Big hug right back OTS, thank you so much!  I'm so glad you're here.

Something keeps telling me to post this excerpt from the book.  I don't know if it makes sense to put it here or not, I just can't tell...i do mention the DLM and guru, briefly...but this is my childhood, in an attempt to describe who I was on the day of the suicide.  It's long...a lot to unravel...and I'm still not sure why, but every time I see you post, something tells me to share it...so, without questioning the logic of it anymore...here it is. Like the rest of my stories it's unedited and raw still.  I wanted to polish and finalize it before putting it here...but again, something tells me...

it's for all of you if you're interested of course, and opinions are always welcome...if something doesn't make sense I love to know.

Take care, love, Genny

***

Autumn 

"I care not much for the man's religion whose cat or dog are not the better for it".

Abraham Lincoln

I used to love autumn.  It's gloriously beautiful here in the Colorado Rocky Mountains.  You get to go back to school...wear your favorite sweaters and boots...carve pumpkins for Halloween...the crisp cool air begs for the return of your favorite comfort foods.  Every year I'd marvel at Mother Nature's transformative colors...are they real?...so beautiful, and the air smells so good...yeah, autumn in Colorado, what's not to love?  These things are all still true of course, only now the beauty is veiled to me.  Now, I hate Halloween.  Such a shame considering how sacred it is in Nature religions as the day that barriers between worlds are lifted, and how much fun it is for children of all ages.  Now, I have to work hard to remove the veils and search for beauty.  Autumn, for me, is tainted with the anniversary of my beautiful Father's brutal suicide.  One week before Halloween, in my twelfth trip around the sun, he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.  Oh daddy...

His suicide was traumatic for all of us of course.  For me though, aside from losing my dad, the worst part was dealing with the precognition of his death I had the day before.  He, She, It, They...?...the Universe tried to warn me.  Even went so far as to start whispering psychic notions to me a short time prior...so that I'd recognize the feeling.  I didn't.  When I told everyone at school that my dad had died, I thought I was lying.  I had no idea why I said it. It just blurted out as an explanation as to why I was crying so hard.  I wouldn't remember the real reason I was so upset for another 27 years.  I had no clue that I knew.  I had no clue that my lie wasn't a lie.  I had no clue that my lie wasn't the cause.  I had no clue how I was going to get out of my lie.  I was relieved for a funeral to take care of it...sick.  Oh Genny...

I couldn't believe it, he only just came back to me, I didn't get enough yet.  I didn't have enough time to memorize his voice...his face...his spider tattoo...his stories...his embrace.  If only I'd known, I wouldn't have forgotten anything...I'd have memorized every word...I'd have NEVER allowed myself to lose the turquoise butterfly ring he gave me...if only I knew that I knew...how much I'd need anything he touched later in my life.  If only...

But I should start closer to the beginning maybe...1968.

1968 is famous for many things, depending on where you were in the world.  Baby boomers were changing the way we do just about everything.  Experimenting with sex, drugs, and rock n roll...war...religion.  In Prague, it was the Russian invasion.  In Vietnam, it was the Tet offensive.  Here in the states, well, it was the "summer of love".  My mom had met my dad in their first year of college, fell madly in love, and I came along the next summer.  Happy little family.  I was completely unaffected by their divorce a couple of years later.  Seems my parents were much better friends and co parents than lovers, and I didn't even know they weren't 'together'.  My earliest memories are of my dad...sitting on the couch playing guitar...coming over to give my mom "paper"...("that's not paper daddy, that's money"...meditating...going to satsang. 

That's what they call it..."satsang".  Literally, "in the company of the absolute (or highest) truth".  It's a lot like going to mass.  A bunch of people gather in a man made building dedicated to god.  They listen to a man explain said god to them, and they believe this man when he tells them that he is closer to god than they are.  They worship their god together. They sing and dance and trance...and when service is over, everyone knows how much closer to god they are than everyone else.  They are the chosen ones.  Everyone else is scum.  They are the ones who have it right.  They are the ones who will fix the world.  They are the ones who can truly know god...if, of course, you give everything to the man...the one who knows god better than you do.  Or, in this case, boy. That's right...people all around the world were mesmerized by the wild imagination of a 15 year old Hindu boy, who at 8 years old upon the death of his father, proclaimed himself to be "The Perfect Master and Lord of the Universe"...and people believed him, including my parents.

