First, off thank to everyone who sent me such encouraging comments and emails regarding my father. It has been a surprisingly trying time for me so far w/the worst yet to come. Of course, my family is already at odds w/each other and bickering on how we will divide up the land. (My father has 50 acres of land out in East, TX) Money does strange things to people. Especially, poor people. But thats another story.
I went back and read the “history” entries and they seem a bit chaotic from the way I broke them up into seperate posts. I’ll try to condense them into one big giant post. I just thought one big one would be too much. I know I get bored quickly sometimes when someone just goes ON AND ON on a blog. *g*
Anyway, thanks again, I am truly touched.
My rants have been kinda limited lately. I’ve been dealing w/some bad news I got this week. I haven’t quite digested all of it until now.
My father has been battling lung cancer for the past year. He had a grapefruit sized tumor removed from his upper left lung back in October. They discovered recently it has metastasized into his hip bones. This type of cancer is not treatable and non-operable. Basically, right now he is in a hospice testing his tolerance for pain and what meds are most effective at the smallest dosage. Once thats over, he gets to go home to live out his remaining days. There is zero hope of recovery.
Now for those of you that know me, you know there isn’t much love loss between my family and myself. Mainly over my coming out nightmare. But thats sorta just the icing on the cake so to speak. My childhood evolved from one tragedy to the next and its not a part of my life that I reflect upon often. To understand my thoughts now, its probably best if you go back and read the history. Otherwise, the context of the next paragraph will be completely lost on you. I often use harsh sarcasm and puns to describe my family. (ie…if you trace the roots of white trash back to its origins, you’d find my family tree)
This news has brought forth a few inner demons I thought long exorcized. In trying to resolve some of the conflicting emotions, I’ve come to realize I still love my father. Not as deeply as the normal father/son relationship but love nonetheless. Honestly, this is a bit of a surprise. I often joke that his passing would be a release. The same release that I welcomed when my step mother, Satan-in-drag, finally died and left us for the underworld. (Like I said, you need to read the history.) I find myself wishing he wasn’t sick and I keep asking myself why. He robbed me of so much as a child and as an adult why should I love him? I never got to do ANY of the father/son things that fathers do w/their kids. He doesn’t deserve it. No one deserves the love of a child they so harshly abandoned. The only good memories I have of him are back when I was very young before the death of my foster mother. Everything after that is just ugly.
Deserving or not, I did forgive him. I find that I don’t care about the reasons. My father and I currently have a very distant relationship. I see him about once a year and I never make more than a day of it. We talk, catch up on our lives, and I quickly realize why I fled bum fuck nowhere Texas ages ago. So, now I’m in the position to cause harm or comfort. I find myself only wanting to comfort him. I guess that says good things about me. I just can’t help thinking about all the things that could have been had he not been so closed minded.
** This was copied from my old journals and I’ve tried to condense it for clarity **
It finally happened! My stepmother is dead! Satan has left us once again for the underworld. May she reign in hell forever undisturbed.
This news is so completely unexpected as she is 10yrs younger than my dad. On top of that, they still don’t know what killed her. She went to bed one night and just didn’t wake up. It was your conscience that killed you, you mean spirited hateful bitch! (Yes, I’m bitter, and I have good reason. If you haven’t read the history, please do so now.)
I just got home from work and I’m so giddy w/laughter I can’t control myself. I know I shouldn’t be happy over someone’s death but I can’t help it. She was the bane of my existence for so long, I can’t help but be happy. She made my life a living hell as a child. Anything cruel or mean she could think of to do to me, she did. It has taken me years to work thru the anguish, feelings of inadequacy, and self-doubt that she instilled within me sometimes daily.
I have such a feeling of relief. As if a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. My belief is that, for whatever reasons, she was a miserable person in this life. A person who couldn’t be happy so tried to make everyone around her just as miserable as she was. All my puns aside, I hope that she has found some sort of relief from her grief. Maybe in her next life she’ll come back as a gay man adopted by white trash and they’ll kick her to the curb at the ripe age of 14.
I’m going out to celebrate tonight. I plan on getting snockered up real good!
****this is a from a journal entry about a week later****
They discovered what killed my step mother finally. Apparently, she had taken a whole slew of pills again (she was a severe pill addict) and some of the pills interacted and backed up into her esophagus. She basically choked to death in her sleep. Hows that for irony? I still say it was her conscience.
** I copied this story from an old webpage and I’ve condensed it way down for clarity/simplicity. Even still, its a bit lengthy so you might wanna grab a cup of ‘joe’**
First let me say as tragic as my childhood was w/my foster family it could have been a lot worse. Kinda hard to believe but I’m digressing….
Birth – 1yr:
I was born in the early 1970’s to the not-so-proud parents of Wanda Clem & Roy Seymoure. My mother met my father while he was in the service and after he was discharged they married. I was the 2nd sibling at the time and an unwanted/unexpected pregnancy. My mother & father were hard core drug users before, during, and after her pregnancy. I was born 2 months premature and addicted to several drugs. I spent the first 9 months of my life in a hospital surrounded my machines and strangers. By some miracle, my mother managed to get me home. I’m sure the laws then were much laxer in relation to child/drug abuse. You’d think the issue w/my hospitalization would have been a wakeup call to my parents. Nope! My parents continued their drug habits. I would be left alone in an empty closet or an open dresser drawer for hours sometimes days at a time w/nothing but a pillow and bottle. When CPS (Child Protective Services) found me, I had a diaper rash from my neck to ankles. I was returned to the hospital for 2 months for severe dehydration and related ailments along w/multiple contusions/bruises all over my body. This time I was not returned to my parents. As luck would have it, my real mothers best friend, told my foster mom/dad about me. My foster mother told me once, she took one look at me and fell in love. My adoption was just a matter of formality after that. So I went from being the unwanted son of Mr/Mrs. Drug Heads to the first and only adopted child of Mr/Mrs White Trash Family Robinson. (yes, I’m poking fun here)
Continue reading Tragedy of Childhood