I used to feel

My emotional life is very different today than it was a few years ago. There was a time when I felt everything! My heart was visibly outside of my body. I was so sensitive. I guess to a point I am still sensitive, but it’s different now. In August of 2002 I made a decision. That one decision set into play a process that would permanently alter the course of my life. During that process I changed, much for the better… but a few things, for the worse. Losing my emotional sensitivity was certainly for the worse.

I have had the opportunity to maintain many different relationships with persons living with bi-polar tendencies (disorder seems a little too negative). One woman explained to me why she chose to take medication. I was really curious about her decision, because so many people make the same decision to or not to medicate for so many different reasons. For me, I think of all the genius, musical talent, and creativity that doctors try to suppress with medication. Who would want to lose that, especially when it is in exchange to better fit into this believed ‘society’? For her, she was lucky enough to find a medication that didn’t actually suppress her emotions; moreover, the drugs lessened the high peaks and deep valleys of her emotional roller coaster.

I feel much the same. I still have peaks and valleys; they are just much less noticeable. Before my high moments felt like Mt. Everest and lows like the Colca Canyon (world’s deepest canyon). These days my emotions seem more like the Bonneville Salt Flats. In reality, I do have ups and downs… just not like before. I have speed bumps that I slow for and try to relish and potholes that I hit at full force after failed attempts to swerve.

To honestly speak about what moves me, I would need to speak more of what has moved me. Things in my past that will forever live with me, through the brand they have placed in my mind.

I grew up the youngest of 7 in a single-parent home. I don’t have one memory of their ever being a father in our home. My father is an 82 year old, 6’2”, black, veteran, living in Southern Indiana. I think I have seen him once since his wife died. Faye died in 2002, from lymphoma. At the time my brother Jody and his girlfriend were pregnant with my nephew. Faye was convinced that Lacey was having twins. Maybe it was just wishful hoping. Faye never had any children of her own, my brother and I were the closest thing she had. My father never really had any interest in us, so we never really had any interest in Faye. Because of Faye we had to go over to their house and spend time with our father. Dad would be listening to the game on a black and white portable TV and working a puzzle at the same time. My dad and I got along ok, but my dad and my brother were/are like oil and water. My dad grew up in an orphanage and never really knew how to love. He lectured us. I understood this, Jody never didn't.

When Faye passed away, I cried. For days, I cried. I took time off from work, and went back ‘home’. When I got there my mom and one of my older brothers were going through Faye’s stuff, dad was off doing something else. You could tell that my mother had been crying for a long time. For my dad, it was like any other day.

In 2001 I moved out of my mom’s house for the last time. I was the last of the kids. For 44 years my mom had children around the house. In 2001 she became a mother hen tending to an empty nest. I worried about her. My mother only ever wanted to be a mother; she had no interest in being a wife. In her 60’s she was alone for the first time in over 40 years. My step-mom stepped in. My mom and my step-mom became best friends. When I would visit I could barely catch a moment of my mother’s time, she and Faye always had some kind of plans.

When Faye died it all came together. I realized the impact she had on all of our lives. For me and Jody she was the wicket step-mother that controlled our Father. In reality, I wouldn’t have known my father if it weren’t for Faye. In the third grade my name was legally changed, both my brother and I had been born with my mother’s last name. At the time I was 9 and Jody was 12, why would he care whose name we had? Faye cared, and Faye wanted a family, and she was glad to have us. She bought the birthday gifts, cards, and baked the cakes. She and my mom watched out for each other.

I was riddled with guilt. I never told her. I never knew. I never thanked her. I was so mean. She did so much. She meant so much. I loved her. I did. I do. I will, always.

Today, Faye is found in my writing, my music, and my understanding of relationships. The moment and the feelings are still fresh within me. The valleys aren’t so deep, but they are there.

Devante Kane entered the world on the coat-tails of Faye’s exiting. He filled the void. In the hospital I was sad that Faye wasn’t there, but hoped she was able to experience it in her own way. Once again my mother’s home would be filled with children. Today she acts as full-time daycare for 2 grandkids and occasional care for a few others.