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SOMETIMES (part 7 of 8)

A memoir of a kid who changed the way the world was pushing her

By Christine GarzaPublished 3 years ago 50 min read
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SOMETIMES-7

121- The Accident

After dad passed, Sister brought the first of her three children into the world.

Soon after, she was involved in a very bad car accident, which almost took her life. She hit a tree one night on the way home after a few drinks with a friend, while drag racing down a street in Yonkers. The ‘friend’ did not stop to help, but paid an anonymous call to the hospital, located right at the scene of the accident. Mom had a premonition that night in her sleep. She suddenly took very ill and had a fever and sweating/chills for no apparent reason, waking her up. When the phone call of the accident came shortly after, mom’s symptoms disappeared.

Sister lay in a coma for days, with a 50/50 chance of surviving, and finally becoming conscious. Her marriage was on the rocks and we all hoped for the best. The only reason I knew about the ‘friend’ was because he bragged about the accident the next day to my boyfriend at the time, not knowing he was dating her sister.

When she became conscious, she had amnesia for quite a while, with head injuries. But she did talk about Dad coming to visit her and bringing her flowers. She said he told her it wasn’t her time and she had to go back, because she had more to do. It took sometime before she could function on her own once again.

The marriage did not last, and her life went on to be a series of ups and downs. She was to go through two more relationships and bore two more children. With her third marriage much later on, she seemed to be somewhat content, and stayed married until her husband’s passing.

I feel badly that both Brother and Sister endured so much unrest.

122- The Rolls and the MG

One winter day in early December, 1966, I stood patiently on Yonkers Ave, waiting at the bus stop to go home from school. It was cold and the snow had melted and froze again, leaving some slippery iced areas where the concrete had not shown through yet. I was fifteen years old, still wearing skirts in the wintertime to school, my high boots, wool sweater, with long hair draped over my corduroy coat, and a bunch of school books in my arms.

A black Rolls Royce suddenly pulled up to the bus stop, driven by a chauffeur in full uniform, with an elderly gentleman sitting directly behind the driver.

You have to understand that I had never seen a Rolls Royce in Yonkers, and it is likely I was not the only one. You could expect to see a Volkswagen, or a GTO, or a Cadillac , and even a Buick Special or a Mustang, but never a Rolls Royce.

As the chauffeur dutifully parked, he stepped out of the vehicle, and opened the back door just behind him. I also noticed a little red MG pass us in the opposite direction on the street, with two younger guys, a little older than myself, watching what was happening at the bus stop.

The chauffeur helped the older, white haired gentleman out of the vehicle, and walked him to the sidewalk at the bus stop where I was standing.

The MG then passed by in the opposite direction again, to continue watching the event as it was unfolding.

The chauffeur returned to his vehicle and waited. The elderly gentleman, dressed in a long black overcoat and derby hat, began to tell me that he noticed me and had to stop and tell me that he found me beautiful and it was a pleasure to meet me.

While I was most definitely speechless, and somewhat taken back, and perhaps a little suspect, it made me feel uncomfortably wonderful and special. In a matter of maybe thirty seconds, I had a hundred thoughts rage through my fifteen year old head.

Meanwhile, the red MG made a few more passes back and forth to get a full view.

The gentleman took off one of his gloves and slowly reached for my hand, which I gave him. He lifted it to his lips and kissed my hand ever so gently. And then he thanked me for being so gracious. I, in turn said, “You’re welcome, and Thank You.” He turned and motioned to the chauffeur, who returned from the vehicle and helped him back into the Rolls Royce. He glanced at me in appreciation, and drove off.

How often does that happen in a lifetime? If I hadn’t had been alone at the stop, would he have paid me a second look? Who knows.

But that wasn’t the end of it. The little red MG, was the next to pull up to the curb where I was standing, still waiting for the bus that was more than just a little late.

The passenger rolled down his window and asked me who that was in the Rolls Royce. I smiled and said I didn’t know.

As I looked a little harder, I realized the driver was a young man I passed every morning on his way to his bus stop. We had gotten to the point of nodding to each other as we passed by each other every day.

He told me his name. Then the passenger started a conversation with me, still hanging on to the event that just took place. I came to realize that he was the cousin of a friend of mine at school. We talked for what seemed a long time and I still had no idea why the bus wasn’t showing up, but after much coaxing, I let them give me a ride home.

I wound up dating the passenger in the car for close to seven years. In that time, the incident that day came up several times in conversation. I never could understand or had any explanation of that experience.

Yet, another time, I was waiting at the Mount Vernon station with about ten or more other people, waiting for the city bus to go to school in the early morning. I didn’t know a sole in the crowd.

Suddenly a car pulled up, not a Rolls Royce, but this time, maybe a Chevy or a Ford. The young man pulled up to the bus stop, rolled down his window, and called to me so that everyone at the bus stop could hear, “Excuse me, I pass by here every morning and I see you standing here, and I keep wanting to tell you that I think you are beautiful, and you always start my day off happy. I just really wanted to tell you that.”

I smiled, feeling shocked, but grateful for his comment and smiled back at him, “Thank you!.” He smiled, rolled his window back up, and then he continued his drive.

I couldn’t be sure, but I took it as a very nice thing to do. He seemed genuine, and no one at the bus stop said a word to me. Not one. They were all oddly silent. I stepped back in line.

