remembers and cares, but I just thought there should be some sort of marking of the day. It's still "his" day. I don't have to worry if I'm upsetting someone by "saying it out loud." If I'm reminding them of hurt and pain they'd rather not unbury just now or just yet. And so here I am. This isn't the first blog I started for this purpose, but this one feels right. I think this will last. His birthday has passed this year, but I'll be here next year and remember him.

So, officially, this is for my brother: William Edward Marbaker. Born January 21, 1967. Died May 25, 2002. Son, brother, father, uncle. Smart, funny, the most beautiful, pure heart I've ever encountered. No one could make me laugh harder. Tears, not able to breathe laughter. I've laughed and laughed really hard. Even cried with laughter and lost breath since he's been gone. But never as long or as hard. He was the twin of my soul. We looked alike. We thought alike. We felt things so very deeply. I found my way through it and with it. He never could. He tried so hard. He fought so long. I truly believe his little (although it was HUGE, truth be told) heart just couldn't take the hurt and pain of this world. He was born out of his time. He understands now. He rests now. He's whole now.

And if I'm speaking the truth (and that is one thing I'll always do) the other side of him was not pretty. No one could make me laugh so much, so hard, with such abandon. And no other person did, or ever will, cause me so much pain. So very many tears. So much anger. Hurt. Sadness. RAGE.

William was bipolar. Manic-depressive. An alcoholic. Was the alcoholism a symptom of the disease? Which came first? It certainly did exacerbate it. There is so much history that needs to be told. So very many tragedies. Certainly more than a young boy/man should have ever had to deal with. By his sixteenth year he a lost more friends than I can begin to count. Horrible deaths. The favorite math teacher/wrestling coach. Killed helping another teacher put an antenna on the other teacher's roof. Electrocuted. The friend that had diabetes and died at the age of 14. Our cousin Billy, killed playing football. Another friend that went into the wood and shot himself in the head, aged 15. Two different friends, two different mass murders, mass family killings. In the one case the boy lived, although he is blind and brain damaged. His mother, father, and brother dead. His sister the one who killed them. He was 12. In their beds, while they slept. The other child didn't live. He was killed by his sister's "ex" boyfriend. In that house: Mother, 2 daughters, 2 sons. He shot at the baby and miraculously missed. Then he went upstairs to the bathroom, turned off the light and shot and killed himself. One of the daughters was my friend. I was there when it happened. I heard the shots, heard the screams. Heard when the screams abruptly stopped. And wondered why I lived. But that's for another day, perhaps. William carried all of these friends to their graves. I can't imagine what it must be like to feel the weight of your friend and know he's gone, you're holding him, but yet not. Certainly all of this had it's effects. All of these friends and more. Car accidents, his grandfather dying and having to be the one that told me our grandfather had passed. Our parents house burning when he was, what? Thirteen? They were in the house, our sister, pregnant, across the road, not know where they were. "Are they out?" William, out, alive, nothing but his underwear. Seeing everyone safe. Ten years later when our sister's house burned. The first one there, bring food. Working. Salvaging. He was in the Gulf war.

He found the drugs and drink early. Unfortunate that anyone has to find them at all. Tragic for some. I was one of his older sisters. Yes, I know he learned from me.

And it got so bad. I had to call the police one night. On my brother. He tried to kill me that same night. Tried to kill his girlfriend. Burned her clothes. The next day or two trying to kill me again. A screwdriver in his hand. Me, knowing this was no longer my own. Me, trying to shield this from his children. Taking his kids away with me. He held my family hostage one night with a needle. Threatened to kill them, himself. So many threats of death. Himself. Others. Trying to get him help. "He's bipolar, he'll need in-treatment to start. Hopefully we can manage this with meds in the future. No insurance? Oh, no, no. He's fine. Mistake. Depression. Alcohol. Send him home, he'll sober up in a few days. He'll be fine." He was fine alright. Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic, Emotional. Just FINE. He checked himself into the VA. They did their best by him I believe. Got him on meds. AA. He got a job. Driving truck. Again. The company found out he was bipolar. (He told them, he had to be honest, felt he was lying if he didn't tell them. Didn't matter he'd be diagnosed and undiagnosed a million times.) They told him to take some time off. Check with their Dr. That Dr. changed his meds. He had nothing but time. Nothing to do. Think, drink. Mom and his younger son saw him that day. Well his car anyway. The beautiful Camaro he had just bought, parked at the bar. His son begged to go in the bar and get him. Mother was at the end. Time to say no. Couldn't take the child in there to see what mess there might be this time. It would be home to them soon enough. He came home (he was staying with our parents at this point), got a box of crackers and took them into his room. Apparently he ate a few. Changed clothes perhaps. A shirt maybe. Went back out to a different bar. I don't know what happened there. If anyone does, I've not heard. He was coming back home. The girl in the other car was 17 years old. She would have graduated that June. It was 2:00 a.m. She wanted to be a special education teacher. She lived until 8:30 a.m. William was dead at the scene. Dead, I think, before he flew out the sun roof and skidded across the pavement. Before the flames started licking at his body. Before his ear was cut off and his arm severed. Too much information? Are you still with me? He was starting the most beautiful Viking tattoo on that arm. I can't grieve. Not fully. How does one feel bad for the man that left two amazing, handsome, intelligent children? He took a 17 year old girl with him. How do I live with that? How do I tell people how my brother died? Yes, people do ask. I know, I have seen, heard, felt the hate that child's, that beautiful, amazing, intelligent, giving, 17 year old girl's family has for me and mine. I can't blame them. I wish peace for them. I wish peace for us all. I'm so very, very sorry. And I can't fix it. Words don't help. Does William deserve to be remembered any other way other than the man, the drunk driver that killed a young woman?

I'm not asking for sympathy. As a matter of fact, I'm not asking for anything. Not for me, my family or my brother. I just needed to tell this. To have it written down. And once a year to say "Happy Birthday William."

Here I Am

OK, First post. This'll be a short one. I'm mostly just setting up and deciding how this will go. I've just had some wonderful spaghetti and salad and garlic bread from Ledo's here in Laurel. The best I've found so far for "real" Italian food here. Well, inexpensive "real" anyway. Izzy is absolutely pissed that he wasn't allowed on the table to share. Apparently Kaycee wasn't real happy either because she decided to try to chew the fish bowl. That's right. We keep a fish bowl for the "kids" to drink from. Not spoiled much. Did I mention the eight foot tall scratching post/perch they have? Perhaps I should also mention they're cats. I'll load some pictures as soon as I figure out how to do that. That's all for now, but I may be back later for more.