Highs & Lows

Another two months since my last post. Thank Heaven that blogging is not my chosen profession; I would have fired myself by now! As usual, my other projects and life events have taken priority and blogging has been on the back-burner. There is a quite a bit to share, so I'll apologize now if I become overly long-winded; it is a trait of which I am frequently guilty in the 'real world' as well.

Good news first - as of this week, I have officially shed 75 lbs from my frame! I truly cannot express how good this achievement makes me feel, both physically and psychologically. I have much more energy and stamina than ever before and I no longer shriek away from the mirror when I see my reflection. People say I smile more, and that I carry myself a bit taller and straighter, which in itself is an achievement as I'm only 5'6" on a good day! Two months ago, I said my goal was to lose about another twenty pounds. From that point, I am down nine more, with another eleven to go. However, I've been re-assessing that number and I think another fifteen from where I am now would be a good stopping point. That would still place me about five pounds over my 'ideal' weight, but still leave me at a good weight balance for my height and build. And it doesn't hurt that my physician believes that 155 would indeed be too small for me as well. And while I am not setting a deadline for my goal weight, it would be extremely nice to be at that weight or very close to it by the time Christmas holidays rolls around.

And more on the good news front - my patio garden was an overall success this year! I harvested the last of my 'crops' over the weekend and I must say that all of the hard work was very much worth the effort. If you've never had fresh produce right from the plant, you really should try it. The flavors and textures are much cleaner, richer and crisper. Needless to say, I will be growing and harvesting again next season; however, I don't think I will try and plant everything 'under the sun' and then some! Some vegetables grew and produced much better than others (tomatoes, peppers, squash, eggplant), and they will be repeated next year. Others didn't fare so well - cucumbers, watermelons and cantaloupes; they won't be returning. I did, however, add an additional fruit to the patio, planting two blueberry bushes and hopefully in two seasons, I'll have my own blueberries; only time will tell.

And now, the not so great news. Cancer, it seems, is flourishing all around me with people I know and love. I had mentioned previously that my brother has been diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer. From the latest information I have received, the disease has progressed to his liver. I don't have this knowledge firsthand, as yet again, he has written me out of his life. Evidently, I do not care enough because I don't call on a daily basis and stroke his ego in the manner he expects and in the manner others do. I truly am sorry my brother is suffering through this illness; but after forty years, I am tired of the drama that results from our 'relationship'. It is exhausting and continuously pulls me down into the muck, and that my friends is a place I do not wish to live. So, I shall rely upon my sisters for information and leave the relationship with my brother as is. Might I regret that decision in the future? Maybe; probably. But as I am struggling to learn, I cannot live in tomorrow, I must live in today.

And speaking of today, well recent 'todays' anyway - in the past month both my father-in-law and my step-grandmother have been diagnosed with cancer as well. My step-grandmother's diagnosis is Stage 4 lung cancer. She is in her early 80's and has decided not to undergo treatment and let the disease run its course. She always believed that she would develop some sort of lung disease/disorder as she had been a lifelong smoker up until 10-15 years ago.

Also diagnosed with a Stage 4 cancer is my father-in-law, Doug. His cancer is cholangiocarcinoma - a rare cancer of the bile ducts. Both lobes of his liver are affected.  Without treatment, his oncologist gave him an estimate of 4-6 months. This is the diagnosis for a man who has always been in excellent health and has always been very active. (And why is Stage 4 showing up suddenly in people who have regular, annual physicals? Have all of these cancers just grown so quickly over the last twelve months that they went unnoticed/undetected for so long beforehand?) Doug has chosen to to undergo the first rounds of chemo and then a reassessment to check if the treatments are having any positive effect on his cancer. He has kept a positive attitude about his illness from the get-go, and he is in touch with Michel every few days to keep him abreast of how things are going. On the outside, Michel has been taking his dad's illness well; on the inside, I can see that he is being torn apart on the inside. He experienced a small part of the cancer battle when Mom was ill, and I truly hate that he has to face it firsthand now with his own parent. On a good note though, we learned a lot about cancer from Mom's illness; this time we were prepared with the right questions to ask and to have Michel's dad ask his own doctors. And unfortunately, we know what to expect with the chemo and the side effects, and the havoc cancer plays not only upon the person afflicted, but those who surround that person as well. We are better prepared, but nothing truly can prepare a person for the potential loss of a parent. I only hope that I can be as strong of a support system for Michel as he was for me in my time of need; time will tell.

I hate to end this post on such a negative tone; but in order to have good days, we must first suffer through the bad ones so that we have something of which to compare them. Relatively speaking, this was a good day - if for no other reason than I was here to see it arrive.

The Relationship that wasn’t…isn’t.

My sisters (“Da” and “De”) and I began tossing about the idea of having a picnic for Memorial Day weekend. In the midst of our planning and discussions, it was mentioned if we should invite our older brother “R”. We decided to extend the invitation, with the three of us knowing it would be declined or at the most it would be received with a “we’ll see”. We have always invited “R” to family functions, or even to simple get-together dinners. In our adult lives, my sisters and I are only able to count on one hand the number of times “R” has actually joined us for anything. The three of us, on the other hand, have attended nearly every party, dinner, etc. that he has thrown and to which we were invited. So, through the luck of the draw (and we really did draw straws), it fell to me to extend the Memorial Day invitation.