It was 1972, and spiritually hungry souls all around the world were rejoicing at the earthly arrival of the best thing since Jesus Christ or The Buddha himself.  The Guru Marahaji Ji and his Divine Light Mission were here to "explode a giant peace bomb" over the world...according to their sacred text, "Who is Guru Marahaji Ji?".  He made it all the way from God's Kingdom, or India at least, to Denver, Colorado to set up DLM headquarters.  Hooray!  I partially blame WWII.  It created a generation so huge that chaos was bound to ensue.  All it took was one guy.  One guy got stoned, meditated with a Hindu and saw god, and an entire movement was created.  What was cool to one, was cool to many.  Pretty soon thousands of people were convinced that they, too, would know god and all his glory, if they were in the presence of the guru.  If they had no earthly possessions or un enlightened family members weighing them down.  If they worked hard enough for the mission and made enough money to support the guru (he likes jets), well then, they too would know god. 

I was so young, I didn't know about any of that.  I only knew that at satsang, it was always "up to me".  My mom would bring pillows for me, and I could either dance with the grown ups (a lot of them at the time, looked like the Hare Krishnas) or curl up with the pillows and sleep.  So early on, she was planting the seeds for freedom of independent thought...thanks, mom!   At the festivals and "darshan" (any event in the guru's presence, later reduced to referring only to the foot kissing ritual), hundreds to thousands of "premies" (devotees) would desperately try to gaze upon him.  Early on in the movement when it was still steeped in Hindu tradition, the guru would be dressed up like the Hare Krishna, and paraded through the crowd on a litter or chariot covered in roses.  The premies would know how special they were if they were lucky enough to get a rose or some Indian treats thrown to them...and the ultimate goal was to get close enough to kiss his feet.  Little as I was, I never saw the guru as anything more than a man. There was so much excitement all around and people would gasp and faint when he came close and I was totally on board with catching roses and treats, but I was NOT going to kiss his feet...ew!

"Premies", so called for the Guru Marahaji's given name, Prem Rawat.  (Prem also means love, and premie is also lover of love, or lover of god...I know, try to keep it straight...cults are noted for taking ordinary words, applying some secret elitist meanings to them, forcing an explanation of a lot of words...sorry but that's what they do).  He actually goes by many names, and has been called every name in the book.  From Perfect Master and Lord of the Universe and "Greater than God" to spiritual predator and pedophile harboring coward.  To me, he's just the piece of shit who took my dad away from me, twice.  

I didn't feel abandoned by my dad when he left us.  I missed him a lot for sure, but I understood that he went to be with the guru.  I understood that that wasn't for us, anymore.  As the movement grew and the premies were pressured more and more to give up their entire lives and devote themselves completely to the DLM, my dad fell deeper and deeper under the guru's influence, my mother started waking up.  She just couldn't get on board with the concept of total devotion, and giving up control of her life. The biggest and most important event in human history, "Millennium '73" in Huston, Texas, barely even registers in her memory.  Twenty thousand Blissful Premies were there, sure that with the presence of thousands of enlightened souls and the guru himself, the Huston Astrodome would spontaneously levitate, and maybe even fly off into outer space!  When I ask my mom about it, all she remembers is a boring drive to Texas, away from her beautiful mountains.  It wasn't long after that that we left the cult.  My dad believed that he needed to forsake everything not associated with the guru and went to live in an ashram.  That was the first time the guru took my dad away.  

Aside from missing him, my childhood, very much unlike his, was truly beautiful.  I was never hit or kicked not once ever.  

Although, there exists an audio recording that might suggest otherwise.  At two and a half or so, I was the flower girl for my 'Aunt' Karen's wedding.  Mom's best friend from childhood and maid of honor when she married my dad...and the person responsible for my awesome imaginary friends.  I don't know what happened, we practiced everything just fine the night before...but I didn't throw any flower petals, I cried the whole way down the isle...and when I got to the front where my mom was, I was supposed to go stand by the bridesmaid.  My mom was gently nudging me in the right direction.  On the tape, the everlasting evidence of true love, all you hear is, "NOOOO!!  Stop kicking me, Mommy!"  Sorry Karen.  

