KINDRED #81

What do I say when I have no idea what to say, save a long list of expletives. I have multiple stress related disorders and Mike dying, while it wasn’t and insn’t about me at all, hit me so personally it made me sick. This was not me using my illnesss to take a strong drug vaca from reality nor did I torment myself. I was very good about being present in a situation that every amygdala impule told me to run from.

Now that I have faced as much as I can face, I’m compelled to do something NOW! My imagination and spirit will be restless until I do. I wanted to follow through on the one sheets to the various editorial mainstays but when the time came, I physically couldn’t. So I still need to get on that. I have to be brave. None of my work will visible until my partner deems it and herself ready. Work on tying the blogs together doesn’t do anything public, editing the filth and fluff, and get it ready try to market.

Of course, a healthy part of it will be the introduction, so large I think it deserves it’s own heading, explaining the circumstances when we started, what happened and how we are now. If that sounds familiar, yes I spent my time in the rooms. I was one of the lucky ones given percocet and darvocet at 13 and weed at 15 by mom. She had the best of itentions, too. But nobody has the right to point fingers. Nobody does, except me and Rachel and our subjects about this subject. And we are pointing at something that should be so glaringly obvious, it’s redundant that we and many other have to work so hard to generate the energy to draw attention to the subject.  

Micheal used to call me just to chat. Not as much as when he hit his tennage freedom. But he knew that if his mama Rachel said I was safe, I was safe. There were many poolside conversations I had to end due to my overheating Iphone. He shared everything with me. Before and after the shoot, but before there was something especially sacred between us. We were establishig trust. I got to hear about how he saw the world. And whenever he needed, reassured him that he was home. That these people will never walk away from him. He is as unique as he is, but that’s why it was perfect. Plus in my small exposure to Portland, it seemed very anything goes. The kind of place where he would have the space and acceptance to flourish.

I used to think that there was nothing that could shock me or my close friends. We’ve all had such crazy lives, you have to be able to not just sympathise but empathize with each other. I could do that on almost anything. I’ll never tempt fate like that again. I don’t want to see anything more. Just like I don’t want people putting themselves in my place. It’s impossible. I don’t want anyone imagining my pain and my losses. My parents seem like they’re losses seem light as air in comparison to losing a child. As Rachel said to me, that I have said to others so many times; don’t imagine it. All I experienced was painfully deep, but I was not his parent. I thought I was his guardian angel and I got it in reverse. Even though my father paid the ‘iron price’ for my life, I’ve always believed there are several spirits I’m connected to. Now Micheal is one of them.

I wanted to do an exit interview with flourishing, collegiate Michael but it’s not going to happen. That makes me very sad and as a control freak, pisses me off that I didn’t get it done when I could have. Or had Rachel shoot it. We never thought to be in a rush. After fighting so hard to get him placed in this home, we thought the traumas were over. There is no point beating myself up for what could have been. The best I can do is to be present to the current needs. I also want everyone to squeeze their kid extra hard and think about saying good-bye for the last time. What do they need to know? What are those possible last words? That’s what I ask myself before my  15 year old son Ty cuts out with friends. But his buddy that usually drives is a Marine ROTC and a lesbian. No action to be had there. Thank the universe for small favors.

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