Emotion, Memories, Questions, Love, and Hope

Every year for the past 14 years

I have woken up on

 November 6th

knowing that day will be a day filled with 

emotion

memories

questions

 love

and 

hope.

My heart tugs

 because I didn't put a sentiment in the paper 

and I didn't get out to my dad's grave.

I'm bewildered

 because just 4 days after that on the 10th

 I will be thinking about

 my eldest brothers passing just 4 years ago.

I want to call my mom

but life from her perspective

I am disfellowshipped

and

I am an appostate.

No longer in touch no contact.

It astonishes me

 the emotion

 and questions

that come with being raised in a cult.

Especially ones regarding death.

Heaven and Hell.

I don't sit there long in the 

emotions and questions.

Instead I embrace

the memories 

and the love.

There are many memories

 I can draw upon as a child regarding family

 times that were good.

I didn't know any different, so all was good.

We loved the way we were taught to love.

So it seemed o.k. 

It seemed normal.

We had our family banter and sarcasm's.

We had our nick-names and share of family dramas.

When dad passed 

 all the chaos that surrounded that event

Jehovah Witnesses stepping in and pushing aside family.

Brother fighting against brother

wanting dad's things.

Claiming it each as his own.

In those moments

I quietly slipped into the entry way

 from the garage to the house

and grabbed one of my dad's flannels. 

The one I remember him in all the time.

It is blue and red.

He wore it to the hospital the day I had Chelsea.

He wore it every time I went to the house.

He had it on every time I hugged him.

I can go to it today and in some

mysterious way

it still holds his scent.

I love you Dad!

When the time came

 that my oldest brother passed.

The same chaos's rose up once again.

This time I was sad in a different way.

I didn't know my brother.

We were 16 years apart.

He the oldest brother out of 5.

And me the 6th. The baby girl.

He was married and out of the house

before memories came into play.

But on that sad day as we laid him to rest

family sat and talked and reminisced.

I was told in those moments

how much he talked about me 

through out his life.

His baby sister-Tweety.

My nick name given to me by him.

How he loved to take me as a baby

 and buy me pretty dresses and dress me up.

How he loved his baby sister.

Things I never knew until it was to late.

I love you Randy!

It was too late because a cult has ripped our family to pieces.

And all the love I have

 and want to give

May never be expressed.

May never be relayed in a way I would so love to give it.

But there is always hope.

And that is what I hang on to each and everyday.

But By God!

But by God

 and it is only through him 

his love 

his mercy

 his grace

that I love!