I sent “R” an email, inviting him to the picnic and shared all the particulars and even asked for his input/ideas. (Why didn’t I just call? He will not answer his phone if he knows I am calling. Even after he dropped his cancer news upon us, he still won’t answer my phone calls.) A day later “R” replied with the stand-by “we’ll see”. If I could have laid a wager beforehand, I would have made some easy money with that response. Regardless, the invitation was extended.  All seemed well.

A few days later, I received a text from my younger brother, “N”, asking if I had seen “R”’s Facebook status/comment. Now, generally, I don’t pay much attention to someone’s FB status; I check it 2-3 times a week to keep track of my more distant relatives and friends. (Remember that “R”, myself and “N” share the same father; and notice the trend that we three boys use technology to communicate, instead of actual verbal skills?) I logged in, checked “R”’s FB status, and to say I was floored is a bit of an understatement. For ten paragraphs, he lambasted his family with claims of us being unsympathetic, uncaring, completely disinterested, etc. and he painted those of us who did not believe his illness at first as “worthless bastards”. His most harsh comments were reserved for our father, stating that Dad had not called “R” even once since his cancer diagnosis and that Dad did not love him.

Normally, I would not have responded to or commented on his status, because these are the types of games my brother has played our entire lives. But as my father does not use FB, however, and could not defend himself against my brother’s claims, I felt obligated to say my peace and spare my younger brother “N” from the trouble (he was about to be a new father himself, and did not need this hassle) and “N” was livid; out of the three of us, “N” is probably most like our dad and most protective of him. In my comment/response to “R”’s post, I explained to “R” how Dad calls me weekly to obtain information on “R”’s condition, because like my situation, “R” will not answer the phone when Dad calls. The phone will continuously ring, or be sent straight to voicemail. And there was a span of two/three weeks when “R”’s phone was not in service. But the point was that Dad had indeed made an attempt to contact “R”, either directly or through me. I further tried to explain to “R” how Dad does love ALL three of his sons, though Dad shows that love in different ways. I also explained that our initial doubts about “R”’s cancer were not unjustified – “R” has cried wolf many times in his life, and yes, he even claimed to have another terminal illness years before we lost Mom to renal cancer. “R”’s previous illness claim turned out to be a lie.

Perhaps I should not have thrown that out on FB as I did, but as “R” took it public first, it became fair game. “R” responded how he could not believe that we would think he would pretend to have cancer, after all he went through with Mom. All he with through with Mom? When I read that statement, I lost control and held nothing back. If I remembered correctly, and my sisters and other family members will back me on this fact, “R” turned his back on Mom when she became sick; he walked away and would have nothing to do with her. It broke her heart because Mom couldn’t understand why “R” would completely disassociate himself with her. Nearly every time I took her to the oncologist or to chemo treatments, Mom would ask if I had heard from “R”. Each time my answer was the same, and each time it ended in her tears. And I continued on, as the gates had now been opened.  I told him that if my reaction, or lack thereof, to “R”’s illness hurt his feelings, then I apologized; it was not my intention. But I reminded him of what I went through with Mom. (Or could it have been the first time he had heard it from me?) But I didn't turn my back on Mom; I was there when she needed me. Michel, my job, our home, our parrots…all of those things took a back-burner; my only concern became doing whatever possible to help Mom get well. I watched her transform from a strong-bodied, strong-willed woman to nothing more than a shell of her former self. I knew and saw things with Mom's cancer and her fight that neither “R”, “Da” nor “De” could have handled. I idolized that woman and watching her deteriorate the way she did took every last bit of emotional strength I had; every bit of strength to keep Mom from seeing the fear, horror, and pain I felt for her and to keep me going to be the person she needed to lean on.

And there it was – out in the open, at last. Obviously it wasn’t the best time or place to clear the air, but the “R” and I have always seemed to know one another’s trigger. But as you can see from my response, our age-old competitiveness and bitterness towards one another had reared its ugly head. “R” responded to my comment with yet another long diatribe – confirming what I have already known and felt inside – as to how he thought I was the ‘golden child’, most loved, etc., etc. The day I came home from the hospital as a newborn, he stated, was the single worst day of his life. I have always known of his contempt for me; “R” has never really kept that aspect hidden. There were times in our youth when he caused me physical harm, with intentions of much more, had he not been stopped by Mom or  some other responsible adult.  And then there are the emotional scars that “R” dealt me that I have kept buried where they belong. His hatred for me has only grown and festered as we have grown older, and in turn, my own bitterness towards him has festered.  After college graduation, when I came out as gay to our family at 22, unlike “R”, I was not initially disowned, my family was not disgusted by me, and for the most part, no one’s opinion of me changed. I didn’t lose any of my friends; I didn’t lose anything.  I believe that difference was the last straw for “R”; in his mind, further proving that I was ‘the golden child’. After that, no matter what effort I put forth in trying to have a functional relationship with my brother, it always proved to be fruitless.  He would accuse me of stealing his friends, stealing his boyfriends (as if…that’s another post entirely), conspiring against him, etc. Not until I met my partner Michel did I stop trying to make the relationship with my brother into what it wasn’t. One of the greatest things I have learned from Michel, is that a relationship takes two people working towards the same goal – a greater bond; and not working against it.

