Blood on Blood

Scars in common

 

Bitter sour week, here. My Uncle John died early Sunday morning. I hadn’t seen him in 25 years. Our families were estranged. My father and he had a disagreement that dissolved the paternal side of my family tree.

 

I received a phone call three weeks ago from a man who looked me up in the phone book. He was tasked by my injured and dying Uncle John to find a lost brother, my father. Instead he found me. I was listed. I was in the book. The man left a message on my answering machine. He said, “John’s in intensive care and he wants to see his brother; your father. He wants to mend old wounds.”

 

I called the man back and listened to him tell me of Uncle John’s specific and not so specific injuries. Indeed, he was in intensive care. And indeed that is what he needed. I thanked the man and the man asked God to bless me. Lightening hasn’t yet struck.

 

I proceeded to call dad. Tough phone call. Caught him off guard. There was a lot of silence and decision making going on his end. I could tell. In a soft voice he said, “I’ll call you back later this week, PK.”

 

My father spent the next two weeks with his long lost brother John. The time they had lost. The love they had not.

 

My Uncle John died early Sunday morning. I had spent that Saturday evening talking with Nancy about him while we smoked and drank innocent cocktails on my front steps. We were amazed at the speed of the clouds sheening the blue moon. She had only come by to talk, and that’s what we did. We spent the evening exposing various scars.

 

My Uncle John had two children. Boys. My cousins. I was estranged from them for 25 years.

 

We met again at Uncle John’s viewing. We touched upon the seam of needless estrangement and gathered all we not so strangely had in common. We talked of girls and high school and sports and wooden toy trains.

 

Uncle John was just laying there. Bearded wearing a handsome bolo tie. In a coffin.

 

I cannot imagine how difficult and strange it was for my cousins. For it was their dad in the bolo tie. The tie that he had worn for 25 years, at least. I reentered their life through the door of a funeral home. How difficult and strange.

 

We talked with ease and stood in staring silence with comfort. As it’s been said, “Nothing feels better than blood on blood.”

 

For as difficult as this year has  been, it is nothing compared to that of my cousins. Perhaps this is the turnstrap that whips us back into family. Or at least brothers with scar tissue not of our own making.

Written by pkbeachbum (Link to this entry) This entry has 6 comments: (Add your own)

what a wonderful entry, i too lost a whole side of my family when my mother and father divorced, so i understand, kind of......i am sorry for your loss

tawnya
Comment from ttwstdangl - 8/13/04 9:25 PM

 

A beautiful and touching entry.  You and your family have my kindest thoughts.
Comment from sistercdr - 8/13/04 7:20 PM

 

This is the first time I've read your journal, but I just wanted to tell you that I was deeply moved by your entry.  You definitely have the gift of creating visuals with your words.  I'm so sorry for your loss, but it seems that you and your family have been able to get some closure.  

Be blessed...Trina
http://journals.aol.com/trinainmobile/reflections
Comment from trinainmobile - 8/13/04 5:12 PM

 

Sorry about your loss.  Maybe you can get a friendship with your cousins.  Family is the best thing to have in times of need and they are better to even know as the years go on so you can have people to grow old together with.
Comment from sugar1337 - 8/13/04 3:26 PM

 

Wow, again I'm overwhelmed at your incredible talent for expression.  You've really captured the emotions at play here.  I'd be curious to know if your father resolved issues or what he's feeling about his brother now.  Amazing entry!  ¤Holly
Comment from quroboros - 8/12/04 10:49 AM

 

Powerful and moving writing PK.  I'm sorry about your loss.
Comment from lulu2929 - 8/7/04 2:54 AM

 

Passport

I write post cards from places I’ve only been. NY, Boston, LA, Philly, San Fran, Chicago, LONDON, Denver, Montreal, St. Louis, Miami, Toronto, Tampa, Phoenix, Dallas, San Diego, Ensinada, Asbury Park...The Jersey Shore

Shower

Are you a shower singer? I am, but only when no life forms but Lefty are around. And the window is shut.

I found this article today and was floored by the inclusion of one of my all time faves, "Suspicious Minds". Sometimes I do the classic Elvis version. Other times, when chipper and sure of foot, I do the FYC version. Either way, it's better than subjecting the world to me doing karaoke.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/5696858/

 

Creep

If you like Radiohead and its particular brand of aesthetik, and you have broadband, and you need to make a sandwich or do some laundry or take out the garbage or have a moment in the loo while this downloads (I can't get it to stream - the link, not the loo), then I highly recommend this flash file.

http://www.kalantan.com/creep.swf

 

Yet again, surfer saves the day

Link to a great story in Britain's infamous newspaper "The Sun" about a surfer who saved nine lives in a flood. Includes a WBFIIWATT (would be funny if it weren't a tad tragic) pic of a young lady being winched up to a helicopter.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2004381690,00.html

 

 

Asleep among skyscrapers - a year gone by

NYC Blackout:

Part 1:

 

We will take such events as an excuse to get physically close to our brethren, To other New Yorkers; to mingle and migrate with them, us, I, by the million. To be centered on our two great common denominating thoughts: one of being a New Yorker in a New York transient moment, and one of being a spark in a city of 4 million plugs. We focus forward and accelerate, we actively celebrate those with whom we are joining, rather than passively blink at who might be joining us.

 

We traverse the great famous bridges on foot. We split apples with strangers. We offer ideas on how to get from Washington heights to Red Bank using human contacts and a thumb. (Hoboken, ask for Dave, he’ll take you to Slabby’s, $40 for a cab to New Brunswick, catch a bus there.) We casually glean the intricate meaning of details in strangers’ lives.

 

We drink beer and wine and are ever more careful when playing darts ina dark bar. We smile at the policeman, who smiles back while suggesting that we keep to the left of his imaginary pedestrian/traffic boundary.  We keep left, and conspire to swing right somewhere in the unfurling distance.

 

We walk from upper east to upper west and swing downtown along Central Park, We sweat in metro-humidity. We curb crawl the neighborhoods for fresh bodega boxers and cold water and oranges.

Darkness brings an adrenalin rush. The stranded search for sleep on 42nd and Broadway, in Battery Park, in Central Park. We sleep on marble steps, park benches and grand green lawns.

 

For the first time on this tiny island we have no light but the stars. The constellations confuse us, so we invent our own.

 

Part 2:

Inventing Constellations

Yes, I wear pajamas - but only the pants

OK, this is how I know I'm still stoned: I went to put my PJ bottoms on and one leg was inside out. The ensuing effort to rectify the situation was like trying to turn a mobius strip outside in with one's feet.

 

PJ's: 1

PK: 0