The Universe seems to send things your way when you need it. I’ve seen this time and time again. As long as you keep trying to make life the best you can, the Universe acknowledges it. Plus, you might need that little memory at some point to get you through rougher times.

Just the other day, I was at the local post office, dropping off a copy of my children’s book that someone had ordered. Standing in line, feeling a little under the weather, a gentleman behind me spoke up just as I was about to leave,” Excuse me, You have a little something on the back of your sweater. Here, let me get that for you!” And he handed it to me.

It was a tiny white feather that must have come from one of my pillows at home. White feathers, to me, are a symbol of someone or the Universe watching over you. Like in the film ‘Forest Gump, the White feather symbolizes the completion of a cycle, and new beginnings. We had just moved back to California for our family to be close again. No more plane rides to see each other.

I recognized the feather as he gave it to me, and thanked him very much.

123- Judgements

I was a latch key kid. I came home to an empty apt, did my homework, and then watched TV or went out and played with friends. When mom arrived, she made dinner and then we went over my homework together. It never occurred to me that I needed someone to be there when I came home from school.

No cell phones or beepers or any way to get a hold of mom, except if she called. But I knew her schedule and if she wasn’t home on time, then fear set in. I have always had an active imagination. As much as I am a stickler for the truth without exaggeration, my imagination has always been stellar.

A few years later, back in Yonkers now, and dad no longer a threat, I overheard some conversations between mom and another of her good friends about our prior situation. She gave little support for mom, who dared to take chances few other women/mothers in that day would; to protect herself and her children from an abuser. Wonder Woman would be a more accurate title for her.

Much like before the Me Too movement, people were far too quick to judge what they didn’t know or hadn’t experienced... or were too afraid to do anything about. This friend of mom for many years, gave her an ear beating about her decision to leave dad.

This friend had become a ‘Holy Roller’, interestingly enough. This same woman had in her resume what I consider to be the most inappropriate and misleading lie in her life choices. Mom thought this was why she became so religious… shocker.

I have come to understand that very religious people often have something they are repenting for the rest of their life. Regardless of what I knew, I never judged her for this at all. I just mourned her remarks to mom. Regardless of what I knew, I never judged her for this at all.

Her skeletons were alive and well and remained so in her closet for the rest of her life. In time, I suspected they might come dancing out at a very inconvenient moment, but who knows if they ever will. No one should ever judge the actions of another’s unless it affects them directly. Mom’s choices brought no regrets or anger in the end from me. Sister, I believe, felt differently. On the other hand, this woman with her secret, can still ruin lives long after she has passed, for generations.

She showed up to Mom’s wake when she passed, and told me what a wonderful woman Mom was, which I agreed with. But beyond that, I no longer had use for

her opinions. She only added to Mom’s pain, giving little thought of the pain she, herself, caused countless others.

124- Real Estate

Brother sold his house in Poughquag, NY in 1976 and moved the family up to Woodstock, where he had purchased, along with some friends, acres and acres of land on Ohayo Mtn. He had planned to build a family home there and live out his days there.

Money from the car accident I was involved in with Mom and Sister back in ‘57, had accrued over the years and I had $5,000 waiting for me when I reached 21. I hadn’t touched it because I wanted to invest it in something worthwhile at some point. I was now 25, soon to be 26, and Brother had some land to sell me, right next to his property on Ohayo Mtn.

I had no reason to believe it might be a bad thing. I had planned to build a house for myself eventually and live happily ever after. I loved the town of Woodstock. It was full of Art and Music and that was exciting to me. Brother and I had a decent relationship for all my life so far. He would build my house and we would be neighbors.

I gave him $5,000 cash and eventually got the deed. Mom approached me and asked if I wanted to build a house. I hemmed and hawed because I didn’t have the cash, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to take out a loan. She had spoken to Brother and he agreed to put up a small house for $15,000. Mom insisted it was a good move and she would lend me the money at 1% finance charge. I had never taken money from her, and didn’t feel good about it, so I declined. She came back, asking me if I didn’t think her money was good enough, which was never the case. She said, ”You never asked me for money, but Brother and Sister always have, and I would like to do this for you, but you have to pay me back”. I took the loan.

Shortly after, I began seeing someone in Woodstock, someone my brother said was the only one in town that seemed to have his head stuck right on his shoulders. He resembled someone I knew from Art School, in both attitude and looks, and I was immediately drawn to him. Getting to know him, I found that he was a wonderful person that I enjoyed spending time with. We seemed to ‘click’.

He was Mexican. Brother hated anyone coming into the family, even as a friend, that wasn’t pure white. So he threatened his life when it looked like I was getting too close to him. He put a contract out on this person so that I wouldn’t be tempted to be with him. When that information came to me, I made some choices. I decided to leave Woodstock and head for California, where I could be away from the family and lead my own life as I saw fit, finally. Forget the house and the property in Woodstock, I was personally exhausted of dysfunctional people trying to tell me how to run my life and threatening me and those around me.. I wanted my own chance to flourish.

