To My Parents Children,
This post I have put off for years now, but the time seems optimal now to process on a global front. I have a social media presence I keep updated, I am very political and open with most things I post. However, I often keep my personal life and experiences out of the things I write or share as I am a pretty private person, go figure. Maybe itâs because I am a therapist at trade, and feel that by writing this I am somehow betraying my own confidentiality. It is needed, I feel I must speak my truth, and therapeutically I need support.Â
I labelled this âto my parents childrenâ which will probably be confusing as I am my parentâs only child. My dad had a brain tumor when he was eighteen, resulting in the removal of his pituitary gland. He wasnât supposed to survive the surgery, and definitely was not supposed to have children. My parents tried for several years to have children, and had almost given up, when they found out on Christmas Eve 1991 they were finally expecting. They tried again after my birth, but no such luck. However, my parents were lucky enough to have many, many âadoptedâ children through my friendships with others. It has always been this way, and maybe why I am a well-adjusted only child (haha---trying to keep some humor throughout this). They have children from Kentucky to Paris, and now I am calling on my siblings and other adopted family for support.
As I write this I sit in an empty emergency room cubby as my father is put through another CAT scan, spinal tap, and probably numerous other fun and exciting tests. Weâre not sure what is wrong, but heâs been very sick this week, and I believe he has been sick for some time now. Including myself and my mom. The âlong sicknessâ is an emotional and mental corrosion that has been amassing now for about three years. Now, I donât want the next few paragraphs to be a sob story, and I want to try and tell it as neutrally as possible, but Iâm only human and this is somewhat of an internal processing and purge for myself.
I grew up next door to my grandparents. I spent every day there, we had a routine. Mom or dad would take me a few feet next door, I would wiggle back in bed between my grandparents and try to go back to sleep in-between all of their snoring. Pops would get up, make breakfast and we would watch Andy Griffith and the Price is Right with our eggs, bacon, and dunk a cinnamon twist in black coffee. This is emblazoned into my mind. Every day for years. I am not going to write down the countless other memories I have because this post would be extremely long, and I already hope I have not lost your interest. Thatâs for my memoir, letâs call it: âA Trip Down Bowling Lane.â
Flash-forward to college. Pops became ill, and passed away my sophomore year (2011). After that my grandma was never really the same, and she began losing a lot of her own memory and slipped away from us in 2014. I grieved, of course, but did not expect my family to fall apart after my grandma passed. But it did. I remember driving to classâElet Hall at Xavier because who wants to walk those stairsâand parking. I got a call from my mom saying that they had just been notified that my grandparents will had changed. My dad and I were supposed to inherit the house next door as Pops had built both houses and intended it to go to my dad and me. He wanted me to be able to live next door and take care of my parents, just as they had done. This change was unexpected, and even more devastating when my dadâs sisters, my aunts, tried to convince us that their mother wanted the change.
I am not going to go into details of the strenuous, and heartbreaking lawsuit that has wrapped its grips around our throats for years and wonât let us go, but I will say it has absolutely broken my family and left permanent marks on us. I lost an entire side of my family. Four aunts and uncles, over ten cousins, and so on and so forth. I have come to accept that loss. I was always a black sheep in the family, but for my dad it has been devastating to watch the depression overtake him. He lost his sisters. Over a house. Over things I so much want to cry and kick and scream over because to see my dad so disheartened breaks my own heart. Not only was he betrayed and made an outcast by his family, but he also stands to lose his livelihood as well; the garage which he runs the lawncare business out of is on the same plot of land as the house. Family is supposed to support, love, care, and sometimes knock you down but not to the extent in which they have transformed the biggest teddy bear I know into a brokenhearted, fragile man.
This is why I am calling on my adopted family now. The family whom I have gotten countless calls from in the past few days asking me if they could do anything for my parents and me. There is something you can do. First of all, tell the people you love and care for how much they mean to you. Since I first started writing this piece (itâs been hard for me to want to finish this after I started it, but Iâm sticking to it) my dad has been in the hospital for almost a week without any answers still. We hope he is released tomorrow, but he will still have to be bedridden for the next ten days and receive antibiotics three times a day. Itâs frustrating not having a name to call whatever this is, but we will overcome. We always have, we always will, but sometimes we need help and support.
If you have gotten to this point in my writing, I want to ask something of you. I would like letters, cards, drawings, inspiration, whatever you can think of that would ignite a spark in someone who others have so callously tried to put out for some time now. Help my dad burn brighter against others who wish him ill. I want to shine a light of positivity so bright that the others who have hurt him retreat into darkness. So, please help me shine that light for my dad.
I donât want anyone to feel indebted to do this, but if you feel the need, please reach out to me through Facebook or email ([email protected]) and Iâll give you information on where you can send your warm wishes, prayers, positive vibes, whatever you want to call it, and thank you.










