Terror on the Caregiver – The Prequel Repost

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 have the audacity to create a Prequel, though I have yet to have a book published, or have a movie premier. Oh well, I say, dream huge.

I think this move 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.  I have no 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 with my surrender to God and my ever-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, strongly. It will help me to close this provocative chapter of my life. It may even help those who tried to harm me and my mother.  I sure hope that they think about what they did to me and my mother, often in ‘the name of Jesus’.

But, I must tell this story very carefully.  It cannot be rushed.  I must prepared to lying rebuttals by doing extensive research and maintaining documents and files that support my assertions.  And, I will take each careful step methodically.

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.  However, of greater importance is to no longer hold the tragedy of this rivalry inside of me.  I also am confident that someone out there will benefit from my experiences.

But I still wish spiritually reconciliation especially for my siblings, for the sake of their only living brother, and their mother, who’s now an angel.  Without reconciliation, they will live with the evil that they inflicted for the rest of their lives.

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 happened vividly, and have a plethora of dated emails, documents, video/audio recordings, and medical documents to support me. My poetry & songs, in its lyrics, they secretly tell me what was occurring at the time.  Everything is dated.

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 myself.

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 jealousy.

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.

Then, my step siblings joined in the battle.  I had to engage them for legally they had to agree that I could sell my mother’s home to sustain her care.  They too had a greed-driven agenda as did my siblings.  My siblings had many additional agendas, so their resistance was stronger.  They would engage city and state officials, senior care agencies, and even the governor’s office in their deception.

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 those events which occurred 15 – 20 years ago to tarnish my true spirit, while my mother passionately defended me.  And, for a while, it worked.  I am not sure that it will work now.


In 2008 I was the most financially successful and most educated of all my mother’s children and had regularly taken her around the world, as my exclusive travel partner for several years. I had an established reputation for honoring my mother.

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 perhaps overshadowed them, 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.  New Orleans’ black caste system is similar to the Indian caste system.  Both are based on history, but the New Orleans caste system is based on ignorance, while India’s is based on spiritual beliefs.

In contrast, I had a disappointing quantity and quality of connections in New Orleans.  I had not lived in New Orleans since the 1980s.  Some of the few people with whom I reconnected, would also eventually participate in this conspiracy for their own selfish reasons.

I had been traveling 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 my story, provided 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.

One of the reasons that I want to share my caregiving drama is because I have heard of similar scenarios in other families.  Childhood traumas, greed, jealousy, and the need for control, money, and power seem to always surface in elder-caregiving, and especially after an elder passes.  I have experienced it, and I hear it from others, but rarely is this ugliness presented in mass to the public.  I want to take on that challenge.

Whenever I encounter a caregiver that’s ‘going through it’ they are quick to share with me which battles they are fighting against family, agencies, and doctors. Having such a point of reference in your own life may make my story more palatable and understandable.

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 been grieving all of that time and still grieve today.


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 ignited in simple-thinking New Orleaneans and in the closed minded ‘fake-faithful’ from these factors alone, not considering my own 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.


Stranger in Moscow – Micheal Jackson’s Official Video – 36,120,861 views – Michael Jackson – Published on Oct 2, 2009


Please continue to visit my blog. Many related posts will follow, some shortly after this one is posted. – Kevy


Poem

My Story

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 that angel

I took the journey, courageously

…Just as requested

And as certain as the pain of placing

My hands in a blazing 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 seem to

Affect the fluidity of my words

I began to gain a 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

…So Sweet….

…they tasted like the nectar sap that oozes 

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 was on tear-drenched paper

For the benefit of all to see

The Darkness was completely gone

The Light of the story

Remains inside of me

And, Always

I am grateful

For the angel that encouraged me

To write

My Story

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Note: You may use Google Translate to copy and paste, then translate any posts on this website, to over 60 different languages.

Being cognizant of international visitors, I want to do all that I can to communicate wisdom globally for all.


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