Electrical Storm

OK, first things first: It's become very clear to me that I will most likely NOT be blogging very often while school is on. My once a week goal was definitely a big ol' pie in the sky.

The second thing is that I remain quite un...something. At first, everything just seemed so freaking absurd, there was so much material with which to work. But as time has gone on, everything has felt more tragic, more real, and way less funny. And as the holidays loom, it is really hitting me that Hyde and Daddy are gone.

I made the decision to be with Jeckle and Mr. Wizard (and Mom) for Christmas a couple of weeks ago. I anticipate this being a mixed blessing. Not the being with, but the being there, without my brother or daddy. See, I didn't go back for Christmas last year after Daddy died. My last Christmas there was with everyone. Something tells me this is going to be hard.

As for the electrical storm...I wrote a few blogs back that it seemed as if Hyde had finally broken on through to the other side. I take that back.

There was recently a series of weird electrical occurrences and findings at the house. Brand new bulbs that blew out immediately and repeatedly, the discovery of an ungrounded outlet with wires that were completely fried, and wiring from an outlet that mysteriously went up into the crawl space above the house, going who-knows-where, also burnt to a crisp.

Have I mentioned that our brother loved all things electrical? One time when he and Jeckle were kids, he wired the doorknob to her room so that when she went to turn the knob she got shocked. He also wired up a stereo so that the sound would come out of her closet and scare her.

So, the question is this: Are these electrical situations the result of tampering, then or now?

And, if Hyde had lived much longer, would he have met his end because the house burned to the ground?

Head Above Water

Unfortunately, there has been little music in the quiet these days (to reference the comment on my last entry), although Pam and Jeri ARE playing this Friday night (they're the women I hired to play at my birthday). So, perhaps change is afoot.

No, I have to be honest and say I think what my therapist said is mostly true: Things typically get worse before they get better.

Now, I'm not trying to sound all gloomy and woe is me, but delving into the deep, dark recesses of my life doesn't lend itself to feeling all happy-go-lucky a lot of the time. Although I do have my moments of peace and contentment. But I'd be lying if I said the events of the past year and my childhood aren't a bit challenging to work through. Unfinished business. It hasn't remained unfinished for 40+ years for nothing!

But both Jeckle and I confessed to each other that we wanted to see each other at Christmas, so that's something.

And things with the house are starting to shape up nicely. Not too long ago, our realtor seemed to become a turncoat, but she has since redeemed herself and is back on board. Jeckle and Mr. Wizard have managed to get a surveyor out to the property and several ideas are percolating. We have decided to sell the house separately, and NOT to the Coach and his wife, who just wanted to tear it down. Jeckle and I realized we are, in fact, quite sentimental about it so to hell with them!

The idea Jeckle has come up with that I like the best so far is to try and get the spring on the property (our mother's haven) connected to the greenway so that A) we could name it after our mother and B) we would always have access to it. So wish us luck in convincing the man who owns the two lots between the spring and greenway to allow a path and for the city to be into a donation from us.

Another idea is to build condos and have the spring be part of the lovely grounds.

Of course, what we really wanted to do is develop a trailer park, just for the Coach and his wife. Unfortunately, we can't because it's within the city limits. Damn it. It would have been perfect!

At any rate, it looks like the house will be sold fairly soon (understandably, there is a lot of interest), which will give us time to wait out the economic situation and decide what we really want to do with the rest of the property.

In the meantime, we continue to try and get our lawyer to force the financial company to release Hyde's money so that Jeckle and Mr. Wizard can recoup some of the thousands of dollars they have laid out in the past 4 months. I recently found out that the company is definitely in violation of the law by requiring an official cause of death on the death certificate since the funds are not in an insurance policy. But for some reason, our lawyer's response to my query, "Is that LEGAL," has been to simply say, "Gee, it seems kinda weird to me, too, but that's what they say has to happen." Now I ask you, does that sound like any lawyer you've ever heard of? It has been, to say the least, maddening. I plan to take matters into my own hands as of tomorrow by filing a complaint with the state insurance commission. Weird, my ass!

To end on a positive note, it seems that Hyde has finally broken on through to the other side. Jeckle has reported that there have been no more strange goings on at the house since the estate sale. I hope Hyde is, at long last, at peace.

