Continuing to think about writing this story is more difficult than I imagined. I have been laboring over this all week. It has been even more difficult to actually sit down and write it.
So, I decided to create a Prequel to the story.
This will buy me more time, and will set the stage more succinctly. Isn’t that something? I had the audacity to create a Prequel, though I have yet to have a book deal, or have a movie premier. Oh well, I say, dream huge. I think this is going to help.
When reflecting on the challenges of caregiving for my mother, I experience several mixed feelings. On one hand, telling the truth may hurt feelings, especially when I collectively show how together several factors, and people surrounding me, conspired against me serving successfully as my mother’s caregiver. But, on the other hand, for God, I must tell the truth about what occurred. …Without fear.
The sentiments triggered by fear, weakness, anger, and tribulation during the experience, is juxtaposed with gaining the virtues of courage, forgiveness, tranquility, and victory. Speaking about the tormentors’ seemingly false spirituality, becomes contrasted to my surrender to God and strengthening my faith.
Forgiving is in constant battle with Forgetting.
In spite of these considerations, I’ve concluded that I must tell this story. It may help someone. My spirit tells me this. It will help me to close this chapter. It may even help those who tried to harm me and my mother.
But, I must tell this story very carefully.
I mentioned in the last post, Terror on the Caregiver – Judas Returns (Intro)…WITH AN ARMY, that I would break the story into parts. I still don’t know how many, but it seems as though there will be more than I expected. Today, I planned to post the follow up to last week’s post, and it seems that even this post will be broken into multiple ones.
I also decided not to place much emphasis on names and even genders. I will instead, focus on context, settings, history, and characters. I am sure that those familiar with this story, including those who are included in it, will know who they are. I will point out the wisdom that I’ve gained, as well as, the mistakes that I made, as scenes unfold.
It’s my intent that those who tried to harm me and my mother will reflect on this story and have a change of heart, and experience spiritual reconciliation.
I wish this especially for my siblings, for the sake of their only living brother, and their mother, who’s now an angel.
I’m sure some writers do as I do, reflect or attempt to visualize their next story before ever creating it. I visualized how I would tell this story all week. It was not easy to pin down an approach with all the opposing emotions flooding my head. Remembering the story and being truthful about it is the easy part. I know what happen vividly, and have a plethora of dated emails, documents, video/audio recordings, and medical documents. My poetry & songs, in its lyrics, secretly tell me what was occurring at the time.
It still won’t be easy to dredge through this stuff.
The hard part of telling this story is that it is hard to believe! If it hadn’t happened to me and my mother, I wouldn’t believe it.
It’s mainly because of its optics. I was a single person with my mother, while my six siblings built a united front, on a foundation of lies, resentment, and jealously.
And, they stuck to their story, no matter how fabricated! I had no one to advocate for me. I was an outsider when I returned back to New Orleans, over 30 years after I left.
It is true I made bad choices earlier in life, namely ones that harmed me, but had a rebound and resurrection, and a loving heart that no one seemed to want to acknowledge at the time, except for my mother. They focused on events that occurred 15 – 20 years ago. And, for a while, it worked.
In the 2008 I was the most financially successful and most educated of all my mother’s children, having taken her around the world, as my exclusive travel partner. My siblings were older, with children, while I was neither, and they stayed more constricted to their Southern boundaries. I was a red herring in that way. I overshadowed the, though that was furthest from my intentions.
They had strong connections to New Orleans’ black caste members, who happened to work in the various nonprofit, municipal, religious organizations where I would seek help in caregiving support.
In contrast, I had a disappointing quantity and quality of connections in New Orleans, some of whom also participated in the eventual conspiracy for their own selfish reasons.
I had been travelling the US and the World, and had outgrown most of my New Orleans mental bondage. They apparently hadn’t. …Even the ones who moved on to other southern states.
You know I could have saved a lot of web page landscape.
I could have just said that I was being judged from the very start of this saga. And, I was.
I was different in virtually every way. And judging runs rampant in the oppressed New Orleans black community.
I believe that when telling this story, if I set the stage by explaining to you the context in which this all occurred, it may not seem so incredible. My story may compliment an ‘unbelievable’ story that you may hold on your heart, or have heard of from friends or family.
Whenever I encounter a caregiver that’s ‘going through it’ they are quick to share with me which battles they are fighting with family, agencies, and doctors. Having such a point of reference may make my story more palatable.
What happened to me is not as unusual as it may seem, though.
What’s unusual is that the experience elevated me spiritually, and now I am anxious to tell my story, and share the wisdom that I gained by enduring through it all. Most caregivers don’t want to talk or think about it, once their loved one transitions. Even for me, this process is painful, some four years since it all ended.
I have narrowed down four areas that I must explain to help make the story clearer to readers. They are as follows:
- New Orleans’ History & Black Caste System,
- My Family History,
- My Family’s Spirituality, and
- Living in New Orleans Versus Touring New Orleans.
The resistance generated from these factors alone, not considering my strikes and faults, is enough for any black, educated, and well-traveled man to run into conflicts in the city to which I had to return. …To sincerely serve God, and my mother, no less.
When I arrived back in New Orleans, I felt as Michael Jackson expresses in his song, Stranger in Moscow.
Please continue to visit my blog. Many related posts will follow, some shortly after this one is posted. – Kevy
By Kevy Michaels
An angel asked me to tell my story
And because of my covenant with God
I knew I had to tell the truth
That meant I had to go to Dark places
As well as to places of light
I stalled for days…
….and for weeks
Not for fear of telling the Truth
But for fear of traveling through Darkness
Necessary to make the story complete
…But I had to be true to my God
So with encouragement from the angel
I took the journey, anyway
…Just as requested
And as certain as the pain of placing
My hands in burning Fire
I cried profusely
The tears smeared the ink on the paper
That denoted my Life
But I kept writing
…And, I kept crying…
The tears did not
Affect the fluidity of my words
I began to gain greater understanding
Of who I am
And, Whose I am
Through this painful process
I noticed that the tears did not have
The salty taste of sweat, they once had
But instead began to taste good to me
…they tasted like the nectar that saps
From an over-ripened Mango
So I wrote and cried
And Cried and Wrote
Until the tears were no more
And, the story was complete
Then I realized, after placing the final period
That I would never have to travel
Down the Dark roads again
For the story was no longer in my head
But on tear-soaked paper
For the benefit of all to see
The Darkness was completely gone
The Light of the story
Remains inside of me
I am so grateful
For the angel that encouraged me
Stranger in Moscow – Micheal Jackson’s Official Video – 36,120,861 views – Michael Jackson – Published on Oct 2, 2009
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