(While I'm at it, I should also apologize to you for the 'Boo-Bee incident.'  Boo Bee...the answer to "What do you call a scary bee?"...a joke her husband Rick told to a group of friends as I sat on her lap...as soon as he shouted "boo-bee", I turned around, ripped oped Karen's snap down blouse exposing her completely, and shouted, "Boobies!!"  I'm sure you can imagine the laughter...sorry Karen).  

My mom and her friends and my grandparents did a great job creating lovely and endearing memories for me to draw upon.  Without realizing, she was already at work saving my life, showing me how sweet it can be, what to strive for in my darkest hours that would come.  She worked really hard to make a good life for us.  We weren't rich but I wanted for nothing...ever.  I was never without a Kitty cat.  When I wanted a bunny for my 6th birthday, I got one!  Thumper.  I loved him so much.  For some reason, I asked my mom how much he cost, to which she replied, "All my pennies".  For years I thought you could take how ever many pennies you had to the bunny store, and they would give you a little white bunny.  He eventually went to live on the magic farm...you know the one.

I was spoiled for sure, but not rotten, rather, sweet.  I was shown love and respect and gratitude, and how to be that way with others in turn.  My imagination was never squandered, encouraged even.  I was never told that my imaginary friends weren't real, even though they were alligators.  Whenever we were crossing a street, my mom would have to scoop them up and carry them across, cause it was safer that way of course.  Going onto elevators was fun for her I'm sure, as I would insist that she hold the door open for them until all their tails were in all the way...which she did happily.  We went on fun road trips, even went to Disneyland.  I couldn't wait to meet Eeyore!  I wouldn't fly without my giant stuffed pink snake and Micky Mouse ears.  I'd sing at the top of my lungs whenever John Denver came on the earphones..."He knows my Dad"!  I tell her now, "Oh mom, I'm so sorry, I must have been so embarrassing"...she says, "Oh no honey, everyone loved you.  The stewardesses (sign of the times) thought you were adorable"!  Oh Mom...

I went to a really sweet, small private school until fourth grade.  It was converted from an old Victorian mansion on Lafayette street in the heart of Denver.  I remember loving my teachers so well at the Humpty Dumpty School.  Hmm, Humpty Dumpty...

"...had a Great Fall..."

Mother Goose

I did see my dad again once when I was about 9.  His grandmother passed, my Great Grandma Grace.  (My other great grandma was also named Grace ).  He came to the funeral, I was obsessed with him...couldn't take my eyes off.  Every time the minister (preacher, father, religious leader guy) said to pray, the grown ups bowed their heads and closed their eyes...I immediately turned back to look at him...couldn't get enough.  It mattered to me not at all that I wasn't doing what the man said.  I knew God didn't care if my head was bowed or turned around.  I guess I didn't realize how hungry for him I was until I got just a little.  We ate coconut cake together, and he said how much he'd like to take me fishing someday.  My mom gently warned me about broken promises.  I wouldn't see him again for another two years.

It was around then, age 9, that I had a very memorable experience with blatant divine intervention...though I didn't know it at the time.  I knew what happened was amazing, but...divine?  It was a terrible car crash.  It was February and very snowy and icy. In fact, all the car accidents I've been in were due to winter weather..I didn't even remember this one until I sat to write about the one in Durango when I met my Angel, Fred.  Anyway, I was in the back seat, and my mother was in the passenger seat of her friend Darcy's tiny Volkswagen Rabbit.  She was driving us to my grandma's house, where I waited for my ride to school.  We were 1 1/2 blocks away when the car refused to stop at a stop sign...there was just too much snow and we slid straight through the intersection.  Just then, a giant Mack dump truck came crashing into us on the passenger side.  There was no stopping it...and there was no contest.  The little car ended up on the lawn of the house up on the left side corner.  The only thing stopping it from crashing into the house was a row of snow covered bushes.  The passenger side was completely caved in...totaled.  Darcy had bumps and bruises.  My mom suffered a severe case of whiplash and a terrible concussion with years of lasting ramifications.  I was thrown around the back seat, but protected somehow...and I walked away without a scratch.  No one could believe it.  I can only imagine my mother's relief.

