"Blog Day"

The last day of the month, except when I'm completely overwhelmed and forget what day it is, even if I've thought of it earlier in the day. Not even a blip on the radar from disclosing a 'family secret' from anyone who is even remotely connected, not that I expected any necessarily. If anything, I expected someone to be angry. No one in particular, really. It shows just how much people actually link to what's provided in an email signature, or where it might be otherwise located.

It had to come out: the only time I can ever remember while still very young being 'happy' upon finding out that someone had died. He was loved by his mother, the author of a hand written family saga with a much better memory for names and people than I have right now. He was also a child predator, of family members. Nothing all that new given the statistics; it just so happens it was in our family, too. The fact is this came out after the victim(s) were far into adulthood; old enough to be a grandparent themselves. The truth is it came out when it was happening, and nothing was done, nothing I was made aware of.

Maybe there was a threat by a father who was more abusive in a different way; maybe he was never asked to come around again to do 'handyman work' around our house. One thing is for sure, if Grandpa had been told, his nephew (I didn't know he was a blood relation at the time), our family handyman may have mysteriously disappeared, off the planet.

Grandpa was a strong positive patriarch, 'man of the church', and former police officer, with lots of guns, as all the male relatives had in those parts, in those days. Grandpa had no 'record', of course, though had he found out his granddaughter had been affected multiple times by this person, 'heaven only knows' what the consequences may have been. Maybe that was what the adults involved were afraid of in not letting it get very far, at all.

All the child knew at the time was that no one did anything, even when they told. And it wasn't the first time something had happened. There were others, like the next door neighbors before we had moved. No memory if anyone was told until again in adulthood, which was met with anger for causing stress. What about the child? What about feeling at the time that no one would listen or do anything anyway.

Grandpa only had a second grade education, forced to go work in the coal mines at age ten for literally pennies. He was wise and smart, and fortunate to be a hard worker not bound by educational requirements in being able to earn a living and provide for his family, unlike today. I wish he had known enough to go to the police himself after he had retired when I was being bullied in school to recover something precious that we knew who took it. The emotional impact was the same. Don't bother telling or 'pushing it', 'you're not worth it', no one will care enough to make it right: that's how it felt. It's what I won't forget, and how I can remember and feel or understand a child's emotions.

Sandy Town Hall Meeting/family secrets

The impact of the Superstorm will be felt in this community for years to come. There are businesses that still have not reopened; people that have not returned to their homes. Many wish to be bought out, never to return to their former areas where destruction and death occurred. Some have nothing left and still nowhere to go; some are living in cars, guarding over their properties yet to have electricity, heat, or water restored.

This was confirmed at a town hall meeting last night at the high school nearest to one of the most devastated areas. In the beginning, it was standing room only, with most public officials on the stage. The president came the week before Thanksgiving, a holiday I took the time to research that had its own aftermath I'm almost ashamed I didn't know earlier. Some of the people in the town hall meeting had spoken to the president, some were in photos posted on Facebook. Nothing was happening for most in a timely manner. The Red Cross going around in neighborhoods ringing a bell for hot meals or distributing blankets was no longer enough. The food and clothing had either run out, had become limited, or moved to other locations most didn't want to go to.

As the town hall progressed the crowd thinned as hours passed; some went into the high school cafeteria where agency representatives continued to provide updated information or additional resources. Most who had left the auditorium had finished what they either had to say or heard enough, most leaving without the answers they sought, still discouraged and frustrated. There had been tear-filled voices in the microphones, and anger. There were notes taken, with no timelines guaranteed, or practical acceptable solutions for those with serious concerns, many of which were being heard for the first time. I took photos to remember, including the media cameras and their reporters, none of which I saw later on the 11 o'clock news, simply because I didn't watch.

The reality was on the ground, in this community, and others hit as hard. Recovery will take years. They say another storm of this magnitude in the near future is unlikely; it's no consolation to those whose feelings range from uncomfortable to a despair that their homes no longer exist or if rebuilt will be subject to the same destruction the next hurricane season; there's no guarantee it won't be next year, in the next decade, or the next century. There is no protection from the ocean; there will be more storms. No one wishes to be in the path of any at any time, never knowing when the next 'big one' will hit.

I was given a list of real estate options to explore in the event I chose to move out of a flood zone in one of the less affected areas, where many street lights remained out and generator lights still shined their ghostly brightness to the hum of their motors, a sound now associated with trauma and uncertainty, not for the first time.

I had planned to continue the family story written by my grandfather's sister who passed away before I knew of her, which will continue. It contains within it the seeds of deeply buried family secrets I didn't realize until reading it as it unfolds in tolerable installments here. She never knew how her son really lived later in life. I'm sure she was an okay woman, whose child was exposed to and committed an unthinkable act. She likely died before it happened; I'm not sure. I only realized until reading her story why some things did or didn't happen during my childhood, when I expected more, when I expected to be protected and believed. Had the truth been known or dealt with, the consequences could have been more devastating than a hurricane, though not as much as a child's trust betrayed or dismissed.