Chapter 4
Funeral processions were made for my uncle. My father had been served and found guilty of his crimes against me . I remembered the day I took the stand to testify. My oldest sister skipped school and went to the police to report our lifestyle.
I always thought she was the bravest person I knew at the time. But she got dubbed the black sheep of the family because she was tired of being scared. She was my half sister but in my mind it didn't matter we were blood by one of not by two parents. She shared my mother's blood so therefore she shared mine as well.
But my sister my full blooded sister treated her like she was the outsider. Like she was the fourth wheel messing up the level . The odd wheel out of the family. But to me she was brave. She was strong.
Processions for my uncles funeral also granted my fathers leave of absence from his sentence to attend his brother's funeral. I sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in my hands older in mind as I sipped the coffee not to spill it on my velvet black dress with the large bow on the back. Only appropriate dress I had for a funeral which was coincidentally worn at my Valentine's day pagent earlier that year.
Nothing says funeral like a recycled velvet pageant dress. Over the intercome played the boys to men song to say goodbye . My uncles favorite song. A spiritual song if you allow it to take a hold of your soul. The coffin was decorated with carnations. My uncles favorite flowers. He loved the white ones so much as I remembered.
My Aunt Vera sat in the front row crying and sobbing over her beloved husband. I wanted to comfort her but I was afraid she would squoosh me since she was a well fed woman .
It was time to view the body as the members signed the attendance book and lined up to say their last goodbyes. I lined up dutifully as they pushed us up one by one to pay respects. I had never seen a body up close. Not even on television.
When it was my term to view him . He looked peaceful and serene like he was peacefully sleeping. Then I saw it four pictures of four little girls in his hands. My face was staring at me. It was a new picture of me. My hair cropped short and boyish . I froze as I contiplated death . I contiplated my mortality at this moment. He had my photograph in the coffin with him.
This one action . Made it where I never wanted to see a body ever again. As my initial shock wore off . I exited the viewing room. As I cut the hallway there stood my father.
He wore an orange jumpsuit and chains on his hands and feet. He had two guards accompany him. I backed up against the wall ducking into the small coffee kitchen area I was before. I felt I was in danger. I felt like he could see right through me.
My Irish twin sister Paula ran past me and went to hug him like a devoted little daughter. The guards pulled her off of him and escorted him to a bathroom to change for his brother's funeral.
I suppose it would have been a shock to see his inmate brother pay respects in an orange prison suit. I prayed I was invisible . Prayed it was the only time I'd have to see this man that was my infliction of my life. I locked myself in that coffee kitchen until my social worker took me to the funeral burial procession.
A beautiful gun solute was made as to honor my uncles armed services. The flag was folded and handed to my Aunt Vera. She wept and wept as I stood at the end all carnations surrounding the casket. The first shovel was tossed on top of the casket then the backhoe pushed the dirt in.and the buried my uncle.
He was buried under the family plot . A few feet from my late twin aunts that died after childbirth. No name was on the stones just faded family name. A name that will curse me for all of my forthcoming life. I silently said goodbye to my saint of an uncle whom was once the protector of children.
Memories flashed back of an argument him and my dad had . He yelled at him for being like their father and made him swear he wouldn't do as his father did before. Then the man said one prophetic line i will never be able to wash out of my mind.
" Mark my words,Paul if you do this you shall have no sons to carry your name to seek retribution for your sins."
At the time I did not understand my uncles words or warnings. But he was right no sons would carry his name again . He had three daughters and all would shed their names when they married. Then their children shall bare the names of their fathers.
To me it sounded like a generational curse. To right the wrong of the deeds done.
We went to the group home for one night and woke up and was summoned to a lawyers office for the reading of the will. I reused my black velvet dress and came into the room with my social worker and three other sisters. It was the first time I've seen them all together since we were taken .
My grandma and grandpa my dad's parents were there. We all sat at a long wooden mahogany table as the sharply dressed man waited for everyone to attend. They brought my dad in in his chains and orange jumpsuit. He sat across from me trying to grab my hands across the table as his chains clanked on the table in a loud clunk.
I pulled my hands back far out of reach . An obvious rejection of our relationship. He looked at me pleading for me to pay attention to him . My heart belated with fire and fury. I tried not to look up as my grandparents looked at me scornfully. I imagined they know I testified.
The room made words but I couldn't comprehend the words that were said as the room muffled of all sound as my energy radiated anger and defence from all the enemies I had in the room with me. Till this day I can't recall a single word that was said. All I knew he was there right in front of me. He was there invading my secured space. My heart froze that day. My walls built up and I wasn't letting anyone's eles in.
I was a fortress. I had to be . It was not like my upbringing granted me the luxury of having any other choices. I stared at him with contempt. He smiled teary eyed. I stared at him cold,and cut off. I shut my emotions off so I could emotionally survive him. This man was no dad of mine. He was the sourc of all my trauma.