It was also around this time when my beautiful soon to be step-dad, Chuck came into our lives.  He was a lovely man...troubled, but lovely.  I was starving for a father figure, and for my mom to be in a relationship.  He came with so much love, there was never any doubt about it.  He would have done anything for us.  He came with a baby daughter, Rachel...two Great Danes, Princess and Roscoe...and a tabby cat named Tiger, who had a police record.  Heaven.

*******

Chuck answers the knock at the door, to find a uniformed police man...

"What can I do for you, officer?"

"We have a complaint against your animal, sir."

"Really?  The Danes are always in the yard or inside...one of them just had puppies...and they're the best behaved dogs ever!  Gentle giants."

"Um (his belly shakes with laughter as he purses his lips to contain it), it's not the dogs, sir, um (barely controlled giggles from this oh so professional man), it's your cat.  Apparently, it's been harassing (laughter...deep breath) it's been harassing your neighbor's dog.  (At this point, the laughing is no longer controllable).  Ok, you've been cited, sir, please mind the cat (knowing exactly how absurd that is!)...have a nice day".  

He goes back to his patrol car, shaking his lowered head...onward with the days business.  Chuck, dumbfounded, is left with a ticket for Tiger, and a great story!

*******

Sadly, alcoholism would be his downfall.  Even though we watched as it slowly killed his father, twice, he just couldn't find the self love required to defeat it.  

The first time we mourned the loss of Chuck's father, Irv, it was a mistake.  He was so drunk that he passed out on the streets.  Another drunk who looked exactly like him, drunk, stole Irv's wallet.  So when they found him dead, well, we got the call as his next of kin.  We had every reason to believe that we were looking at a ghost when he showed up a few weeks later looking for...I don't know what.  Soon after, he broke into Chuck's van, used for work and Great Dane rides, to sleep in one night, and thought a fire would be just the thing to warm it up a bit.  Never occurred to him to knock on our door.  Never occurred to him that a fire would only grow.  It never occurred to him, that his only son would forgive him.  Irv ran, leaving us to figure it all out.  When Chuck went looking for his father, he was fuming, heartbroken.  Irv was flat broke, we have no idea how he got the gun.  Oh Chuck, I'm so so so sorry you found your dad...that way.  One for you, two for me.

They couldn't bear to tell me about the suicide.  In fact, they didn't.  I was about 15, my wound was so raw still, and though I loved Irv cause he was Chuck's dad, I understand why they didn't feel obligated to be so honest.  The story was, that Irv died of alcoholism.  They had no idea that I overheard the conversation.  My chamber of dark inner secrets grew heavier...and I let them believe in their protective half truth.  Chuck only got worse from there.  Before that though, we really were a happy little family for about 6 or 7 years.  He and his animals and his love helped us create a lovely home, for a while, when it counted the most.

******

My first experience with psychic awareness was soon after we all moved in together, around ten years old.  It was like a little metaphysical tap on the shoulder.  "Pssst, pay attention, he's here for you".  I heard it.  Dismissed it as fast as I could question it.  Anyway, the little blue car drove on, so, whatever...keep walking, you're almost home.  It was such a beautiful summer day and I was thoroughly enjoying my walk home from the pool, and my innocence.  "Pssst, he's waiting for you...he only drove up one block...run!"  Huh, he did stop again, it does seem like he's watching me...hard to tell...oh, there he goes...ok, well, you only have two more blocks, but this is weird.  If he does it again, stops at the end of the block, then maybe I'll just turn right, and then you'll have to double back.  Ok...see what he does...

I didn't know how to listen.  It was too late, he was backing up to me already.  In my state of innocence, I thought...maybe he's lost.  When he called me over to the car I went.  I thought I could help the nice old man with white hair and black horn rimed glasses.  I knew I was in danger by my intuition, but I still didn't listen...why didn't I listen?  I asked myself that question for years...I still ask it today sometimes.  That has been my biggest challenge in coping with psychic awareness my entire life...knowing when to listen...when is it real, when is it not...how do you know?  Well, this time it was real...my first experience of beating myself up for not listening...first of countless times.

As soon as I got close enough to see the display on the passenger seat, I knew he wasn't a nice old man.  He was a sick fuck...with a bunch of porn, an exposed erection...and a gun.  I was paralyzed with fear.  Shaking and crying I still heard 'run, run...', but his gun pointing at me was louder.  I stayed and watched him masturbate just as he ordered.  I was completely shocked as he chipped away at my innocence one stroke at a time.  Gave him exactly what he wanted.  Why didn't you turn right, why didn't you turn right...why why why?  Other than running home as fast as I could after he left without touching my little body, and calling my mom in hysterics, I don't remember much else...about that time.  The second time it happened to me, I was a few months older and a thousand years wiser. 