All Quiet on the Western Front

Too quiet, perhaps, for my two faithful readers. It's not just the fact that I am back at work, scrambling to stay afloat in a sea of new faces, standards, routines, behavior management techniques, and what have you. I continue to struggle to want to say ANYTHING about "the house" and what happened there.

The house is on the market and I've looked at the photos of a house that is repaired, freshly painted, all spruced up looking shiny and new, and...empty. Every room, empty. The basement, empty. Weird, weird, weird.

Mom continues to live on, such as it is, in a dream world filled only with worrying the seams and hems of her bed clothes, all the while listing to her left side. You can't get her to sit up straight. Haven't been able to for years. I joke with my students about being "lumps" and "potatoes" when they are totally spacy but Mom really is both. I'll never forget the first day at the nursing home, in the "dining room," trying to feed her. She was slumped down in her chair and I was trying to get her to sit up. I got behind her and put my hands under her arms to pull her up, as I was saying, "Sit up, Mom." Instead, she sunk down lower, confused and stubborn.

Of course, there was also the time we were all together in a community room, having Christmas dinner. Jeckle was giving Mom some Poppycock, which she kept dribbling onto the table. Finally, Jeckle had had enough messiness and she picked up a piece and flicked it across the room. Mom's head whipped around and she looked at Jeckle wide-eyed and startled and said, clear as a bell, "Why, I never expected that from you!"

It's weird, looking back and thinking about when she first started showing signs of Alzheimer's. It was really quite a long time ago, but it wasn't until things had reached a crisis point that anyone other than me was willing to really accept what was happening. The really sucky thing is, Mom always had a bad memory and she worried a lot about getting Alzheimer's. I would try to make light of her fears by saying, "Mom, how would we even know?" Ha ha.

Jeckle and I do take some comfort in the fact that Mom no longer has to take care of the men in her life, that she is completely carefree. It just seems a shitty and unfair way to get to that point.

The End of an Era

My earliest memory of the phenomenon I am about to describe began when I moved to North Berkeley in 1995. Beginning then (earlier? not sure), EVERY SINGLE TIME Jeckle and I talked on the phone, at some point a few minutes into the conversation, we would hear a beep, usually just once. Or maybe always just once. For a long time, we were simply surprised and would ask each other, "What was that?" to which neither of us had an answer. After a certain point, however, we began to joke that Hyde was listening in on our conversations. This happened consistently, no matter where I was living, as long as she was on her home phone and I was on mine.

Last night I was talking to Mariposa when we both heard a beep albeit not the same kind. However, it caused me to have a sudden and disturbing realization: The "beep" has not happened ONE SINGLE TIME while Jeckle and I have been talking (and we have talked a lot these past few months) since Hyde died.

Haunted House

(Or "hunted," as some of my students like to say.)

The Antique Milking Stool: Soon after Jeckle and Mr. Wizard had cleaned out and become familiar with the contents of every nook and cranny of the house, in readiness for the estate sale, Jeckle walked into the kitchen to find an antique milking stool sitting all by itself in the middle of the floor. This was definitely an item that had not been in the house before. She asked one of the contractors. He thought one of his people had found it in a closet. Uh, no. As stated above, she knew everything that was in the house by that point. Perhaps the estate sale people had brought it? No.

Now, our grandparents did live in there and it was once a working farm. Granddaddy had cows and horses when we were growing up. And granddaddy once kept a goat for its milk.

Have I mentioned that grandmother died in her sleep in the house?

So, a message from her? From granddaddy?

The Broken Rocker: One of the items in the house that was mother's was a rocking chair, which Jeckle eyed and considered keeping. It was sturdy and just the right size for her (oh, this is going to sound like Goldilocks!). It was in fine condition.

But when she arrived on the second day of the estate sale, it was sitting outside, one of the rockers sheared clean off, like it had been sawn. She asked about it, but no one seemed to know what had happened. "Someone sat in it?" ventured one person.
As Jeckle said, though, there was NOTHING wrong with that rocker; solid as a rock(er) and it wasn't "broken," meaning, no jagged edges.

When she told me this story I was reminded of the time Hyde picked up mother's rocker (a different one) and slammed it down in a fit of anger and broke off the rocker.

