* I wrote a post about my uncle a few months ago, and this is the follow-up. I actually mailed him a copy of this letter and sent one to his personal and work e-mails. I also included a copy of the afore mentioned post, which pretty much says it all. I will not be ignored. Heh. *

Dear Uncle,

I sat down tonight to write you this letter after weeks of staring at the phone, dialing your number and then hanging up. I wanted to say some things but knew that the temperament of a phone call could be too harsh, words said and exchanged that could be misconstrued and twisted and used against either one of us, mostly I’m sure by you.  This letter is in black and white. It is solid. It is truth. You may choose not to read it, and that is your decision. But if I know you, you’ll read it. It may take a few tries, but you will. I know we are too much alike to not read something passed between us and our curiosity rivals that of the cat who allegedly died for his passionate pursuit of such. I also know that we are of the fiery temper and this is liable to end up shredded or aflame in some random fireplace. But don’t worry, I emailed you a copy and put one on the internet where it is bound to live forever. And if you want to talk about this letter to anyone, feel free. You certainly exercise every opportunity you have to speak ill of your family to everyone you see. I’m sure you think we don’t know about all of the things you say, but never forget that small town circles run deep and are far-reaching. You used to tell me that no one can outrun a radio or a phone. Neither can you.

I have always loved you. Through all of your bullshit and drama. You have always made me laugh and you can carry on like no one else I know with your quick wit and dry humor. When Daddy died, you were the second person I called in those screamingly painful wee hours when we were seeing our worst fears realized. I first called my brother who shares the same mutual disdain for you as you do for him. And then, I called you. I wanted you there to tell us it would be ok, to take us through the awful journey that losing the most important man in all our lives took us on, to take care of us. Like you promised my Father. The promise you have broken. The promise being picked up and delivered by others in our family, strong men who say what they mean and mean what they say. Men who haven’t let the business of a dollar get in the way of what’s right.

You like to talk about people. You talk about (name omitted so as not to awaken the drama llama) like she is no better than dog poo on your shoe, about how she has forsaken the family and is no good to anyone. And now, you are no better than she is. You have forsaken your sister, who looked to you for strength and support when the main source of her’s is gone. And where are you? Sitting on your porch a few miles away, stewing because you weren’t given anything. Bitching to whoever will listen about a Jeep, a boat, a pickup truck and a boat house, as if these were the most important things in life. They are not. I have heard you have problems of your own. Who doesn’t? In the two months since you have spoken to your sister, you didn’t have a minute to pick up the phone? To say “Hi, I know you are having a tough time, but so am I, I just called to say I love you.” You can’t even do that? You can go to the hunting lease just down the road and visit friends who live a mile away but you can’t take time for your blood? You are sorrier than the people you talk ill about. And this isn’t the first time. Remember Barbara, your other sister? Who you shunned for years after Grandma died and y’all fought over her stuff? And when she died unexpectedly you told me how you wished you hadn’t done it and that it was one of your biggest regrets and you loved your sister and blah blah blah more of your lying bullshit. You had me fooled into thinking you learned something from that.

So many people have told me to forget you, to write you off. If it was just me I probably could. But to know my mother cries over you and is hurting more than she has to because you are acting like an ass leads me to this. There is time for forgiveness. There is time to make it right. She misses you,  you selfish jerk. You still have a family. Be part of it before it’s too late. Or not. It’s your loss, and I hope it hurts you as much as you’ve hurt my mother. And then some.

Your niece,

As you get older, your friendships and your family ties are supposed to strengthen and mold into some type of safety net for your life. At least that’s how it happens on the big screen and in many books. Mostly fiction.

Real life is not always so warm and fuzzy.

It’s more of a sticky, syrupy haphazard obstacle course laid out like some game on which I find myself the pawn lately.

I’m tired of it. I’m making cuts. Severing ties. Doing for me. Me. ME. Or of you like the interwebz slang, MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE !

If you’re not aware, there is the asshole uncle saga.

The ex-wife and evil step-daughter saga’s.