But according to “R”, as the ‘golden child’ I could do no wrong and in my 41 years, that attitude towards me has never changed.  As children, he would always tell me I was adopted or someone else’s kid, even that an uncle was my father instead of my Dad; he’d call me stupid, fat, ugly, unloved and unlovable. After a person continue to hear these sorts of negative things,  he/she begins to believe them. And I was no exception. “R” told me this horrible things daily, and as a young child, why should I have not believed my older brother? The older brother who was supposed to watch out for and protect me. But I wasn’t fortunate enough to have had that type of older brother.  So always fearing that “R” was right about me and that I could never be good enough for my parents to love me, if they truly were my parents, I chose the ‘goody two-shoes’ path – I obeyed the rules, made honor rolls & societies, participated in extra-curricular activities where an individual could excel, earned scholarships to college, graduated, found a long-term loving relationship; and perhaps I over-compensating along the way, just in case it was never enough. With each of these accomplishments, “R”’s reaction has always been the same ‘still playing the golden child’, ‘suck-up’ and ‘Dad always loved your best’. What “R” doesn’t know, up until Mom passed away, is that I always believed that Mom and Dad loved “R” best – the first born, who did everything wrong and went unpunished; the ‘prodigal son’, if you will; the one who walked away from his family, but his family was always there for him. I was after all, according to “R”, not even their real child.

Little did he or does he understand, that as a younger brother I looked up to him, I wanted to be like him (at least until my teenage years), even though I knew of his contempt for me. And “R” will never know of my fears or youthful jealousies of him. Three days ago he “de-friended” me on FB, and told our sisters that he wanted no further association with me. As far as “R” is concerned, “I don’t have any brothers.” And in that same statement, “R” has written off our younger brother (“N”), which actually doesn’t surprise me as “R” has never had anything to do with “N”. I suppose I am the lucky one, at least “R” acknowledged my existence with his own jealousy and contempt. I think “R” has only seen “N” twice in “N”’s 22 years.

Am I hurt by “R”’s statements of his true feelings? Yes, I am; I’d be lying if I said otherwise (though internally I had always hoped that it wasn’t hatred he felt for me). It certainly explains the empty, hollow feeling I’ve had in my gut these last few days. But right now, I think I can deal with “R”’s decision to cut me out completely; as I’ve said in a previous post, our relationship has been tenuous at best. And even though I said earlier that I had given up on having a good, healthy brotherly relationship with “R”, deep down inside I think there was always hope.

This post has become longer than I had intended, but the relationship it describes is itself, long and complicated. If any good can come from this entire situation, I suppose it is this – Saturday, my Rosary saw the light of day for the first time in six years, since Mom died. I spoke and God listened; now I can only ask and pray that I am strong enough to listen, when He speaks and calls out to me.

Learning to ‘write’ again

When I began actively blogging a short time ago, my full intentions were to focus on the hobbies I enjoy and the projects that come with those hobbies. And as I began to read other blogs, in an attempt to learn how to blog ‘properly’, I learned that blogs are more than just a place to share the things which bring you joy – hobbies, children, pets, etc. But blogs are also places for people to spew forth their thoughts and innermost feelings, however anonymously they so choose. And as I begin to write about my little inconsequence in the world, something else deeper seems to be taking over. I liken it to the Journal Assignment in my high school English class with Mr. Friedman, which also happens to be one of the few enjoyable things I remember about high school.

Once a week, the students handed in their journals, with a minimum amount to be written, for Mr. Friedman to read. He would peruse through them and hand them back; sometimes with comments or just a grade at the top of the entry. If you turned in the journal with the required amount written, you earned an ‘A’ – even if you just copied pages from another book into your journal. The purpose of the journaling was to encourage you to think, write about it, and then someday look back on those journals and learn something new about your life.  I have no idea where my personal journals are now, but I do know they made an impact upon my life. I poured my heart out into those writings – sharing things I had not dared tell another living soul. Those journals helped through some tough personal struggles, not by the comments and feedback Mr. Friedman gave, but because I opened up to those journals and did not keep my emotions or turmoil bottled up inside.

Since high school, I have kept journals only in times of personal struggle or when perhaps I wanted to close out the world. Blogging is quickly becoming my 21st century journal. I have been struggling with some recently received family news and I have been unable (or unwilling?) to process it. I have mulled it over and over in my head, but have moved no where with it. I’m sure writing it down will help, but I am unsure how or where to start. It involves my brother and his news of stage 4 colon cancer. I know that once I actually start writing about it, the entry will, like the others, flow forth uncontrollably. I have already lost sleep over the situation, with last night being the worst so far, because it involves two of the subjects which have caused me the most amount of grief.