La Verdad y Una Historia

(Translation: The Truth and a Story)

I miss my mom. It's been over five years since I lost her, since she turned to me in the car, during a drive along the Old Walland Highway next to the river, and asked, "Now, who are you? Who are your parents?" A knife through the heart, for sure. I still wake up on Sundays and think, "I need to call mom," or "I wonder if mom will call today." It is true that she is still alive, but she is unreachable. Seeing her is heart breaking.

I miss my daddy. It's been just over a year since I last saw him. He'd just had hip surgery and was clearly not doing well. I said, "The next time I see you, I expect you'll be up and walking around," and he gave a sarcastic, confused little laugh. The day I was leaving to drive back to Nashville and catch my plane, the nursing home called to say they'd had to suction out his throat (he had Parkinson's and had increasing difficulty swallowing). Basically, I was being told he was dying, but I chose to continue on my way home. One week later, I was back on a plane to Nashville. He died the same time my plane touched down.

I miss my brother. It's true, our relationship was extremely difficult, but I did love him. After daddy died he went off the deep end again, which always included nastiness directed at me, and I made a choice to "take a break" from him. I hadn't talked to him for six months before he died. That just totally sucks. I REALLY can't believe he is dead.

So, I am hereby officially acknowledging that I am in mourning. Maybe that's why I had to re-paper my classroom, all black, except for two purple "accents" (to, I suppose, remind myself that I will come out of mourning, if I allow myself to fully grieve).

All this being said, I find I need to branch out in this blog; I can't write now about the more immediate events. Instead, I think I'll start telling some stories that will eventually find their place in the larger memoir that this will become. So I begin with a story from the annals of my relationship with Joyce.

I met Joyce in a "Jesus People" group. Years later I realized this was loosely affiliated with Jim and Tammy Faye but at the time all I cared about was that there was a coffeehouse, hippies, guitar playing and singing, bonfires, and Mikki, with whom I was in love. I was 12 or 13. I also met Courtney (a boy) and pretended to be into boys because he was "cool" (he let me plait his hair once!). But it was Joyce who would capture my attention in a totally sick and obsessive way for the next couple of years. She was 19, female, black, had a baby, was an alcoholic, and was a drug user. In other words, she was pretty much every forbidden and alluring thing I could think of, all rolled into one. And she had absolutely no business whatsoever getting involved with me. But involved she did get. I fell "in love" with her, and she encouraged me every step of the way. Encouraged me, and tortured me (emotionally). Even at that young age, I'd already found my girlfriend template!

There are many stories to tell, but what I want to get to in this blog is a revelation I recently had about a particular chapter in that relationship.

Once my parents realized what was going on, they were justifiably horrified, mad, and worried. She was an ADULT, for God's sake. An adult, messing with a kid.

So, my parents forbade me from seeing her. As I'm sure you can guess, that didn't go over well with me. I ran away from home to be with Joyce. Now that's a whole story in and of itself, but I'll save it. I ran away and after a day or two, mom and daddy came to get me. I was in the house with Joyce and her baby; her mother was out talking with my parents. They made it clear that if I didn't come home, they would call the police. I guess Joyce's mom told her to tell me to get my ass outta her house. 1973, the South, Black woman "kidnaps" white girl. Not good.

Soon after this, Joyce was shot. In the stomach, if I remember correctly. And my mom took me to see her in the hospital, which I always thought was really strange. And Joyce took the opportunity to tell me, in front of her friends, that my daddy's car was seen leaving the scene.

Up until two days ago I always thought that was just Joyce, pulling her manipulative bullshit on me, trying to scare me (which she did very well). But I was telling this story to a friend the other day and she looked at me like "how dense can you be?" and said, "Your daddy DID shoot her! Hell, I would have shot her, too, some adult woman messing with my daughter!"

And all of the sudden I realized, HE REALLY DID SHOOT HER.

The Real Truman Show

Before I begin, I want to give a shout out to my first cousin, once removed, son 'o "JFK" and one of my THREE regular readers. He made time to hang out with me one evening and, being raised right by his daddy, another Southern gentleman, made everything his "treat," including a gen-u-wine NYC cab ride!. Of course, being treated was only icing on the cake. He was great company and we hadn't seen each other since my grandaddy (his great granddaddy) died 20 years ago. Thanks, man!