The other family drama I have yet to blog about for fear of the nuclear bomb it will unleash upon my barely hanging onto the definition of family.

And now, as it has been before, the frenemies saga.

The people in this picture were my friends. Two of them were what I would have called best and lifelong friends.

They were my friends before Gregory and I fell in love. They were mutual friends of ours. If not for them, there would be no Kim and Gregory. P was Gregory’s friend for 30 years. They went to school together, they lived together, they were like brother’s. C was a teenager when she and P started dating and knew Gregory for just as long. The have a lake house three houses down from ours. Their home is a 1/2 mile from mine, their subdivision borders ours. I worked with them, I cried with them, I played with them. Some of the best memories of my life happened at their home and at the many Auburn games we went to with them.We were as thick as thieves at one point. In the beginning of our relationship, they were less than thrilled with G and I being together. I’m still not totally sure why. There were things said, feelings hurt, but in the end, the friendship prevailed. After we got married, we still hung out, but not as much, what with jobs, the kids, etc. Gregory and P had a falling out, and we tried to repair the damages to save the friendship, but things were always different. One of the reasons we stopped hanging around so much was because of the atmosphere and some of the people in their circle. It just wasn’t good for us. So we retreated into suburbia, soccer practice, weekends at the lake, and us. When G went into the hospital, these people were on a cruise. They came to the funeral. They were “here” for me, to a degree. But really they were here for themselves. They are toxic. They are the kind of people that cannot stand for others to be happy, because they are not. Even though it took me awhile to see that about them, I mourned the death of our friendship as I mourned the death of my husband and slowly tried to put them out of my mind.

And then came the estate battle.

I hadn’t heard from them in months. I had heard about them, oh yes. About them hosting my ex-husband at their home. About their digging into mine and Gregory’s business. Then they showed up at my father’s funeral. It wasn’t the time or place to confront them.

Two weeks after we buried my father, I saw them again. Sitting on wooden benches in a Shelby County courtroom, with Gregory’s ex-wife and my step daughter. Neither would meet my eyes. They sat in that courtroom and listened to the testimony. For what? I don’t know. Neither were privy to our business decisions, personal or otherwise. At that moment they were dead to me. Gone. Ghosts in the machine. I deleted their numbers, threw out anything that physically had anything to do with either of them.

Today while I was mowing my grass, I missed a call. From C. She left a voice mail. I haven’t talked to her in so long, I almost couldn’t place the cadence of her voice. But then I did. I recognized the drunken slur. The “Hey girrrrrl” she always started off with when talking to me drunk. She wanted to know “how the hell I was doing” and why she hadn’t heard from me all summer. Really? REALLY.

At first I was MAD AS HELL. She has some damn set of balls to be calling me after all of this. Then I was sad. I was sad for the past, for the life that I had before, when everything seemed so perfect. Then I was mad again, mad that one call could send me into an emotional tailspin, questioning my emotions, my decisions, myself. Mostly mad at myself. I am in charge of me, no one else. And the me that’s in charge says the hell with her, the hell with them. All of them. All of the people who cause me anger, grief, and to question myself. I don’t need them in my life. Not right now. Maybe never.

They are going away. To some far off corner in my mind where they can stir the pot of crap they bring with them and make mayhem amongst themselves. I’m not dealing with them anymore.

From here on out, its all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns farting cupcakes.

Or as close as I can get.

Family Drama.

We all have it. And if you don’t ? Count your blessings.

As you may be aware, there has been ongoing fam-dram with my relatives who shall remain nameless for some time that should have come to a head upon the death of my father. I chose the high road on all of that and decided in the best interests of my mother and my relationship with some of my family members to just not say anything more about it. It still chafes my ass to this day that I haven’t addressed it head on with the person in question, but oh well. Bygones.

This new drama is too potentially ass chafing to ignore and this time I am going to say something about it, not only here but to the person who has started the shit to begin with, face to face, like real grown-ups. I just have to wait until the time is right. Which will be soon.

I have one uncle left on my mother’s side. He is my mother’s baby brother and her only living sibling.

My uncle is an asshole.