Legal papers were drawn up when I took out the loan with mom. I had given Brother payments by check in increments as he went along, for the building of the house. I had so far given him $13,200 when I began considering all that was going on with Brother in Woodstock. I kept $1800 and decided to pay mom back after I got a job in California. I went to a local lawyer and signed the house and property over to Mom before I left. I left the signed registration of an older Mercedes I owned, which needed work, on a table for whoever wanted it.

125-Another Trip Across Country

I’m not going to propose that I have special abilities or connections, but some interesting things happened before and after Mom passed. I will just relate some things that should be considered, hopefully without judgement, as I dated and made note of all dreams from the day we left Woodstock to well after mom passed. My new life in California, beginning in 1977, gave me the incentive to record dreams from that moment on.

In August,1977, I left NY with my boyfriend, who eventually became my husband. The fear and craziness that ensued rang a very familiar note in my psyche. Brother had become Dad, and perhaps worse. He had no alcohol or drug problem, but life in NY where we all lived had become Hell. His wife would eventually leave him time and time again, and finally, on her last attempt, to remain in hiding until his passing.

Brother’s unusual temper at times was volatile, but never towards me. He had issues for sure, but I stayed out of them. He was inconsistent with his reasoning, but it didn’t hamper our relationship. He hurt a lot of people, but never me. He lived in a world of lies and deceit and maliciousness. But he never inflicted his illness on me. Until he did.

There is one thing I have learned the hard way in life. When you see a person treat others badly, understand that they will do the same to you. No one is exempt. Eventually, you WILL become fair game.

I had just been through an intervention where Brother accused me of numerous things I had never done, much less considered. Life was suddenly becoming surreal, once more. Suddenly, the people who I trusted with my life, all my life, were now taking my life from me. I was 25 years old, and it suddenly dawned on me that I no longer was a free person, again. I was about to lose. Lies now circled around and through my life like vultures over dead meat. I was the next victim.

126- The Purse

As an example, I found a lone purse sitting in a cart in Woodstock’s A&P, with a week’s receipts in it from a store owner. I brought it into the store manager, giving my name and number should anyone want to reach me if there were any questions. When I told Brother what I had done, he threatened to ‘slap the shit’ out of me for returning the purse. The owner of the purse was so thankful for my returning it, she wrote about it in the local paper. She owned one of the stores in town and supposedly had her week’s receipts in the purse. I didn’t go through it, so I didn’t know, nor did I want to. It wasn’t mine.

And then some woman in town approached me one day to yell at me because Brother had told her I was his wife, and that she loved him and I should stay away from him. That was all I had to hear. I heard California calling.

I told my friend that I was leaving in two weeks. I had a beat up Toyota (The Blue Goose) that had been rear ended. I paid $125 for it, but it ran well. He had the option to stay in Woodstock, and was also welcome to join me, but I explained that I had to leave. I simply couldn’t relive this horror of a life all over again, with fear being my bottom line.

Mom, my savior in life, was believing Brother’s lies and saw me as someone she had never known. He was way over the edge, now, with delusions and accusations. She was told I was a drug addict and drug dealer. I don’t and didn’t do drugs. I have never sold them or had any to give away, either. I am fearful of them. I don’t drink. I never have. Anyone who knows me, knows this. Brother’s mental and emotional illness had now impacted my life as it had impacted others along the way. Why would I even consider I wouldn’t be a victim in time?

It was a no-win situation. I wanted out. The only two people I had in my life that I trusted with my life, were now putting me in a place I was all too uncomfortable and familiar with.

127- California Or Bust

So, Benji decided he wanted to join me. I asked him everyday for two weeks if he wanted to change his mind, and he didn’t. We were good friends. Mostly, that was our status. We had no strings. He could change his mind any time.

We left on August 13, in 1977, as planned. I had just turned 26. The car was a 1971 Toyota Corolla/ The Blue Goose, and it had no muffler, but a lot of spunk. I had no way to close the trunk, because of having been rear-ended before I bought it, but we managed with bungies. We took our guitars and basic other needs and headed for the western skies, in search of a dream. No real expectations, just taking a day at a time. And like mom, we were leaving on the sly. I knew if I said something, Brother would create a very unpleasant scene, and Benji would be history.

I dropped a letter off in the mail to mom, to Brother, and one to Sister. I explained that this was my choice, and to please honor it, and I would be in touch when I was settled. I signed them with love.

We took a nice easy ride across country, circumventing Memphis and Nashville (Elvis had just passed), stopping at the Grand Canyon and different places of interest along the way. It was a good feeling knowing that I was virtually untouchable and truly invisible for that duration. Eventually, the Blue Goose broke down in Los Angeles. The water pump went on the fritz, so we decided to give Los Angeles a try. I had originally wanted to go to San Francisco, but Los Angeles was good. Hollywood, to be exact.

We located a nice apartment on Franklin Ave and then I found a great job at Petersen Publishing Company. I landed the job first, and then Benji three weeks later also started up with Petersen’s. We both started out with simple desk jobs and quickly advanced. I went into Photocomposition and he went into Special Inserts. Life was beginning to look promising.

We were all settled in just over a month and I decided to pay a call to Mom, with news that I was doing well, and happy. I rang her number in Yonkers. No answer. I rang it again later. No answer. I rang it several times day and night, for a few days with no answer.

128-Oh Brother!