I've had a hard time sitting down to write. And now I've waited until my finger is hurt and it's taped up and it's hard to type and I keep making a million mistakes, giving me a damn good excuse to put off writing just a little bit longer...

But I've been thinking a lot about Hyde's computer and how we found all those "virtual" index cards with one-line blurbs, one of which said, "The Real Truman Show." And, after watching part of the movie on T.V. the other night, I was struck by how perfectly that movie describes Hyde's perceptions. Yes, yes, I know "A Beautiful Mind" is specifically about delusions and even Hyde agreed that it was an accurate portrayal of how delusions work, but "The Truman Show" really shows how a paranoid, delusional person EXPERIENCES the world.

Think about it: Truman is the center of everyone's attention. People around the world are glued to their sets; they have to know what he'll do next. His life is extremely important to millions of people. Everyone knows his every move, his every thought, his every desire. There are people willing to go to great extremes to preserve their way of life, even if it means harming Truman psychologically and emotionally, if not even physically. He is so important that many people feel as if they'll die without him (Hyde for President!).

Truman, of course, doesn't know all this for a long time. His life is "perfect" (interesting how Utopias tend to really be sinister). But then the "star" falls from the sky and he starts to become suspicious that things aren't as they seem.

Now, I believe we all reach this point sometime in our life, to varying degrees. A moment at which we start to feel that things are rigged and maybe, just maybe, we're being watched and controlled (this is what many science fiction stories are based on). But most of us are able to put this feeling back in the realm of "kind of creepy but not really true." Our experiences don't really support the idea and we are able to sense that we are being paranoid.

Truman, however, discovers that, in fact, his whole life is fake, a show, and that everyone in his life (except for two people) was acting. And he was TRAPPED.

This is exactly how Hyde began to experience everything. Everything around him, everyone he came into contact with, was part of an elaborate show and he was the "star."

Hyde, like Truman, began to plot his "escape." Boy, as soon as I wrote that I thought, " But Truman escaped, Hyde didn't," and my next thought was, "What if he did?" Through death.

See, it gets all tangled up. Did Hyde die because he trusted no one and called no one, not even his sister? Or did he die because he wouldn't give all the "actors" the satisfaction of him begging them for help? Or did he make a conscious choice? Not suicide, exactly, but had he come to believe that there could be no more show without him and that would show "them?" THAT was how he would "win?"

It's so hard to reconcile the circumstances of his death with his express and explicit wish that he be "kept alive, no matter what his condition, for as long as possible." This he had told Jeckle and me MANY times. And we KNOW he had time to make a phone call and that he must have been aware of just how serious his situation was. We have proof that he was alive for at least a 1/2 hour while he was bleeding.

"The Truman Show" has a happy ending because Truman wasn't trapped in his MIND. He was able to escape his physical prison by finding out what was really true. Hyde, tragically, was trapped in his mind and fell prey to his delusions. Death, by reason of insanity.

I'm Back...Sort Of

OK, so I made it back from NYC/CT (GREAT trip!) and, obviously, my computer is back from the shop, in fine working order, but my blog brain has yet to return. I so put everything out of my mind while away, nothing has shown up yet on my brain screen. Or, maybe more accurately, I haven't wanted to think about Hyde again, just yet. Perhaps writing this will get things moving...

Something's Definitely Fishy

Yesterday, Jeckle told me something really shocking: Years ago, our father gave HER a tackle box full of old fishing lures. Jeckle, who despised fishing. Not me, Daddy's little outdoors"man" protégé. What the @*#%!?

Will the injustices never end?

Why, you may ask, were we discussing this anyway? It all has to do with the upcoming estate sale. The people running the show were initially quite excited about the 4 (or was it 5?) tackle boxes full of lures, but after closer inspection, they realized that most of the lures weren't anything special, at least, not in terms of $$$$$. In parlaying this info to me, Jeckle admitted to being the recipient of the lures that were likely worth something, but since she had no appreciation for them (of course not!) she gave them away.

OK, OK, I admit it; it's highly unlikely I would've held onto them through my 35+ moves over the years, but it's the principle of the thing, you know?

Maybe it was Daddy's revenge for me turning my back on his hunting, fishing, artifacts-seeking ways.

