I am a man of constant sorrow.

A story: 
A note to friend G: 

I did have a mom, though it was in days per year. Most of the time, she was in her ptsd stuff, crazy as you or I could be, gone. When she was there, a kindness felt like a gift from heaven: a home baked cheesecake, a short talk of her interests and hobbies, something in a book she was reading she wanted to show me.....  I learned a lot about what my cats do:

those not alpha, when around, me, feel empowered to biff back at the bullies, if they get near me, they're empowered not there other times, to take on the bully with a scissor attack. It could be to protect me, in their minds, or it could be dealing with a bully attach from alpha (at worst, a full wrestling embrace with no release, and deep bites.....damn, as cats do). Often, it means little Scooter does some scything of the air, but Frank has been scratched. 

In the car, on many trips, she'd be so pent up with bully control by dad, that she'd let loose, and go on full time attacks. She always apologized, but kept it up. She said things she didn't feel strong enough to say with him alone. He'd just ratchet up some bully controls: cut back her gas money, silent treatments throughout day, leaving home without telling even overnight fishing, rebuking her actions or a brand of item bought, or giving a mother's day gift for under $1 or other cheapness to make her feel worthless (the trip to get said item, would often be a trip where motorcycle or fishing parts ("necessities") would be purchased usually around $100 a trip for him. 

At her death, she wanted nothing to do with funerals. So, the fam, sans me, planned a month after Irish wake. This meant food and booze. Rick's then wife set up a table of pix of her, sans anybody else’s items. Me, I walked naively into this, not knowing what that an Irish wake was really and Irish wake. Seeing nobody would mention here name, I took the reins. I was still fresh in grief.  I knew was memorials were about: grief. 

I opened up just an inquiry, sharing one of my fond memories. Others, knowing it was a wake, and watching Doug, Rick, Tami, and Dad, for their disapproval of this, added odd joking comments, trying to add their funny Irish Wake comments. I couldn’t understand it when Aunt X said she had good olfactory senses, and her Brother said she was pretty "fucked up in her life". All the while, I was oblivious to the Joker's Minions behind me. But, I did what was proper. 

But, my dad had a full other take on the Wake. It was the Irish part of the wake that was booze: he could drink with others approving drunkenness "for his grief", though it was just a time to drink expensive booze at the bar all laid out. And, there were goodies, snacks and full foods, because at a wedding and a wake like this, others wouldn't the expense: there were crab cakes, shrimp dips: it was the seafood buffet. 

Now, I think about it, my dad was there as if going to the Seafood Buffet at the Sizzler, it was that self-narcissist "for Me" buffet, and unlimited booze.....with no rules.....and he was always the one to serve his open appetites, of all types. (When we take trips, about 1/3 of the focus of the day with dad is him getting his gourmet delights, coffees, sweets, snacks.....all day long). As a child, I remember going to restaurants and others having burgers, but he's always load on shrimp cocktail, largest salad available, biggest T-bone....he'd often be sick that night and the next day....it was the Romans without the vomitorium. So, for him, the Wake was NOT about mom, it was about him, and his entitlement, pleasure, and food delights. 

Now, this is the beginning of the end for me with my Fam. The Wake. I did not eat or drink, as grief doesn't need that. But, the fam then saw me as violating family "rules", and pushing my own "psychotherapist new age counselor rules", though I was actually born with all my values and they've never changed. But, I violated the Rules. 

I was forever on Dad's shit list since then:

on any trip: he treats me like I'm mom

he then took possession of my Grandma's house, and then sold to Doug for a final bill of 15,000. Greg, at night the other day, I remember one time you helped me move, and you and my dad were in a Haul truck, at my grandma's house 2501 N. 20. 

Forever since then, I was a non-person. My plans to remodel the home, which I lived in 6 years and made significant changes to, upkeep, for my Grandma and partly pay for rent....were ignored. Not seen, literally, in his mind, and in his brain as a Narcissist, it registered not: any conversation, piece of paper.....any true emotion shared. (Recent research on psychopathy and narcissism validated this lack of mental processing and memory: their brains don't accept the info and don't retain it on a brain bio basis: that region of the brain is deficient in all ways.  ......it's so gone that when I remind him of any of this, mom, the house, etc. he'll kick me out of his house. Fuck Off. Other times, in old age conversation, he’ll launch into one of the success stories he tells others often about, the successes which are the “norm” for his life: And, I had a good event: I sold my eldest son Doug a home on N. 20^th and Hill, for less and market value. (the pride: he just happened to have an extra home, and out of his beneficence, he passed this on to the eldest with a token cost.

So, it’s that date, it all became clear. Now, I was in this role Always. There were a million stories of this from all ages, from Doug gets new fishing reel but Chuckie is sublimated with a hot fudge sundae from Dairy Queen (and the story is: we’re going there just for you….though Bert set it up all along, with a “be good in Boise and you’ll get that hot fudge sundae with a cherry from Dairy Queen”.  Really, he wanted the Sunday and sold me the story that it was Just for Special me.

So, it’s that date, 2001, two weeks after 911, that it became CLEARER. Of course, it took a few years to the clarity to solidify. But, on that day, the gift from God of clarity continued.

Grief with my mom was complex, taking a decade to sort out the awful PTSD behavior, and the loving behavior. Very complex.

Now, I think much grief is over, but:

1.     Being marginalized in a society, then having it reinforced by the State of Idaho, the locals, and the GOP has made reminders ever present……

2.     I do remember mama….

3.     I do gift my non-alpha cats some leeway to get back at Frank, but intervene if I can…..try to bring calm and peace…..but cats are cats and it works 90% of the time.

Sorrow though, it deep. Grief can be tackled, but sorrow catches you at the wrong moments, and lingers often without you knowing why.

Sorrow has always been the catalyst to my eating: which is not a food addiction per se, but a treatment, without knowing why, to try to elevate myself out of sorrow states. There are interventions, though you’re in a stuck state and don’t see those fast enough: you often stay there for 3 days or 3 weeks before something kicks in or kicks you and you recognize it and come out of the Sleep.

What is the sorrow?

Mom

Marginalized

No father

Gay and no gay life until 28, missing all those growing things

No parents as role models

Breaking family rules meant kicked out for good, and only groveling would change, which I’d not do

Really, since perhaps age 6, a life of sorrow. It’s constantly there, just like ….

What does it take to get a “philosophy” to understand sorrow?

Future stories from Parabola:

Wendego and Fear

Hanuman gets courage to jump to Sri Lanka

the Healing Altar 

Hey, don't whine that you have to sign your name to see these in Pinterest. It's free and you should have been posting ideas, creativity, and DIY there....you bum.....

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/282389839106605037/

Healing altars, formal, informal, religious or not: it's You: