Too Awful For Words
My family has had the most bizarre tragedies visited upon it.
The circumstances surrounding my brother's death last year were certainly horrible.
All my life my family has had unspeakable tragedies happen. For example, my mother's older sister got married, as was the custom back in the day, after becoming pregnant by a guy she was dating. Four kids later she decided this life was too stifling for her and so one day while her husband was at work, departed for the hinterlands of Montana with my grandma and three of her four children. Why she didn't take the fourth child we'll never know. It's possible that there just wasn't enough room in the car.
Over time she sent the kids back to their father one by one, again, no one knows why. Shortly after they were returned to their father they all went to a family picnic and my uncle, their father, fell during a softball game and broke his neck. He was paralyzed from the chest down and so the kids were sent to various and sundry relatives on his side of the family. My oldest cousin, Janeen, went to live with her Mom in Montana after graduating high school. She eventually settled in Seattle and had begun a modeling career. I'm thinking that if one wants to start a modeling career then Seattle Washington probably isn't the best idea, but I digress. Life seemed to be going okay for her when tragically she ran a red light and was struck by another car and killed instantly.
And this is just one story.
But I'm talking about this because I learned of another tragedy that has taken some 30 years to unfold. I'm talking about it because I want to talk about it so it'll make me feel better. I'm feeling pretty freaked out about it and just need to get if off my chest. I'm not looking for comfort or reassurance. I just need to talk.
In 1977 my mother came to me and told me that my aunt, her youngest sister, would be sleeing with me in my room until her baby was born. Baby? My aunt had been on the streets off and on for a few years and, well, needed somewhere safe to stay until her lying in was over. Soon after she arrived, swollen with child, and not all that forthcoming about the details surrounding the baby's father. There was talk of her being involved in prostitution so there's no telling for sure if she even knew who the father might be.
Within a few short weeks she was delivered of a gorgeous baby with a head of curly hair, big brown eyes and decidedly African-American. In our white bread town this was quite the scandal. Nowadays these things aren't as shocking, but back then it was a pretty big deal. Shortly thereafter my aunt disappeared to be on the streets again and my grandmother adopted the baby and raised her. Unfortunately my grandmother was completely desitute, so grandma and baby ended up living with me and my parents. This was about the same time I had my friend move in and she became pregnant and gave the baby up for adoption and....well you know that story.
A few years later my father died and my mother's side of the family scattered to the winds. There are many family members I have not seen or heard from until joining Facebook last year. I never knew what became of the little girl. The last time I saw her she was four or five years old.
Then last week she found me on Facebook. I was delighted to hear from her and happy to know that she was doing okay. We had about 30 years of catching up to do and so we've been talking back and forth, filling in the blanks and catching up on details.
I asked her if she ever heard from her Mom and she said "no, my Mom was killed by a serial killer back in 1985". Well you know how people can exaggerate, and my family has an especially strong streak of bullshit running through it, so I kind of lightly let it pass. Then I decided to Google it and find out for sure.
It turns out that it's true. My aunt was murdered by a serial killer named Ricky Lee Green who picked her up hitchhiking outside Forth Worth. He took her home, raped her, mutilated and tortured her and beat her to death with a hammer. Her body was found in a drainage ditch outside of town and it took them five years to identify her.
I am horrified, shocked and stunned to learn this. I hear these grisly stories all the time, but I'm having a hard time dealing with the fact that this happened to someone I know and cared for. My aunt was only three years old than me and we often played together as children. I don't know why she wound up on the street and I didn't because surely we were both vicitimized in similar fashion.
I'm devastated that this happened 25 years ago and I didn't know until now. So now the grieving begins.
It is so weird to me how my grandmother had this horrible black cloud around her life. So many of her children have come to terrible ends, yet she herself died a relatively peaceful death. As she grew older and less able to care for herself, she had herself admitted to a nursing home. As her memory grew worse she came to believe that she was in a hotel and living a life of luxury. One of my relatives visited her and told of how my grandmother marveled at the services she received. "They do my laundry, they cook my meals, they take us shopping. I don't have to do anything." For a woman who worked hard all her life and only go grief in return, this is the best possible ending I could have hoped for her.