This time, I was riding my bike...again, only one or two blocks from home...in the other direction.  I 'heard' the car pulling up next to me a moment or two before it actually did...my initial glance back saw nothing.  Thought nothing of it.  Suddenly the old brown station wagon was right there, driving alongside me on my left...same scenario, through the passenger side window.  A young(er) man yelled out asking for directions to the library.  His English was so broken that I had to stop and say 'what'?  As he started to repeat himself, I saw the all too familiar motion of a sick fuck jerking off in front of a little girl.  I shot him a look of disgust and rolled my eyes...seen it already asshole...and sped off on my bike as fast as a super hero.  This time my mom and Chuck were home to pick up the pieces...a little more innocence shattered all around me...and I never saw a man more enraged.  He demanded a description of the car and the man and the direction to go...and went flying out the door.  Chuck was not an outwardly violent man, he was an emotional drunk...all of his violence was directed inward...but...I have no doubt that had he found that shit brown station wagon, we'd have been visiting him in jail for a time.  Yeah, we moved.

*******

Listen

Little ones, lovely ones

Listen to you soul

Self preservation is your only goal

When it tells you there's danger

Don't waste time making sense

That will come later when it's not so intense

When it tells you to run

Don't listen to your doubt

Do what it says and just get out

Instead of looking back 

To wonder, "Why did I stay?"

You can look forward, cause "Thank God I ran away!"

Little ones, lovely ones

Innocence is your role

Always always Listen...to your Beautiful Soul!

*******

It was a cruel summer for sure.  But not without certain gifts.  This would be the summer that my Dad "came back".  Back from his mission with the Guru.  I couldn't wait to hear all about it, and to welcome him back into my life with open arms.  I could hardly contain my excitement as I waited for him the first time he came to pick me up on July 1, 1980 at 11am mountain standard time.  It would be the first of several lunch dates, at 'our place', Mama Elena's.  A popular little Mexican restaurant on Colfax Avenue...known as 'the longest commercial strip in America'...it's reputation ranges from skid row to hip Capital Hill on into gangland and back out into strip mall suburbia...east to west, ever changing and growing.  He loved that place, I loved any place as long as I was with him.  More than anything, I wish I could remember more of those dates...more of our conversations...more of him.  I don't.  Not yet.  I can only recall one conversation, but I can recall it like it was yesterday, every word just about.  It was the best conversation ever.

As we went to work getting to know each other, he wanted to know if I believed in aliens. I said sure, why not.  (In our house, the line of thinking was that the Universe is so vast and unknowable, that to believe we are the only ones in it was incredibly arrogant...and, my mom saw a UFO up close in her backyard when she was very little).  Do you?   He explained to me that he knew for sure that they existed, and that some of them were already here...had been for a very long time...and many of them look just like we do...and he had seen two.  "Wow, so how did you know they were aliens"?  I only remember how he explained one of them...he was very tall and thin, taller than tall human.  His clothing was from another time in the past, Victorian maybe, formal anyway, and he wore a tall black hat.  He was walking toward my dad and as they passed each other, my dad turned his head to keep his gaze on the interesting being, who just vanished into thin air.  Poof, gone.  He thought and felt that it was beautiful...the experience and the being.  He then told me of his gift.  "Did you know that I am a psychic?" 

In my very limited understanding of what that really means, I thought it was the coolest thing ever...to know the future and read minds and talk to ghosts and heal the sick.  I was beaming with pride, so excited to know more, and smart enough to prepare for disappointment, just in case.  "Wow!  Really?  Can you read my mind"?  I was amazed and even more excited when he said, "Sure, think of something".  I'm thinking, ok, it can't be too easy...something weird and specific...something from school...that's it!...we just learned about the possibility of life on Mars, plants from subsurface ice or something...so that was my thought, "Plant life on Mars".  He looked deep into my eyes, the ones I got from him, and said, "Plant life on Mars"...verbatim...I was stunned and delighted and said, "Do it again Daddy"!  Quickly racked my brain for something even weirder, and my goofy kid brain came up with "Clown life on Jupiter"...he smiled and said, "Now you're just being silly".  We finished our Mexican food...it was the best day ever.  It stung a little when I noticed that Mama Elena's had closed many years later.

