Peter….

March 16, 2015

Peter leads me to thinkinģ….

How do you feel about death? No one likes it obviously and we all avoid it….
My stepdad died yesterday…. There I said it. Just like stating some non exciting fact. The rational part of me says “so” and “ignore it”. Yeah I know that’s stupid. Peter was a really nice man and it’s really sad. He had had treatment for cancer and yeah….
Now you may think well why are you writing here and not comforting your mum?
That’s easy…. I don’t do death. I don’t do extreme feelings, damn I struggle with normal feelings. And I don’t have anything remotely what you would call “normal” relationship wise with my mother.
But death…. There is a reason behind why, when someone I care about dies, I just shut myself off and refuse to accept it. (There is a difference between knowing and excepting).
Go back to when I was 12 an a half and I ran away from home, tried smoking, shop lifting, stealing and well let’s just say I learnt alot of “illegal” that I would put into practice frequently for the next 5 years.
I was with my second set of foster parents and struggling with the person I was set to become. I hated myself and everything reminded me of my past. My biological brother lived with the same foster parents and I couldn’t deal with the fact that I had seen what had been done to him. He couldn’t speak out. I just shut out what had happened to me, that’s life and some men are like that (my way of thinking back then). But my brother, (who has disabilities), where was his voice? I was 6 when we were made full wards of the court.
So all these feelings, plus all the hormones and the fact that most girls, most children full stop, start to go through a very tough time at that age. I wern’t in a good place.
The third time I ran away, I remember my foster brother bringing me back, well dragging me home. I come in the door and my foster dad is real mad. I’d never seen him mad before, not like that. Now. I can understand he was hurt. But then? Nope. I remember him saying “you wanna leave? You wanna leave? Well get out the fucking door!” The next day a social worker came to take me away. It was what I wanted. But I never forgot my foster dad’s face. He couldn’t even look at me and now I know it was cause I hurt him.
Time moved on and he got really ill. That December he died. My “new” foster parents wouldn’t tell me till after Christmas. I remember standing there with this big stuffed toy rabbit I wouldn’t part with, and them saying…. We have something to tell you. I said, it’s ok I already know. And they said know what and how? He is dead I said. He died before Christmas. No one told me. I just knew.
It was in that moment something inside me broke. That was it. I realised I loved and thought of him as my dad. There is a poem on here dedicated to him. Just the one. I struggle to say his name. I can think it but my lips get stuck and my mouth doesn’t move. I knew he’d died but my mind cut off….
Since that day, I can’t cope with people I care about dying. My thought process cuts out and it’s like yes I know they died but I can’t process they died. Odd but yeah.
So back to now….
Peter died and I can’t even ring my mother to offer sympathies. I can’t do it. I tried. But no. Does it make me heartless? Probably. Does it make me horrid? Yeah I guess….
Me and my mother don’t have a relationship. Both her and my father’s “parenting” are the reasons me and my brother grew up in care…. In my honest opinion when I read about parents doing that sort of stuff to their kids in the paper I think they should die. But I also know that my mother lives in her own world and doesn’t understand she did wrong. My kids don’t come with me when I see her. And her family swept it under the rug , like me and my brother are just some dirty little secret.
Is it any wonder I have issues?
So Peter died yesterday, and he was a really nice guy. Not like my mother at all. I wonder how she’s coping? I don’t know…. but I do know I don’t wanna think about this…. I can’t think about this…. time to. move on….