Road Trip No 100000×100

Friday morning, August 17, was ‘fine.’ Then my older sister called and told my mother that she’s taking her out for her 85th birthday. She is 59, I think. She calls mom a few times during the year and fixes it by taking her out on her birthday, maybe Mothers Day. Apparently, she holds a childhood grudge against mom, I don’t know but it is ‘childish.’

So, she gets mom worked up for her coming birthday. I take her to grocery shop, buy her those fave sodas she likes, make sure she has a dessert, tend to her garden, and listen to ger non-stop updates, about relatives, old stories. I really don’t mind, she is ‘my best friend.’ Unlike women my age, she is ‘content with her life.’ Yeh, she fusses about the same ol’ stuff, a lot, but she is ‘fun, to be around.’

My mother is a ‘twin.’ At birth, their mom passed away from an infection that is now ‘treatable with pills.’ The infants were too much, for a now widowed father who already would be raising two toddler sons alone. He–my grandfather–was in a position, without outside help; no choice, but to allow the babies to be adopted. In separate families.

My mothers adopted parents were a pastor and his homemaker wife. They gave her a nice upbringing with piano lessons, beautiful clothing, trips, but with boundaries. She had no room for stepping outside the lines.

She married my dad who had served in WWII. They had nine children, I am number seven. My mother worked from the time I was in first grade until she was in her early seventies. Dad passed away at a young age, mom kept working. We lost two brothers. She kept working.

Now, here it is over two years of being stalked of whatever has been going on, and I have ‘hit the road’ to get this off my back.

No, I am not breaking down mentally. I have some proof. Thing is, I want my children back in my life, I have a grandson that I’ve seen two times in eight months. My mother is aging and this is ‘unfair to her, me, my grandson, my children.’

Who is so selfish to create such a ‘crackpot mess?’ He, she or they follow me online, compromise texts, email, violate all privacy laws. Forget about private phone conversations.

I know this is true because things I talk about are retold to me. Murphys Law and coincidences have a cut-off. After a few times, you know you’re being ‘messed with.’ Why? I really don’t know? Who? I really don’t know?

Sure, there was the work stalker, the lady I met at work who excitedly stated ‘I’m a psychologist,’ then there’s all these random weirdos who appeared all in the same time frame as when my world came tumbling down. In all, three productive years have been lost because of ‘this.’

I have printed some proof, made police reports, my car has been tampered with, my bank account, on and on.

No relief. I left with ‘no destination’ in mind and if I did have one I’m keeping my mouth ‘shut.’ Every thing I say has returned to me, in some way.

I vow not to return until someone tells me ‘Who is responsible and why are they so important as to keep a big secret, that is ruining my life?’ I am not picking up the phone until this ends.

My mother has suffered greatly throughout her life, and now at 85 will be separated from me because of some silliness. I gave time for this to cease. Now, it is ‘business.’

I actually had some relatives tell me, “I can’t believe no one has told you yet.”

Remember this word, “perception.”

I guess, “they want you to get some help.” Like a boyfriend? Uh, not like this.

The psychologist lady I met told me, “someone likes you, but you’ll have to do some things first.”

She said, “You have to be fixed before dating.”

“He wants to take care of you, you don’t have to work.” Huh?

There’s more. I am writing a book about it, I hope to finish soon.

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