Fantasia was playing at the Cinorama Dome theatre in Hollywood. I had never seen it, so we took a break and stood in line with the rest of Hollywood to see this film. It was something like I had never seen. I was a Disney fan, but this was Art. It was the break I needed.

The next day, still getting no answer at mom’s phone, I broke down and called Brother. His wife answered the phone and then he took the phone over. In a very angry tone, he told me Mom was dead. He said I killed her. He said she had a heart attack and was calling my name over and over and I wasn’t there for her. He said he blamed me for her death. He called me everything he could think of at the time.

I got off the phone and collapsed in tears. “She’s dead. And I never got to talk to her.” and I wept uncontrollably. I never got the chance to ‘right’ everything with her. Brother always ran defense. I asked God for forgiveness for not being there, for causing this. I went to bed that night and dreamt of ‘Fire on Bald Mountain’, and associated it with my new Hell.

I remembered that in the conversation with Brother, he told me what hospital Mom was in when she passed. Oddly enough, a good friend of mine worked in medical records in that very same hospital. I called her that next day. She knew my mom.

When I asked her about how Mom passed, she said, “What?”

I repeated my question.

“Your mom walked out of here a week ago. She’s not dead, Chris”

129-Lies

“What?”

“No, she’s fine. She had some mini heart attacks and checked herself out. But while she was here, your brother was with her, creating issues and making her upset. They asked him to leave. He wasn’t allowed back.”

I thanked her up and down, and cried some more.

“Could this really happen? Am I imagining this phone call? “

I kept trying her number and finally got her on the phone. She had been visiting a friend in Vermont for a few days and had just returned.

We both cried on the phone. Her first question to me was if I was on drugs.

I assured her that no, I wasn’t on drugs and never had been. I DON’T DO DRUGS! I told her to come out to California and see for herself.

I told her the conversation I had with Brother on the phone and he denied it all.

She didn’t believe he might have said that. My goodness.

Then she asked why I never gave him money to build the house. I told her I had. Luckily, I made sure I kept the cancelled checks with me and I sent them to her. When she approached him again, he denied I had given him a dime. Then she showed him the cancelled checks I sent her. Apparently he ‘forgotten’ I had given it to him.

Mom did make the trip out to see us, and we had a great time. I was working at a job I loved, and life was looking good. And Mom was proud of me.

Brother, on the other hand, was full of discontent. He felt someone had pulled the wool over his proverbial eyes, and ‘one upped’ him. Although that was not the intent, I believe he saw it as such. I’m sure he thought I would just abandon the building of the house and he would be able to take back the property. He would claim I never paid him a cent and get away with it. I don’t think he expected me to legally change ownership. Nor did he count on me having cancelled checks. Now he had to answer to mom.

130- We Have A Visitor

Driving down Hollywood Blvd. mid-morning one day, I happened to look in my rear view mirror. Brother was a few cars behind me in a rented vehicle! He had come out to find me, and probably take me ‘home’ with a gun to my head, as he had done to his wife on a couple of occasions when she tried to leave him, without success. I quickly pulled off the street and went to a phone booth and called Mom to make sure I wasn’t just manifesting my fear now, and delusional. Sure enough, he was in Los Angeles looking for me!

Mom told him before he left on his voyage, “You better remember that you are on Christine’s turf when you go out there. You stand to be arrested if she finds you stalking her.” But, I don’t know why she didn’t prepare me for this. Sometimes I still felt that mom had reservations, and wondered if I was keeping some unimaginable secret from her. What I have found over my lifetime, is that if you tell people the truth, they will surely not believe it. I would venture to guess they would rather hear some manufactured crazy story. The fact is, people don’t know how to handle the truth, no matter how simple and non abrasive it is. People love dramas. I don’t.

It seems he went to Los Angeles to see what I was all about. He had made the prediction I would be back in Woodstock within six months. It didn’t happen. Now he was with some girl he might have met somewhere, anywhere, with him, while his wife watched their children back on the mountain. I can’t be sure who the woman was. I didn’t recognize the person in the passenger seat. Brother, on the other hand, was easily recognizable.

That was his second trip to Los Angeles. On the first trip, just months before, I drove right past him and he looked straight at me, coming out of a side street. But he never approached me either time. I’m guessing he was hoping to find me living on the street, drugged out and penniless. I was glad to disappoint.

On the other hand, he might have just been in town to scare me... to make me uneasy and to upset me in general. I had seen him do this to others. Stalking would be the correct term. Who drives 3,000 miles just to stalk someone? At any rate, I was thankful he didn’t approach me.

And to be sure, if I called the police, that would be Brother’s Waterloo. Los Angeles Police are not the same as New York Police. They don’t ‘play’. I had seen them approach an unarmed younger woman on the street in Hollywood one afternoon, and hold her down on the ground, with a rifle to her head, saying,”Don’t move, or I’ll blow your head off”. I don’t know whatever she could have done, but they weren’t ‘going’ for her plea to explain her case at that moment.

131-The Elevens

Back in Los Angeles, early to mid 1979, before mom’s passing, I began seeing 11s everywhere I turned. 11:11 always on a digital clock. DJs on the radio announcing “It’s 11:11!”. Totals at the store, $11.11. Change at stores, and even finding a dime right next to a penny. I had two watches stop at 11:11, never to work again for no obvious apparent reason. It was ..haunting. It was so overwhelming, I mentioned it to mom this one night in the phone.

