(my blogs are a bit behind real life, and this feels like a million years ago now. But I'll post it because 1) I wrote it and b) it can be the end of this rant. Things are shape shifting back to normal around here.)
After receiving an email back from b's son I feel I must respond here.
We (gently) kicked him out after living here for three months, and arriving here in Jan after 4 years of mental abuse he caused by texting barry nonstop about what a terrible father b is.
So having him here was awkward to start with, coming from that track record. I was not excited to have this guy in our house, because he had just spent years telling us how shitty we were. But b said this is my son. He has a good opportunity with an internship for 3 mos, I want him to come live here. It mattered to B.
So we talked on the phone, the three of us and we all three agreed that if he was going to live with us, he would be required to be continuing in therapy he had just started and with medication for the OCD diagnosis he was just given. He had no problem with that.
Then he came to live here and didn't ever set up any therapy.
I work in my house. I live here and take care of my mom, and the barn, and the pool, and the yard and b and me and Nathan. Nathan takes care of all the cars, of all floods, of all things broken, and vacuums and mows the lawn. B takes care of all the bills, and provides a sound, solid love we depend on.
I agree that when he came to live here, and was sitting in my kitchen everyday on a laptop with headphones, clogging up my kitchen like a ghost because he was distanced by his headphones, I agree, I felt awkward. I would try and time my breakfast making to when he wasn't there. Or I would take my food and eat in the living room. Because I was not hired to make him feel comfortable. And yet I live here. And I love my busy, and peaceful routine. And I love my house. And now my house was not mine.
I barely am doing my real life too. I have been doing dementia for 6 years added on top of my raising three miraculous kids for 25 years. I'm at the tail end and celebrating the achievements.
Then a sick motherfucker came to live here and act like no one has it worse than him and no one understands him. Because he's adopted and had a dad that wasn't manly and he's queer (which he isn't if you saw how messily he kept his room and how he treats his mother) and all of us are mean liars for making him clean up and be responsible and be kind and be grateful.
He actually said that he's tired of faking being grateful.
After we gave him our whole house for 3 months at a great emotional price.
He has 70,000 dollars left of a 250,000 inheritance. He is not broke. He has 2 masters degrees. He could easily get a job.
He is so angry at the world, as we are all angry at the world at times, but he has made it his full time job. There's alot of momentum in anger and bitterness. He should make scented candles with those flavors.
I'm so sad for b that he has inherited this son, whom he gave (and I saw, and our nieces and fam saw) his whole heart and soul to. B did nothing wrong raising this son. I loved the way B raised his son so much that I came to b when it was time for me to raise some kids, and he has been the perfect partner for loving and nurturing tiny souls and spirits. Just like he was with his son.
All I can say is, you can't be mad and blame everyone else if you aren't doing any of the work. Like literally he did ZERO at our house unless I handed him a vacuum (once), or I handed him a leaf blower (once). Or I said clean your room. Or I said you're crazy get the fuck out of my house.
He was coming in from his car one time, saw me outside sweating, lugging heavy trash cans out and we locked eyes and he kept walking went into the house and I thought oh maybe he went to put his stuff down. But he never came back out to help. That is who he is right now.
I care about the 7 year old little kid he was when I met him, when he was healthy and kind and believed in himself and the world. That is the kid I still care about.
He says he needs to take a break from us because I stress him the fuck out. Yes. And also. SAME. And also, you never would have left our house if I didn't say hey you didn't do the work. You promised when you came here that you would be in therapy. And you never did shit the whole time. So you have to leave.
So it just proves, AGAIN, that you can't save anyone but yourself. And the rest is a waste of time. Also it proves that you can provide the most beautiful tiny farm, sweet (if tentative) family, quiet environment and no pressure and that does not help a person determined to hate themselves. In fact, it just robs you of those three months of your life where you gave up your most precious things, your safe haven from the world, and your loving functioning family. To someone whom you had to eventually force out, and then they send you an email where they shit all over your sacrifice.
But you can love love love the people who are doing the work. All of us imperfect, trying to understand ourselves and each other, making mistakes, mending mistakes, hiding from mistakes. All of us, vulnerable. And sometimes, not even at all suffering, but laughing, crying, wrestling, playing, loving each other, seeing the sky.