There are a few more snapshot memories of our short time together in my brain's forefront, they're so fragmented...still.  For my 11th birthday, he picked me up in a van he was driving for work, a bakery.  It smelled so good, and there were almond croissants in the back...he said it would be fine if we had one...I can still taste it, so yummy.  That was also the time he gave me my stuffed red lobster, and antique red hot holder...a cute, tiny glass candy holder in the shape of an elf riding a rocking horse.  I wanted to die the day it broke.  I had that broken glass in my life for twenty years...broken doesn't always mean trash.

Things were good, really good.  We had a new house, I started Junior High in a new town, suburbia, and got to work making new friends.  We had a full, happy home.  Except for Roscoe.  He died of heart failure when my mom and I were away on vacation.  We came home to Chuck's sad heart, it failed a little too.  That just meant we had plenty of room when we learned of another Great Dane who needed a home, Ace.  He was papered, stunning, with cropped ears...poor baby!  Shiny, sleek black with a white star on his chest...Ramshead Ebony Ace Star...big beautiful beautiful boy!  He fit right into our 'zoo', that's what we called it on the box of personalized pencils we had made, "The Zoo.  Charles, Rebecca, Genny, Rachel, Rhiannon, Tiger, Princess, and Ace".  Heaven.  And...AND...just to make sure it really couldn't get any better, my beautiful father had come back to me.  Perfect...everything to look forward to...not even the stupid flasher on my way to school could break my spirit...seen it already asshole.

The day my life changed forever was a beautiful, perfect Colorado autumn day.  I love autumn...the air smells so good...the changing leaves are so beautiful...what am I going to be for Halloween this year?...I'm not a kid anymore, I can't be a cute bunny again or a ballerina or a Genie...maybe a witch!...this year, in my new level of school where we get to have our first school dance...the Halloween Ball...maybe a boy will like me...maybe this is where I'll meet some more nice girls...the walk home was just beautiful...Sunny...all the decorations adding to the excitement of future planning...everything was perfect...except for one thing...what am I going to do about my LIE?...why did I say that?...how do I fix it?...why did I say that...you're such a baby...crying cause Mrs. Daugherty yelled at you for being late...why did I say that...why..."My Dad DIED"...Oh My God, how do I fix that?

As soon as I walked in my door I knew SOMETHING was terribly wrong.  Besides the weight of the AIR...my Grandma was there with Chuck and his friend Larry.  "Hi Gramma! What are you doing here"?  "I just came over for a quick visit honey".  Ok, now I know something's wrong...gramma just lied to me...right to my face...whoa, whatever it is, it's bad.  My grandmother didn't drive, someone had to go get her, and it had to be planned. It's not like she ever just stopped by on her way home.   She knew to not let me look at her for too long...I knew she was protecting me from whatever had the grown ups so weird...Chuck saves her...

"How was school, Sweet?"...that was his nickname for me...Sweet...

"Fine what's going on."

"I just need a few moments with grandma...mom's on the way home and Larry's gonna take you to run some errands...okay?"

Ok, this is bad...do they think I'm stupid?...I never go anywhere with Larry, they're trying too hard to be normal...ok...oh this is bad, but don't press Genny, let them have their secrets for now, mom will tell you...just play along...just play along..."Ok!  Let's go!"

Poor Larry...he was just a sweet guy who's drinking buddy had a step daughter.  He didn't know what to do with me, but he did his best to stay light and joking and silly for me.  He took me to the store...the liquor store...for a Pepsi.  Ok, this is bad...I thought we had errands...a Pepsi?...from a liquor store?...you better brace yourself Gen...what could it possibly be, this dark dark thing...what on earth are they gearing up to tell me?  I kept trying to figure it out, to be prepared...the worst thing I could think of was divorce...that's it, oh my god, are they getting a divorce?...I thought everything was fine, they seem happy...oh no, my poor mom...I bet it's a divorce...but we love Chuck...oh no...