“That’s so odd you mention that,” she said, “ I was getting undressed last night in my bedroom. It was pitch dark and I turned around and staring me in the face was 11:11 on my digital clock, and I said out loud , “How strange, 11:11”, because it looks so odd on the digital clock.”

My blood stopped for a minute. I knew. I knew it was a connection. I knew mom’s time was coming very soon, and this was my message. I didn’t say that to her, but I knew. I don’t know how I knew, but I did know.

No one had to tell me. Our connection was so close that I could read her energy at any time. Saddened and hoping I was way off my mark, I resumed life and hoped for the best.

The elevens continued to haunt me for the next few weeks. The morning of mom’s fatal cardiac arrest, I boarded the plane and took my seat next to an older gentleman. I was wiping my nose and my eyes with the same wads of tissues, and obviously distraught. I was a mess. Sitting silent in hopes that I got to mom in time, the man next to me began talking.

I told him why I was going to NY and he was more than understanding. He said he thought all would be fine and I said it wouldn’t be. He asked how I could know. I’m sure he was just keeping me talking enough so I could gain better control of my emotions.

I explained the 11s and how I knew it was a sign of warning of her impending death. He listened, but was not really buying it. I’m so sure he thought I was a nut case or just so distraught and not thinking clearly. But he was kind and still listened.

We sat talking for quite a while and eventually I had to make that trek to the bathroom that I always hate doing when on a plane. But my bladder never makes the five hour trip without at least one visit.

On my return I sat back down again, noticing this gentleman was oddly silent for a short time and then motioned that he had something to say. I listened.

“I was thinking about what you said about the 11s, and so when you got up I decided to check my watch. My watch read 11:11. I don’t know what to say.”

I hadn’t planned that at all. My mind was so far off in other thoughts to have even considered taking my bathroom break at a certain time. It’s really not my nature to do that. What he said gave me chills and I explained that I knew mom had probably passed already. He said I shouldn’t be so sad. She might make it through and be okay. I nodded, but we both knew.

It was one of those times I hoped I was wrong. She passed a bit before I arrived at the hospital..

Since that time, 11s have significance to me. Not of death, necessarily, though. It is a sign to pay attention, something is in the offing, and my attention is necessary. I don’t know where the sign comes from, I haven’t figured it out, but I know it exists. Mom and I made a pact before she passed that whoever passed first would come back to let the other one know all was well. Perhaps the 11s became our code. But then, I found it wasn’t only me.

Every person I have told this story to, always comes back to me to tell me it has come to apply in their life as well. I think we just have to pay attention. We need to be conscious. The 11s will hit you over the head, and when they do, you need to understand what the message is. I have come to feel it is such a stark number that catches your attention more than most. And it is with that mindset that you have to know if it bombards you, you need to be alert and pay attention. Something important is going to happen. And perhaps this is something only between me and mom or me and the Universe only, but I suspect not.

I’ve considered whether I am putting too much into this, but silently, I always go back to it. And it always applies.This isn’t to say everyone will have the same result, but give it notice, you might be surprised. Everyone is different

132-The Last Phone Call

For two years, I called Mom from California every Saturday morning, and spoke with her also during the week from work, because it was free. Long distance calls were costly and we had an 800 number at work. We discussed the family matters, and I tried to convince her that it would be a great idea if she decided to come to California to live. She said she was planning to make that move in October. An apartment in our complex would be wonderful. The people were nice, it was safe and clean, and we would be close neighbors should she need anything. Life would be better.

One Friday night, on August 3rd, 1979, I went to bed, only to be awoken the next morning by my mom screaming my name from the front door of our apartment. Of course she was in NY and not at my front door at all. But the sound came from within me, and it was extremely loud, and not like your typical dream. It was short, loud and woke me up.

I called mom and she answered.

“Are you okay? I just had a dream that you called my name.”

“Maybe I was thinking about you, I don’t know. But I am fine.”

We continued our Saturday conversation for about an hour or so, and then we went about our day.

Approximately 3 a.m. Sunday morning, the phone rang.

It was Sister. Mom was having a massive heart attack and called Sister, who went over to her apartment. I told her to hang up and call the ambulance and then call me back.

Trying to remain calm, I had sister hand the phone to Mom before she made that call.

”I love you, mom,” I said, and she returned the sentiment to me. I knew in my heart it was going to be our last conversation.

I grabbed the first flight out of LAX that I could and Sister met me at JFK in the early afternoon. By the time I arrived at the hospital, mom had passed. I don’t think I had ever felt so empty in all my life. The dr. on duty mentioned something about an autopsy to help students learn more about the human body... and I stopped him there. I said there will be no autopsy. Mom had been pulled apart enough during her life, she didn’t need to be disassembled for the sake of a few med students’ entertainment.

So, “No, you CAN’T dice my mother up into a smorgasbord and expect me to be okay with it!”

I didn’t say that, but trust me, I was feeling it.

I just said, “No, Not at all, Thank You.”

133- No Contact

At the time mom passed and after, I did not have any contact with Brother. Mom had made it clear to all concerned, both Sister and me, to not contact Brother until she was buried. I understood that and agreed with her and complied with her wishes.