I’ve been well aware of this fact for quite some time but basically never had an issue with it because it didn’t really affect me or anyone close to me. Well, it did affect my brother but they have hated each other for so long now that not only have I forgotten what the reason is behind it, I’ve also given up on trying to mend that fence. I tried once when my daddy was dying by telling them they both needed to get along, if not for each other then for my mother, and when that plan collapsed in about two minutes I gave up on that idea. He will stir stir stir shit just for the hell of it and more often than not delights in other’s misfortunes. Yet he is a certified paramedic and a volunteer firefighter that jumps at the chance to help a stranger in need. He’s a total Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I don’t get it. Despite that, my uncle and I have always gotten along fairly well despite his penchant for asshattery. When I was a kid he was always the fun uncle who took you to movies and to Six Flags, helped me learn to ski and would spend hours driving us around in the boat or pulling us on tubes while we screamed our heads off. He also has a wicked sense of humor and his wit matches and even exceeds many who do it for a living. Sometimes it turns snarky and he can be insulting and even hateful, but people would say “That’s just Kenny” and go on about their business. The only time I really had an issue is when he made some smart-ass comment about Gregory, but he and Gregory had a little talk and that stopped that mess pretty quick.  I also decided that since the man has been married six times any advice on my life and who I may be in love with should be better left to someone with an iota of sense.

But this time, the son of a bitch has gone too far.

During the summer my uncle is like an annoying rash. You can’t get rid of him. He works four days a week for ALAPOCO and the rest of the time he is at home doing his thing or at our place on the lake. He is either in the pool or off on one of the boats or jet-skiing or whatever and will always invite me along on his next adventure. He can usually be counted on to help with whatever you need be it moving something or helping with some project or whatever. I always felt like I could depend on him if I really needed him. My father who lay dying of cancer asked him to make sure to take care of my mother and I when he was gone, to look after us and be sure we were ok. My uncle looked into the eyes of my father, who had treated him like a brother all of his life, shook his hand and promised that he would indeed do just that.

He lied.

Oh at first he called my mom every day, came down a few times a week and would usually come by several times on the weekends. Then around the end of June we both noticed he wasn’t around at all, it was like he disappeared. He did have some type of surgery on his eyes so we thought that was the likely reason. When he didn’t come to the lake AT ALL for the 4th of July I knew something was seriously wrong. When I saw him at my cousin’s bash and he was standoffish even to my mother and barely civil to me it took me about 5 seconds to figure out why.

He’s jealous.

Always has been. My uncle thinks that he is my mother’s third child. Part of that is her own fault. She babied him all of his life and basically let him do what he wanted with all of our property and never told him no. When we lived in Singapore he lived in our lake house, used our boats and had a grand old time all with my mother’s blessing. When my mother bought something for my brother or me, 9 times out of 10, she bought one for Kenny too. He wants it all but just ask him for something of his and oh the drama. His philosophy is apparently what’s mine is mine and what’s yours ought to be too.

The first thing that pissed him off that I can trace this back to was the fact that my brother and I have both been using my dad’s truck. As a matter of fact it sits in my driveway now. He’s also mad that my dad gave my cousins, my brother and myself some of the many guns he had. Never mind that Kenny got some too, oh no, in his mind, he should have gotten them all. Then there’s the boathouse my brother just built. He’s convinced that my mother paid for it. I don’t think she did, but hey if so, guess what? NONE of my business. Nor is it his. But that’s just how he thinks. Jealousy. Ugliness. Feeling sorry for himself. When your own daughter tells other family members that she can’t stand being around her father because he’s acting like a shit, there’s a problem there.

And then, there’s the Jeep. Or should I say Jeeps.

Ever since I have had my Jeep, my uncle has asked me to sell it to him. Mind you, I’ve had it new off the lot since 1997. I have so far refused. My mother got one in 2001 and he has asked her the same thing. The man is not poor. He and his wife have both worked for Alabama Power for more than 30 years respectively, they live in a house paid for by his in-laws years ago on land that was given to them. They have no extravagant hobbies, do not travel and have two kids, one married and on his own, one in college on a full scholarship. I cannot even remember the last time my uncle went on a vacation that took him out of Alabama. He takes off for a month every year to hunt on land that is 3 miles from his own house. He can buy his own damn Jeep.

