I know, it's been awhile...

I know, I haven't been posting a blog for a long while. It was forgotten until I received an email reminding me to keep the subscription going.

When I saw the title, I was confused. I had no clue who wrote it, so I clicked on the link to take me here. Oh it was me! I wrote it.

A lot has happened since I last wrote it. My mother passed in 2014 and we buried her with my dad's ashes in the cardboard box measuring eight inches by five inches by five inches at her feet. Along with them was the broken watch my brother wore the day he was killed in 1973. My mother held onto her prized possession that identify him. I was oblivious to the fact that she took down all the photos of my brother until they bought the house when my father retired. The smiling baby that sort of resembles the happy Buddha in the framed eight by ten photo was hanging in the guest bedroom. It was as if she wanted to keep him close by.

They rarely spoke of my brother. It wasn't that they were ashamed. They were hurt, deeply hurt by the loss. The day he died, dad was grieving. He was so sad that he landed in the hospital with a surprise. "What? I am having a heart attack right now?" He looked at the doctor with an incredulous expression. Shocked is an understatement and I am pretty sure that was what he felt.

I did not realize until years later that I could have lost both my brother and my father on that fateful day. I was too young to understand the seriousness of the situation until we were at my brother's wake. I remember feeling numb, uncertain whether this is real or the ultimate prank. I was waiting for him to jump from the coffin and yell "surprise!", yet nothing was happening. The room was eerily quite until my aunt took one look at him and burst into a loud wail. Her wail jolted me from the state of uncertainty.

He was known to tease, play pranks, and push our emotion to its limits. He had us watch Svengoolie series with all the black and white horror movies. His personal favorites was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I hated to watch the slow transformation of the handsome man into a fearful monster. I now enjoyed watching all of the movies that Svengoolie chose. Such a fun show. Back to the memory.

I began to cry, not that it was a grief, I was scared. Her wail scared me. I vaguely remember being whisked into another room and before I realize what was happening, my sisters and I were in the neighbor's Lincoln Continental on a cold November night. Mrs. Cervony knew how to lighten the mood. She wrapped herself in an imaginary hug, shrugged her shoulders and let out a "brrr!" Her animated expression had me giggling.

Recently I read my father's memoir. At first glance I thought it was incomplete; he left out the detail of my brother, my sister Linda, and my birth. He left out several details. If he were to complete it, I would imagine his experience of learning about my disability.

In the next blog, I will relate my life story.