Sister, on the other hand, decided to call him and tell him what had happened and where he could find me. Luckily, as luck would have it, I received a call from mom’s ex and he told me that he called Sister and she thought it was Brother she was speaking to, so gave him all the info he needed to find me. We had stayed overnight at my old apartment that a friend of mine now had, and who was in Ireland, vacationing at the time. Benji and I left immediately and spent the night in a motel out of town.

Speaking with my former landlady after we returned to California, she informed me that Brother was at the door just hours after we left the apartment, looking for me.

After he left, apparently he made his way over to mom’s apartment, where Sister was removing anything and everything she found of value. He entered the apartment with his wife, and gun in hand. He pointed a loaded gun at her head and instructed her to call the police because there was going to be a murder. I guess someone called the police and brought backup, because it took four officers to remove him and said gun from sister’s head. I was so glad to have missed that scene. But Sister created that all by herself. She was told what would happen. Her plan for me to be the victim had backfired.

134- About 1992

( I had a dream. It was just a picture of a girl, apparently dead, dressed in yellow, laying in tall grasses in bright sunlight. You could see the tall grasses swaying in the wind around the body.

She a was light haired young adult and I saw blood around her head. I took this as a precognitive dream, which sometimes happens. But I couldn’t put a face to it. I contacted every one I knew that could possibly fit the description, and relayed to them the description what I saw, with the disclaimer that I was just repeating the dream because I didn’t know what it could mean, and I was uneasy about it. I insisted it may mean nothing, but to be careful, thats’s all. I never put two and two together until sometime after my conversation with Brother, 6 months later.)

135- Murder

Somewhere in the early 90s, almost 20 years since we had left Woodstock, I received a phone call from Sister. Brother wanted to know my whereabouts. For him to even consider contacting Sister meant that he was in dire need to find me. She explained that he told her had lost his daughter to murder, leaving two very young children behind. It had to be the worst news anyone could ever receive.

I took the plunge and contacted him and we spoke at length on the phone. It had now been 15 years since I had any direct contact with Brother, and truly, I didn’t know what to expect. He was civil and very apparently broken. I still knew him well enough to not let my guard down.

Hearing of Cara’s murder was devastating. Her boyfriend had killed her and dumped her body. After our conversation, I had to really think about whether or not I wanted to open that door again. We had been close for so many years growing up, and he was the one person who I thought, of all people, who would always have my back. But I learned, too, that instead, I always had my own back.

His wife managed to escape from him 15 years before this, successfully, and he didn’t know if she was still alive or not. But she did not surface when the news of Cara’s murder went on national news. No one heard anything. Everyone thought I would know if she was still alive. But I never heard a word. Brother took a second wife after a time.

Thinking about the siblings of Cara, it worried me more how they were doing with all of this. But, looking back now, Brother wasn’t so concerned for them as he was for himself. And maybe that’s normal. I don’t know.

What kind of person would I be if I ignored his cry for help? But would I be able to protect my family from a nasty scene should it arise upon the meeting?

We spoke on the phone for several days, back and forth. I finally agreed to meet with him. He had custody of Cara’s two children and I thought perhaps this was a second chance to raise these kids better than the first four. In fact, I did tell him that.

Considering how much I had grown emotionally since I had seen him last, I felt I owed it to myself to see if things could possibly be different after all this time. He had since bought himself a 45 ft. sailboat and sailed the Caribbean, just because that was something he always wanted to do. He recorded videos along the way of his self-manned voyages. This was no surprise to me, as I knew how bright he was, and how nothing, no one, could hold him back once he decided to do ANYTHING…except …himself.

He was extraordinary. He was bigger than life and he could decide whether you lived or died. If you weren’t in his circle, you better stay far, far away. If you were in his circle, that meant he had you under his thumb at any beck and call. He wasn’t wealthy. He used everyone else’s money.

I don’t think I have ever known anyone who was as bright, humorous, engaging, fearsome, manipulating, or believable. He did lots of nice things for lots of people. But never without expecting some part of them in return. He had convinced so many of a background that never happened. I was the only one he could never figure out. He could not plan my moves, no matter how he tried. Because he didn’t know what to do with truth. This was my edge, always.

So, I decided we would meet. I took the chance. My curiosity got the better of me, and I felt strong. I felt ready to approach him. It was time. Still, I had so many anxious moments playing up to that day. Sometimes, looking back on decisions you have made in the past, you question if you made good ones, or if things could have been remedied in different, less drastic ways. Sometimes, you need to revisit this situations to realize you did, after all, make the best choices.

We got together, talked, arranged meetings with his children and ours, and months after our reunion, I decided this wasn’t going to work.

I had hoped the years might have evened him out a little. But, on the contrary, he had gotten worse. His second wife was miserable, and wouldn’t leave him because he threatened to kill her family if she did. I had heard that story before. So many things had just escalated and although my heart felt for his loss, my head kept me lucid. For the sake of my own children, I decided a few months later, to keep my distance once again.

I would be lying if I said I trusted he would never hurt me or my husband or my kids. Not one of them went anywhere with him alone or without me. He did seem to be excited to come into my life again, but for what purpose, I wondered. I was more interested in what he had to say to me after everything had happened so many years ago. I was wondering if there was any thread of decency or respect left in his heart at all.

