I like people. I'm a nice person. Many people have cited my loyalty as one of my best traits. Let's put it this way--good for them, bad for me. I'm not going to say I was a doormat but I did overreach.
Being the oldest of two children in the family, much fell to me. Being a girl brought more expectations than I could cope with most of the time.
My most fervent wish from the time I was a little girl was to be a wife and mother. Nothing more. But I never saw that in my future--I was too shy and over-protective parents crippled me. The one time I called a boy, it got back to my parents. I was admonished not to cold call a boy again--proper young ladies didn't make such calls. Values were impressed upon me while my late brother skated on clean, open ice. No matter what he did, there were no consequences.
It has taken fifty years to realize how he used me in particular. I loved my brother for many years, but it began to wear thin in his teenage years. He skated on joy-riding at night, smoking pot, skipping school, dating while I was the perfect little princess trying to be all to everyone. For years he held our family hostage to his whims--Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were postponed while waiting for him to get out bed or do what he was supposed to do. He wanted to go to school to learn diesel mechanics--Dad bought him tools worth thousands of dollars. I attended every graduation of his but he couldn't be bothered with mine. His girlfriends and wife piled more doo-doo on me--I'd practiced calligraphy for years and wanted to do the invitations to his wedding. Nope. I wasn't allowed to be in the wedding--while her 3 sisters were.
I love babies but learned early on not to show it, because it resulted in teasing or someone taking the child away. In junior high school, two girls--Susan Casey and Audrey Sutherland--bullied me in the 8th grade, claiming I was pregnant. I almost went nuts.
I've done everything my Lord and Savior required of me and I put my late brother in his hands. He isn't physically dead but he is dead to me. He stole my mother from me, my birthright, denied me my prize possessions that my mother was keeping for me. He wasn't able to steal away her love for my sons--and she is buried with pictures of them I put into the casket before they buried her. He has stolen money, my pride and dignity, but not my heritage or my soul. He is an unrepentant pothead who has lied and cheated his way through life. I refuse to be a part of it.
I found it hard to make friends and generally avoided such entanglements. I should've stuck by that rule but didn't. I found a kindred soul in an online chapter of Romance Writers of America--Melinda Porter. We clicked on so many levels. We exchanged books, ideas, critiqued each other's work, and shared confidences. It was ill-fated and fell to the manipulations of her friend, Kelcie Jones. She is a piece of work, mean, sharp, vindicative, and a puppet-master. Kelcie is very good at it and drove a wedge between the woman I felt was my soul sister. It ended ugly, Melinda's unexpected email rant was sent on my birthday. I had a heart attack, it made me so sick. The woman I respected and admired, had feet of clay. She'd used me--after I invited into my home and treated her with love and kindness, after we became officers in an online chapter of the RWA. I was willing to go the extra mile to protect her, but she threw me under the bus, lashing out at me for things others had I done. I minded my own business, but recently I thought I saw a softening, but I was wrong.
She wasn't a friend--a friend doesn't demand another friend to choose between them and a job, another friend, or their family. I admit Melinda used me, and there never will be a relationship between us--the cuts are too deep. I honored her as a friend and in trying to embrace Jesus, I apologized to her publicly and privately. The slight thawing had once again turned to ice.
I no longer believe in Melinda. She is toxic to me, asking too much for a friendship in which she was a taker. My life is complete without her and her hysterics.
I've done everything my Lord and Savior required of me and I put this in his hands. I am at peace.
I don't mourn for either my late brother or Melinda--I mourn my naiveté and my willingness to believe in the good of people.
Goodbye, Melinda. Goodbye Tom. May God have mercy on your souls.
This requiem is celebrating my life and my choices.
Bella