I tell you, this trying to figure out stuff long after the fact, and after most everyone is dead or unable to communicate (Alzheimer's-Mom), is really hard. Primarily because I am learning that the way I remember things, upon a bit more thorough inspection and further digging into the recesses of my mind, seems highly suspect!

Oh, well. A-hunting for the truth I must continue to go, if I'm ever going to get through this thing I call grieving and healing.

Speaking of, this has been the summer of learning to actually do nice things for myself. Case in point, a long-delayed trip to NY to see friends (OK, they're pretty much ALL exes!) and my cousin. And THIS TIME while I'm gone, I am really going to get my computer fixed (no need to go into why that didn't happen before). So, this is likely the last entry for a while. Perhaps while I'm away, Jeckle will finally get some time to start adding her two cents to this so-called family memoir.

So, adios for now, my faithful two readers (I know you exist-you told me!).

The Plot Thickens

O.K., I admit it. The more time goes by, the more time I have to ponder and to talk with Jeckle, the more mysterious things become.

One day, Mr Wizard and Jeckle had been at the house. Upon leaving, Mr. Wizard, as always, made sure every door was closed and locked, and the alarm was set. When he returned the next day, the door leading down to the basement from the hallway was wide open. He was quite freaked out.

Soon after that incident, Jeckle and Mr. Wizard were at the house when Jeckle decided she should look behind these two nasty, old mattresses in the basement, "just in case" (that's become her motto at the house). Lo and behold, there stood this cylinder. At first she thought it was a piece of PVC pipe. The fact that it was standing up struck her as odd enough, but upon closer inspection, she realized that the object was actually wooden, smooth, painted white, and "hermetically" sealed. It was not dusty so she surmised it had not been there long, even though it was behind these old mattresses.

She left it standing there and went on about her business until Mr. Wizard came downstairs.

"Look at this," she said, and went and got the object. When she handed it to Mr. Wizard, she heard a sound. There was something inside! With a certain amount of trepidation, they decided to take the object home and investigate further.

Opening it proved to be most difficult. They tried many different ways before they were finally successful.

The cylinder was filled with white powder.

Could it be that whoever Hyde had been spending time with (disreputable people, according to Cap'n John) were dealers, or that he himself was, and someone had come into the house looking for the cylinder, someone who knew the alarm code, and left the door to the basement open?

Two more creepy things: Again, in her desire to search everywhere, "just in case," Jeckle did a sweep under some piece of furniture in the basement and came upon a box of condoms. And while in the garage with the structural engineer, she and he both noticed that someone had "painted" on the wall with mud.

At this point, most of our conversations end with the following: "There is just no telling what Hyde was into and what was going on and that house!"

A Little More Inventory

I keep neglecting to give Mr. Wizard props for the hours and hours and days and days, literally, he spent clearing out the hard drives of all 5 or 6 of Hyde's computers so they could be sold.

On just ONE computer, Mr. Wizard found millions (and he was NOT exaggerating) of pornographic photos.

He had 90,000 unread emails.

And, in keeping with his obsessive-compulsive nature, much of what was on the other computers was duplicated information and photos, plus he'd made back-up discs just days before his death that Jeckle found way up in the top right corner of a cabinet.

The sad thing is, I know he believed that this "information" was vital and would bring down the mafia and anyone associated with the mafia once it was revealed to the world (although I'm not sure what how the pornography fits in...). He was convinced he would eventually prevail against all the "criminals," as long as he could escape their grasp until the time was right to make known what he knew.

Wow, all of the sudden, I realized this: What he really believed was that his thoughts were being continually broadcast. He didn't have to DO anything other than think and write everything. That was enough to get his "message" out into the world. The fact that people didn't respond "appropriately" to this information meant that they (the police, me, Jeckle, his friends) were also "criminals" and part of the "reign of terror" being waged against him.

In fact, he was mad most of his life because people were always reading his thoughts, yet never responding "appropriately" to his needs.

The Phone Call

I moved to California to live with my girlfriend in July. Two months later, our house burned to the ground in the Oakland Firestorm of 1991. Luckily, my girlfriend had a friend that was house sitting in North Berkeley so we, plus my friend from college, were able to temporarily move in with her. It was almost Christmas. I was sitting on our bed in the upstairs bedroom when the phone rang. It was for me. It was Hyde. I took the receiver from my friend warily. Why was he calling? For some bad reason, I was sure.

