I’m trying to wrap my mind around today. I tell myself that if I write it all down, I will have a better understanding but I’m not being honest with myself because I’m not a criminal and I don’t understand immorality, hate, selfishness and greed.
“He’s dead Kerri, I found him this morning and I’ve cleaned his house out of anything worth anything” is exactly how my brother broke the news to me.
This was after he deceived me several times, spewing lie after lie before finally telling me why he was there, before his heart finally bled out his mouth with his wife in the background yelling, “Get off the phone with that fucking bitch, all she wants is money!”
Those deplorable words retched out of the heart of a woman who just cleaned out my father’s house along with her husband and her mother-in-law.
I was driving down the interstate with my cruise control set to 75, when I was told. My brothers words, like razor-sharp daggers pierced my heart with his hand slowly yanking down, methodically and willfully, cutting through my core. I ‘m not sure how I made it home.
I was forced to tell my daughter over the phone about her grandfather’s death. She was alone with no one to comfort her. I also had to call the rest of the family, the moral ones, those close to my father, and his many friends, to break the news. I was forced to do it, in a hysterical state, less than a minute after prying the truth from my brothers lips, so they wouldn’t be assaulted with news of his death through a Facebook post like I was, from someone else 856 miles away, who put two and two together after seeing something on someone else page.
My father’s possessions; money, that is what was important to them, not mourning their loss, not telling his friends and family, not comforting someone else, it was wealth, their own selfish wants and greed, their actions portraying exactly where their heart is.
I had to fight to find the location of my father’s body. They’d not planned to tell me that he’d died.
I asked myself why but there are no answers to explain this, just like all the other abuse I‘ve suffered at the hands of them, the difference now being that everyone in the family sees them in their true colors. The pictures they’ve just finished painting of themselves, the last piece of the puzzle, depicting their souls, all dark and depraved. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and friends, now they all see the truth.
I think about my father and all the memories I have. It’s something they can’t destroy, my being closest to him. He shared all of his secrets with me. I learned from his examples, he trusted me, respected me; was proud of the path I took in life, the way I live. It’s something they don’t have and its something they can’t steal nor tarnish. Its a bond that forever remains unbroken.
This brings me a little comfort but I’m sitting her so devastated that my spirit wants to go back to a place in time where everything is okay and as precious as they are, even my memories aren’t allowing that.
Tears are all I have flooding, drowning out the gaping hole in my soul. I can’t relate to my anguish, the gap that now seperates my world.
I was told that I couldn’t see my father. It’s against the law because his body has already been identified. I have lost something irreplaceable. They have gained nothing but the world.
From the personal journal of Kerri Bishop Reece written December 4, 2010
© Kerri Bishop Reece | Kerri Chronicles