My fear of him had diminished. I was older now, and it became clear to me that when you have children, you will do whatever it takes to protect them from danger. Whatever it takes. My personal fear of him was now different. I was a different person. I had become the protector. And I wanted no surprises.

136-The Medium

Shortly after my brief reunion with Brother, and before my decision to keep my distance, I had an occasion to witness a demonstration of a man who eventually became an international sensation with his psychic ability. He was good. I was also at the point of going to his venues to enjoy myself, watching people get confirmation and answers from loved ones who had passed. And I liked the meditation we all did before the night began.

This one evening, in the middle of a hotel conference room that was packed with people, directly after the beginning meditation to start off the evening, the medium said, “Who knows a Cara that passed away?” One woman raised her hand and said,”I’m Cara!”

“No, I’m looking for someone who knows a Cara that has passed.” No hands. Then someone else raised their hand.

“Nope, not you.”

My friend whispered over to me,”Chris, what about Cara, your niece (who was murdered)?

“No, I haven’t been in her life since she was a very young child. She was an adult when it happened.”

I had been back in touch with my brother just recently, with the news about his daughter’s passing .

“Just raise your hand!”

I raised my hand, just to appease.

The medium jumped into the audience and said, ”It’s You!” And hurried back to me with more information about Cara’s death than I bargained for. He went into all details about the murder, and how it happened ( some which I hadn’t known at that point).

Everything he said that I could verify then and there was on point. What I couldn’t verify, I passed by my brother’s family, and they were shocked. One of the things the medium came up with was how Cara was found. It matched my dream. It wasn’t general information, but was very detailed. And it was accurate.

My brother, not one to believe in ‘hocus pocus’ had become so desperate to find his daughter’s remains during the search for her body, that he brought in a local psychic, and she was the one who actually located the remains. And now all this information, was being told to me by someone who couldn’t possibly have known anything about it.

I went to this particular medium’s demonstration a few other times, and often, he pulled me out of the crowd. I never knew where he was going to go in his readings, and since I didn’t volunteer much beyond ‘yes’ or ‘no’, I had to assume he was in touch with something more expansive, more universal, because his information was stellar.

Brother was stunned by the information I passed onto him. He would never discuss any of it with me ever again.

137- More

I have sat with a few Mediums in my life. Some good, some bad. One in particular was a good friend of a friend. She was remarkable and not commercially known. She was friends to a small circle in the New York area. I came to know her through another friend. I had never met her, and all I heard was that she was very good and was born with a veil that some talk about as a sign of extraordinary abilities. And she was just as remarkable as they said. She is passed now, and I thank her for all her goodness and foresight.

This one other time, sitting amongst a large group of people, with the medium who was so accurate with my niece’s information, we all went through a meditation exercise before the demonstration. To my surprise, during the meditation, I saw a vision of my dad in the upper left of my closed eyes. I thought it was just my well developed imagination. Right out the door, the Medium approaches me up the isle and tells me my dad is here! I’m more than surprised. Especially since he really would be the last one I would suspect to show up.

He went on about our family situation growing up, and as usual, he was spot on. He DID mention my dad’s issue with alcohol, and what it did to the family. He also said that he was regretful and now understands what he caused. He said he was ‘very sorry’. As usual, I made sure not to say too much so not to feed him information.

We all thought my sister in law, who had left my brother 15 years prior, was dead. I was convinced. If she hadn’t surfaced when her daughter was killed, she must be dead. The medium brought her up and said she was alive and living in Florida and had changed her name.

I found that difficult to believe, but interesting, none-the-less.

He brought up so much in the reading, and eventually, he said that the family dynamic was so unfortunate that he couldn’t continue. It was depleting his energy. I understood that. After the demonstration, I visited the bathroom for a break, and several people came up to me with sympathies. I think it began to dawn on me at that time just how bad it sounded from the outside. I wasn’t looking for sympathies, I was just happy to get some insight. Maybe this is why these things should be done in private.

When you live with a situation of intense dysfunction, it doesn’t happen over night. It’s a slow progression. A person on the outside can more readily see the intensity of it. Some people live with it so long, it becomes something of a tolerance, while others, like myself, know in their heart and soul no one should ever live like that, regardless of what they’ve been through.

It depends on when, at what age, you realize it, and it depends on the amount of yourself you have lost along the way.

138- Resurection

It would be a few years later, just after Brother passed, that his second wife received a phone call, from his first wife. She was, in fact, alive, and had been living in Florida under a different name, exactly what the medium had said.

When I eventually spoke to her at length after Brother passed and she resurfaced, I asked when she first knew of Cara’s death, she said she had been informed through her grapevine of connections at the time. It turns out that her oldest child had been in contact with her through out much of her disappearance. I don’t know how a mother could stay silent in times like that, except that the fear for her life had to override everything else. And I guess there was nothing she could have done, after the fact.

The fear his wife felt had to be enormous. And I would believe all of it. But she had changed.

139-First Wives Club

I met up with Brother’s first wife after his passing, and she was very different from what I remembered. I left her twenty-something years ago as a person who saw me as an example of what she had to do, herself. We were good friends and talked all the time right up to the minute I drove away in that beat up Toyota, heading for California. She understood my issues, and I understood hers. We had the same person in common with our fears. She left Brother a few years after I did, and after mom passed, which was bound to happen. We were close friends before I left Woodstock, and as soon as I left, that friendship apparently went South. I’m sure she was put in an awkward position with Brother, so I accepted it for whatever it had to be.