The circumstances surrounding my brother's death last year were certainly horrible.
All my life my family has had unspeakable tragedies happen. For example, my mother's older sister got married, as was the custom back in the day, after becoming pregnant by a guy she was dating. Four kids later she decided this life was too stifling for her and so one day while her husband was at work, departed for the hinterlands of Montana with my grandma and three of her four children. Why she didn't take the fourth child we'll never know. It's possible that there just wasn't enough room in the car.
Over time she sent the kids back to their father one by one, again, no one knows why. Shortly after they were returned to their father they all went to a family picnic and my uncle, their father, fell during a softball game and broke his neck. He was paralyzed from the chest down and so the kids were sent to various and sundry relatives on his side of the family. My oldest cousin, Janeen, went to live with her Mom in Montana after graduating high school. She eventually settled in Seattle and had begun a modeling career. I'm thinking that if one wants to start a modeling career then Seattle Washington probably isn't the best idea, but I digress. Life seemed to be going okay for her when tragically she ran a red light and was struck by another car and killed instantly.
And this is just one story.
But I'm talking about this because I learned of another tragedy that has taken some 30 years to unfold. I'm talking about it because I want to talk about it so it'll make me feel better. I'm feeling pretty freaked out about it and just need to get if off my chest. I'm not looking for comfort or reassurance. I just need to talk.
In 1977 my mother came to me and told me that my aunt, her youngest sister, would be sleeing with me in my room until her baby was born. Baby? My aunt had been on the streets off and on for a few years and, well, needed somewhere safe to stay until her lying in was over. Soon after she arrived, swollen with child, and not all that forthcoming about the details surrounding the baby's father. There was talk of her being involved in prostitution so there's no telling for sure if she even knew who the father might be.
Within a few short weeks she was delivered of a gorgeous baby with a head of curly hair, big brown eyes and decidedly African-American. In our white bread town this was quite the scandal. Nowadays these things aren't as shocking, but back then it was a pretty big deal. Shortly thereafter my aunt disappeared to be on the streets again and my grandmother adopted the baby and raised her. Unfortunately my grandmother was completely desitute, so grandma and baby ended up living with me and my parents. This was about the same time I had my friend move in and she became pregnant and gave the baby up for adoption and....well you know that story.
A few years later my father died and my mother's side of the family scattered to the winds. There are many family members I have not seen or heard from until joining Facebook last year. I never knew what became of the little girl. The last time I saw her she was four or five years old.
Then last week she found me on Facebook. I was delighted to hear from her and happy to know that she was doing okay. We had about 30 years of catching up to do and so we've been talking back and forth, filling in the blanks and catching up on details.
I asked her if she ever heard from her Mom and she said "no, my Mom was killed by a serial killer back in 1985". Well you know how people can exaggerate, and my family has an especially strong streak of bullshit running through it, so I kind of lightly let it pass. Then I decided to Google it and find out for sure.
It turns out that it's true. My aunt was murdered by a serial killer named Ricky Lee Green who picked her up hitchhiking outside Forth Worth. He took her home, raped her, mutilated and tortured her and beat her to death with a hammer. Her body was found in a drainage ditch outside of town and it took them five years to identify her.
I am horrified, shocked and stunned to learn this. I hear these grisly stories all the time, but I'm having a hard time dealing with the fact that this happened to someone I know and cared for. My aunt was only three years old than me and we often played together as children. I don't know why she wound up on the street and I didn't because surely we were both vicitimized in similar fashion.
I'm devastated that this happened 25 years ago and I didn't know until now. So now the grieving begins.
It is so weird to me how my grandmother had this horrible black cloud around her life. So many of her children have come to terrible ends, yet she herself died a relatively peaceful death. As she grew older and less able to care for herself, she had herself admitted to a nursing home. As her memory grew worse she came to believe that she was in a hotel and living a life of luxury. One of my relatives visited her and told of how my grandmother marveled at the services she received. "They do my laundry, they cook my meals, they take us shopping. I don't have to do anything." For a woman who worked hard all her life and only go grief in return, this is the best possible ending I could have hoped for her.