Denny 1954, he is in the center, with the new baby Harold...I am next to him with the curls.
Today I got a text from my younger brother, Harold, that my older brother Dennis had died last night. I was not surprised. Denny had struggled with health issues the last few years. Denny was only 66. It was sad that we had not talked in over a year, but at my mother's funeral Dennis decided he never wanted to talk with me again. He had gotten some wrong information, and emotions exploded. We had words, and they were not nice words. Dennis sent me an email that stated he never wanted to have contact again, and I honored his wishes.
Despite all of this I loved Dennis totally. He could be a very difficult person, but he had been my hero when I was younger, and my partner when we got older and had to take care of the younger kids.
Denny was smart, witty and human. He lived an adventurous life, many times coming close to death. He had been in a coma for weeks once in the 70's after an auto accident. He lived life large and hard, so he pushed the edge a lot.
We had the common bond of being the "other parents" and even until recently called the younger brothers and sister "The Little Kids".
Will I miss him? Yes, on some levels, but I lost him over a year ago. Do I wish he had responded to an attempt to make amends last year? Yes, I do. But my reality is that turning the other cheek only resulted in getting slapped again. It is not unusual for family trauma to create a chasm, but I had figured with all of our trauma there would still be a connection. I was wrong.
My advice to anyone is this: make sure you are comfortable with your words, and who you tell them to, because you might find out they are the last words you have together.
Rest in Peace my Big Brother DJ....You will always be in my heart, I shall always remember that wicked smile and wonderful laugh you had. I always loved your hugs and kisses. Thank you for serving this country during the Vietnam era in the Air Force. Thank you for your intelligence that helped make things safe for this country. Thank you for having two beautiful daughters and three beautiful granddaughters.
Rest in peace......Dennis Jay
Well it is really interesting to be taken to task so early in my blogging experience.
Mike has said that I could not "not survived" if I am here, therefore I survived. Well I suppose if you follow the description of the word survive per the Standard Dictionary I have in my lap, he could be close if he applied this to a normal person. According to the book, the definition is such: Survive-1. To remain alive, or in existence. 2. To live or exist beyond the death, occurrence, or end of; outlive;outlast. Strictly speaking, I guess I have done some of that.
But for me, to survive means to be at the same level as before the traumatic event, and thus I do not feel I have always survived.
My life have been full of traumatic events, I got polio at 6 months and 12 years old. My paternal grandfather sexually molested and tortured me from the age of 4 till 12. I lost my father the week of my 13th birthday. My mother remarried a man who was abusive. I ended up with an abusive 1st marriage, and while escaping from him was in a bad auto accident. After getting divorced I went to work in a summer camp and was beaten and raped and left to die. After recovering from that, I went to college, and while asleep, my apartment while it was burning down around me. The fire dept recovered a body, I was told, not rescue a victim. And the government said that because I had died, I no longer existed, so I had to pick a new name and get a new Social Security number. So who has survived?
So am I a survivor? I don't really view experiencing these events as being successful. Yes I was, and am, alive, but I hardly call this surviving. I have days when I can not breathe, walk or function. I struggle through PTSD at times. I sometimes must live a very isolated life. My immune system sucks. Many times, so does my attitude.
I have had successes; I managed (with Al's help) to finally get my degree from U of M. I helped fight a legal battle against my husband by the USPS, and we won. I have won some wonderful funky awards for costuming. And I will be married for 28 years on Sunday.
With all the trauma I have had, at least I have a sense of humor....warped as Hell at times, but it is mine.
Denny holding Rose
Denny and Harold 1955