The person I met after Brother had passed was very different from the one I knew in Woodstock and many years before. In some way, she had become a product of Brother, with a way of thinking that took no friends, and no trust.

There was a difference with her departure, however.. She didn’t take her children with her when she left. She felt there was a good chance any one of them might go back to Brother and put her life in grave danger. Probably true.

But she put them in grave danger when she left them behind.. Angry for having to leave everything she knew, she returned a woman no one recognized. Her life had gone to ruins, it seemed. I’m not sure what she expected when she returned. I was willing to accept her and have things go back to normal. But she wasn’t the same person. She couldn’t be. Her thinking had become an issue of survival only. She had become feral, in my opinion.

Her children no longer knew her or accepted her in their lives. They tried, but as much as they wished she was the mother they remembered, she wasn’t. It had been too many years, and too much pain. She felt she still had the power of a mother’s ‘right’. But she lost all that when she abandoned them. They lived all those years and became the adults they were without her help, nurturing and love. I would have felt the same way.

I had a conversation on the phone with her about all that. She felt she was entitled to what she had before she left. I assured her she wasn’t. When she walked away from her life, she left everything behind, and people as well. It was a choice she made. While it’s true it was a choice to save her own life, it was also a choice to not save her children from the same destiny she was protecting herself from. Some choices in life are difficult.

I won’t say that she made the right or wrong choice, but when you come back into your children’s lives after abandoning them, there is a great amount of work on your part to regain any respect at all. Everyone considered was so broken by that time that I’m not sure that will ever happen. She had already lost a child to violence because she didn’t know enough how to stop or keep her children from it in their lives. Violence begets violence, over and over again, until someone decides to stop it, Someone breaks the chain.

140-Church

Marriage wasn’t ever first and foremost on my list. In fact I never wanted or planned to be married from very early on.But on occasion, i would have this Cinderella-type vision of myself, every now and then, arriving to an event with a man in a chauffeur driven car. He got out first and then held the door for me. He had on a black tuxedo. I really can’t tell you what I was wearing. I know I felt elegant, but I couldn’t see myself. The lighting was soft but lit up the sky. We walked arm in arm up the cinderella stairs into the event and that was the end of the vision. That ran through my mind for years. I can always go back to it.

Two years after Benji and I became official orphans, we both felt that we should probably get married. I knew people change. I knew some people never change. I knew it was a commitment I wasn’t sure either of us were prepared to make. I was one hundred percent ‘good’ with what we already had. I had seen so much heartache, disrespect, abuse, you name it. And I wasn’t really excited about being in that club. But now, for some reason, I was willing to give it a try. And as long as I was willing, I thought I would go the traditional route, something very unlike myself, to be perfectly honest. I thought I would be respectful and we’d get married in a church. Benji had been an alter boy growing up in DC. He had a ‘past’ with the church. If that’s what he wanted, I was going to be okay with it. I had no preference.

Given my experience with religion, I could care less if I got married in a church, or in a tree. But I tried to be respectful, until I didn’t.

I called a local Catholic Church and spoke with the Priest, explaining that we decided to be married and since his church was the local church, and it was a Catholic Church, we would like the ceremony to be held there.

He asked if we were members of his church and I said,”No, does that make a difference?” After all, we were just getting married, we weren’t buying the place. Apparently it did. He asked if I was Catholic. And I said ‘no’. Apparently that’s also important.

The conversation went south shortly after that. He started telling me all the things we would have to do, and what it would cost to get married in his church. I had never realized there were costs to getting married in the church. What did I know?

After some back and forth conversation that was not looking good, and seemed a little like I was asking for the Pope to marry us, I then began. I now had all the information I would need.

I told him it was no wonder the Catholic Church was losing members over the years. Times were changing and they weren’t. Then it went from bad to worse. He seemed almost indignant with me, and then the words began flying from my mouth.

“You call yourself a man of God? What God do you know of that thinks a person has to be a ‘member’ of a particular church in order to get married in it? Is that something God said that I didn’t catch at some point? I thought churches were open to any person walking down the street at any time. I thought churches were a place of shelter for any person needing a place to be. I thought they were places to exchange vows for anyone who wanted to do that in the eyes of God. “

I continued,” I bet you lock your doors of your church at night. I bet you have ‘hours’. I didn’t know God had ‘hours’. And you’re going to tell me that you’re not interested in allowing me to get married in your church… because we aren’t ‘members’ or I’m not Catholic?”

I continued some more, “My boyfriend served mass as an alter boy for President Kennedy on a regular basis in Washington DC, and shook his hand every week, and you think he’s not good enough because I’m not Catholic and we aren’t members? To tell you the truth, I don’t really want to get married in your church, I was just trying to do the right thing. In my opinion, you are no servant of God. You’re just a man who thinks he is God.”

Benji said I might be going to Hell for that conversation.

vintage
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About the Creator

Christine Garza

I am an author and illustrator, working in watercolor.

After attending The School of Visual Arts in NYC, I relocated to Los Angeles to find myself in Publishing and then Illustration and Design.

My passion is illustrating and writing.

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