When we got home, Mom was there.  Ok, this is it...this is it...she's gonna come to you in a sec...ok, just tell her how much you love her, that you want what's best for us too, that we'll be okay...can I still be friends with Chuck?...do we get to stay here?...she's probably so sad...it's going to be ok Mom...we have each other.

"Mommy?"

She reaches out for my hand..."Come on baby, let's talk..."

...Baby?...oh shit...this is bad...

Hand in hand we go to the downstairs living room next to my room, and we sit on the couch.  The air is so sad and heavy, there are already tears building in my eyes..."What is it Mommy?...are you ok?"  ...here it comes...here it comes...brace yourself...here it comes...ready for the D word to come out of her mouth...

"I need to talk to you about your Dad honey...um, he died yesterday..."

"What...WHAT...Daddy?...no...no no no no no no...no...what happened?"

"Oh my baby...I'm so so so sorry, he committed suicide baby...I'm so so so sorry..."

"What...WHAT...Daddy?...no no no no...no.  No. No daddy...why...no  no..."

...oh no...oh no...I'm psychic too...oh Daddy...no..no...

...and     I      ju  s t         sh  a   t     te      r       e         d

Blackness is all I have in my mind when I search for anything that happened after that.  I have no idea about any of it until Halloween.  They made me take Rachel trick or treating, they wanted so bad for me to have something normal...sweet...so I found my costume...and couldn't do it, I was just too sad...but Rachel is still so little, she shouldn't suffer just cause I do...I put my witch mask on and my black fur coat...maybe just a few houses...for her.  I took her around for little while, I wish I could remember her costume.  And then, just to seal the deal of innocence lost, I got my very first period.  I thought it supposed to be a good thing.  I used to love autumn.

*******

Things ~ And Apple Pie ~ And Inheritance

Hand beaded teeny tiny baby name bracelet ~ safe

Butterfly ring with turquoise wings ~ lost! oh my god, lost...went with the innocence

Red lobster stuffie ~ safe

Elf and rocking horse glass candy holder ~ when it broke I did too, it was the cat! Bear!

Handmade, his own hands, frame holding a picture of two grey kittens ~ MIA, it's 50/50

50/50 that I know where it is, 50/50 that I hate myself a little

Pocket watch, one that saw his end ~ safe

Wedding Band ~ safe

For my 30th birthday, my mother gave me the wedding band that my dad gave her.  It's simple, elegant, beautiful.  White gold, tiny gorgeous diamond in the center of an etched, eight pronged star.  Safe.  In the blue elephant ring box.  

Even though I worshiped the ground he walked on, my Dad and I weren't physically close.  At least, not the way that would allow for me to pick up on subtle mannerisms, and develop like tastes.  He was in my physical life for such short periods of time.  Psychically, we're connected at the heart, but it's not the same. It was always so funny to me that we have a shared food issue.  I didn't even know about it until years after he died, it was in a story my granddad told about him.  It seems my dad didn't like apple pie.  Granddad would say, "who doesn't like apple pie for god's sake?!"...I can hear him now..."son of a gun".  We all know it's full of nothing but goodness...delicious apples, cinnamon, sugar, flakey buttery crust...mmm, smells like heaven...anyone would want a piece, right?  Especially a small boy.  Even one who already knew that he didn't like it, would be tricked into believing he did by the aroma and reactions of everyone around him.  Even after his father warned him that when he didn't like it, it wouldn't matter...you order it, you eat it.  'It looks so good, smells so good, everyone else loves it...I'm sure I'll like it this time!'  "Yep, I'll have one please "!  He hated it.  

I couldn't believe it, the exact same thing happens to me all the time!  To this day.  I actually have to make a point to remember that I don't like apple pie...really, Genny, you won't like it...I know it smells good, I know you think it will somehow be different this time, but it won't, remember last time?...trust yourself for once...you won't like it!  Don't get the apple pie!  At least I don't have to worry about being forced to eat the entire pie and getting really sick should I ever throw caution to the winds and decide to try it again...it smells so good, looks so good...maybe...maybe just maybe I'll like it.  I'll order a piece from somewhere on your birthday this year, granddad...maybe.

Green eyes ~ safe...cried an ocean of cleansing tears for humanity to swim in.

Psychic symptoms ~ thanks?...yeah, Thanks!!

...it would be the only way for me to know you, Daddy, so...painful as it can be, thanks for the inheritance.