..I will start telling the truth about you.”  One of my favorite lines from the 2008 Presidential run.  I have been sitting on this post in my draft folder for a little bit.   Today something happened that kind of forced my hand. Like most of this blog, I write to get things out of my head and onto “paper”.  I don’t do it to cause discomfort or to ask people to take sides or even to comment. In fact no one need comment, but I need put this down and then let it go.  Easier said than done.

Remember when you used to pretend that I was your mother?  Remember when your dad died and I was so physically, mentally and emotionally spent that I had no fight in me at all, after losing my husband and sister in the same year while fighting cancer?  Remember how you took all you could carry out of the house though I kept saying I wasn’t ready to do this?  I wanted you to have some of your dad’s things. Of course,  but not yet.  Your greed and entitlement was disgusting.  But… I didn’t want to lose anyone else. I loved you and your little family, so after my protests were ignored I said nothing.   I had nightmares for months, hearing you go through your father’s life and chortling how you “finally” had his albums.  Had we even buried him yet?  I don’t remember.  You took all the albums and the 62 Topps collection along with many other odds and ends.    That set was the only one that meant anything to me.  We used to talk about it, he and I.  Dad said he collected them because it was the year I was born. I know he was bullshitting, but still… I didn’t even know you had taken that until it showed up on FB. You know how you crave constant attention. You had to post everything and carry on about your father’s legacy.  That hurt, but aside from making a small joke about how I might need to sell those to survive, I said nothing.  When your mom called and proposed she ship you Dad’s drums as  her Christmas present to you, I was stunned that she would insert herself into something so personal.  But again, I said nothing.  You and I had talked about setting the drums aside for your son because you don’t play.   I had you break them down and move them against the wall and I covered them to keep them safe until you were ready. That was between us.  But your mother and wife discussed it and decided you should have them now. I wasn’t part of the conversation. I had no good reason to say no so I said yes.   You got a lot of mileage out of those FB posts and your hero mother.    I kept making excuses for you in my mind and decided it was somehow my fault and the only way to reassure you (a 33 year old man child) was to keep you updated on what I found as I worked my way through the many collections. I sent you more boxes than I can count. Remember the quilt I had you made out of your dad’s T-shirts?  The hat collection? Tie collection? Books? Vintage magazines? Boxes of family photos? So much, most of which you never acknowledged.  I sent box after box for your son too.  All in an attempt to keep you close, no matter the cost to myself. That’s on me.

Then you decided to come home for a visit, which turned into a 2 month nightmare. I was surprised but pleased that you wanted to stay with me. After all, you both have your mothers nearby.  I worked my tail off moving mountains of inventory from the spare room so you would be comfortable. I dressed your little boy for cold weather. Twice.  Because when you returned after what? a week home? you didn’t bother to bring the warm clothes he had been given.  I made sure you all had a good Christmas. Remember the “magic” kitchen?   Little secret. Food didn’t just keep appearing. I was at the store every 2-3 days. Huge budget killer.   All of that was okay. My family was with me.  But you.  You had to show your ass again. You bullied your grandmother into giving you an item she clearly stated she didn’t want you to have. You emptied her basement of your father’s belongings, things I never had a chance to go through.  You didn’t seem to understand the concept that he willed his things to me. As I did mine to him.  I wanted to share. You never gave me the chance. You took and took and took.  I thought you couldn’t do that at my house because all of my inventory was in the way of his many “treasures”.  I made the mistake of sharing with you that I wanted to have some of the card collection appraised and was considering selling some things.  You seemed oblivious to the fact that when he died I lost 75% of my household income, though when you go from 2-1 in a household the only bill that really goes down is food.  I lost my health insurance while I was still undergoing treatment.   None of that mattered to you. You decided you deserved the collection and anything else that belonged to your father.  You stayed up all night on your last day in my home to scavenge and take what you wanted. The shit part is I wouldn’t have known. Sure I would have eventually noticed things missing and suspected you, but without proof I never would have said anything.  But you couldn’t resist taunting me.  When you puffed up your chest and said in that somber/fake voice that you couldn’t sleep all night and decided to spend time “with your dad” you probably thought I would never say anything in front of your grandmother. And I didn’t say much did I?  Just “put it back”.  And then all hell broke loose. You came unglued and for the first time in my life I was afraid of you. When you left I breathed a sigh of relief. I prayed it was over, but was it? How many times did you pose your two year old in front of the camera and stage father/son “continuing my dad’s legacy” moments of him ripping open cards.   You literally used your baby and my dead husband to try to manipulate me.  You let people believe that I withheld from you things your dad had wanted you to have.  I lost the friendship and support of many of Dad’s friends and relatives over that.  That still stings, but not allowing me the benefit of the doubt? That’s on them.

Eventually  I pulled the plug on my FB account.  I couldn’t stand it. You tried to buy sets of cards from me that were not even part of Dad’s collection all the while you were begging friends and strangers alike for money.   When I put a stop to it you showed your ass again by trying to come between your sisters and myself and even your grandmother and myself. Didn’t work so well did it?  They had all seen you in action.   I had never lived alone a day in my life before your father died.  It took a long time to feel safe.  In one night you robbed me of that feeling of security. You moved around my home while I slept and stole from me. It took a long time and medication to feel safe again.  Thank you for that. Most recently you are still, more than 10 months later, stalking me on line. Your “friend” bought a vintage wine tray from me. You gleefully shared with the girls that you got one over on me.  When they didn’t bite you brought your grandmother into it. The tray?  The treasure you had to have from your dad?  I found it in a trash heap and rescued it. I thought it was kind of cool.  You paid 30.00 for a piece of trash your dad was going to scrap out for the metal.  That part made me laugh. What’s not funny is you continue to treat me like your arch enemy. For what?  Daring to say no to you? Not buying into your insincere bullshit?

I worked so hard to keep this little family together. You blew it to pieces.  You didn’t lose me. You threw me away with both hands. That’s on you.