A few months ago, my mother told me that she would give me her Jeep if I wanted to sell mine to have some extra money since I am still in probate hell. At first I was torn because hey,  that’s my baby. It’s my first Jeep and I have crazy love for it. But I got to thinking about it and it made sense. Her’s is newer, has a lift kit I covet, the radio works all of the time (mine is possessed) and it’s nicer. And despite the fact that I had promised it to Patrick when he turned 16, I figure I won’t be seeing him ever again if his good christian mother has any say in it, so I finally made the decision to sell mine and the first person I told? My uncle. Who hemmed and hawed and said he’d have to think about even though I gave him a hell of a price and my Jeep is in damn good shape with low mileage, save for the devil radio. He never gave me an answer, so I let a friend of the family look at it, and they came over and drove it. Right before the 4th of July. Around the same time my uncle became persona non gratis. Coincidence? Whatever.

Over the weekend my mother and I took a ride in her Jeep to go see some lake property my cousin is working on. When we left, I said “Let’s go by Kenny’s and see if he’s alive!” Turns out my dear old uncle isn’t the only one who can stir shit. Dale blood runs deep.

Upon pulling into the driveway we see my uncle, alive and well sitting on the front porch with his kids and my aunt. I blew the horn and said that we were looking for a long lost relative. He walked over to the Jeep with a look on his face like he smelled dog shit and said “Oh is this yours now?” I told him no, mine was at home. He responded that he’d heard I was trying to sell it and it would have been nice if I’d let him know. My mom and I, along with his own daughter, both reminded him that I had indeed given him first chance. His selective memory had kicked in by this point and he refuted our statements and continued to have the constipated face of a man in need of a good enema or one runny fart. My aunt then walked by with a plate of apple pie that she was taking to her mother next door. Turns out they had a nice lunch, with pie, for my uncles birthday which just happens to be today. (Happy birthday mother fucker.) My mom said that it would have been nice if we were invited for pie, but that she loved him anyway and she wished he wouldn’t be mad. He said he wasn’t mad, that everything was fine, but the tone of his voice and his sneer said otherwise. My mom then said that she couldn’t believe he had abandoned her like this after what she had lost.

(this is where I GOT MAD AS HELL)

My uncle’s response? “What do you mean? You haven’t lost nothing.”

I resisted the urge to fling open the door and knock his sorry smart ass into the dirt and stomp on his face until it was a bloody pulp, and instead gripped the wheel so hard I feared it or my knuckles would snap. Through gritted teeth I said “What the hell do you mean? She lost my daddy, and now she thinks she’s lost you.”

I then proceeded to tell him that he should remember what he told me about Barbara, his sister, my aunt. When my grandmother died back in the late 80′s, Kenny and Barbara had a falling out about who got what, as it usually happens when people die. Any notion of sibling love went straight to hell and they didn’t speak unless forced to for years. Of course my mother was stuck in the middle and agonized over it endlessly until my aunt’s death in 2007.  Last year after Gregory died, Kenny told me that his biggest regret in life was turning his back on his sister and that he was hurt every day by his actions and that if he could make it right he would. Well I’ll be damned, not even a year later and he’s doing it AGAIN. Guess that speech in the carport with the fake tears and all was his usual bullshit.

Because my mother and my cousins were there I held my tongue, but I won’t for long. I will have my say with him, because no matter what I feel about it, in the end he is hurting my mother and breaking a promise he made to my father. I cannot abide by either. I will not allow it to happen again.

I was never ashamed of anyone in my family. I’ve had cousins in prison and people who are crazy as bedbugs and people who just aren’t worth a shit, but in the end, they’re family. I was never sorry to say I was related to any of them. Until now.

Now I am ashamed. I’m sorry.

And I’m mad.

And I’m not gonna use the excuse “That’s just Kenny.”

Not this time.