"Heckle?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember the time you and Jeckle were at my apartment in Vestal and I told you my dentist had put a radio transmitter in my tooth?" (How on earth could I forget THAT?)
"Yes."
"Did you think that sounded crazy?"

Alarms! Bells! Sirens! Trick question, trick question! Don't answer truthfully! It's a TRAP! These were the kinds of questions he liked to ask in order to get me to agree with his delusions and if I didn't, he would berate me and torment me until I would finally cave.

"Uh, well. I don't know. I suppose it's possible someone would do that to you..."
"Look, Jeckle. You can hem and haw or you can tell me the truth."

Deep breath. Moment of truth.

"OK, yes. I thought it sounded crazy." Hold breath. Wait.

Much to my surprise, Hyde burst into tears and sobbed, "I realized that was a delusion! All the things I thought were true were just delusions!"

At this point in the story, I know I should say something like how relieved I was, or happy I was for him, or how I felt such hope now. But here's what really happened for me.

I felt absolutely empty.

What was I supposed to say?

In fact, I have no idea what I actually did say. I'm sure I tried to say something that was at least superficially supportive because that was what I was supposed to do. But in my heart and mind, I just felt numb.

However, that event clearly marked the beginning of HIS recovery and a period of relative sanity and productivity that lasted until 2003.

Let the summer of 2008 clearly mark the beginning of MY recovery.

Free at last, free at last, thank god, I will be free at last.

Living Under Hyde Pt. 2

I was, literally, living underneath him, di-rectly. My bed was under his, with only the floor and some airspace separating us. And he snored. Big time. Yes, so much so that I could hear him loud and clear down in the basement. This was due, at least in part, to the fact that Mom had removed all the wall-to-wall carpet soon after Hyde arrived (allergies-his), so there was no insulation.

Practical problem #1.

Practical problem #2 was that the only shower in the house was in the basement bathroom, a "room" in the far corner of the basement made of cinder blocks (the scene of the 10,000 1/2 used bars of soap and 5,ooo 1/2 used tubes of hair restorer). In order to take a shower, Hyde had to travel past "my" territory and be naked practically in the same room with me. He did not like this one bit.

Well, guess what, buddy? Neither did I!

Oh, I just realized that this may have added to his resentment: I sailed into town and got a job right away working for the recreation department. He was not working. And, of course, even though I didn't know this at the time, he was actively delusional.

Let's call his resentment towards me and the fact that he was CRAZY The Big-Ass Problems #1-ad infinitum.

And me, I definitely had a bit of a, "Fuck you, I have as much right to be here as you" attitude. I was, I think, at least pretending to go about my business as if he weren't there. Kind of a playground, "Nyah, nyah, nyah," modus operandi.

Because let me make this perfectly clear: I hated him and was mad as hell at HIM, too.

I had a few weeks "vacation" in between prepping for my job and its actual start date. I took the opportunity to visit a friend from college who lived in the Bay Area. I must have sensed I would need an escape route because I fell madly in love with one of her roommates (within the space of about 5 days-now that kinda reeks of desperation, huh?) and decided I would move out to California after my eight week program. She was totally down with this (yes, yes- a little desperation there, too).

Then came the fateful event.

Actually, I don't remember anything clearly except that Hyde was carrying on in the kitchen with Mom and Daddy (a polite and mild way of saying he was going OFF) about something. I was, truthfully, scared. I threatened to call the police.

Well, Hyde lost it. He grabbed a plate and slammed it onto the floor, crying and screaming (I kid you not), "Are you going to let her do this to ME?!" And, of course, my parents wanted ME to calm down and not antagonize HIM.

I immediately left the scene, went downstairs, called my girlfriend, relayed what happened, and made plans to quit my job and leave within the week. Which I did.

Living Under Hyde Pt. 1

O.K., I did finally clean my house and it felt GOOD! Still haven't gone through shit, but that'll come, that'll come.

I just finished having dinner with a friend who had many questions about Hyde and what happened. I obliged her with a full re-count, including the condensed version of events that led up to Hyde's 10-year period of recovery that lasted from 1992 until about 2003.

Recovery was initially forced upon him. Mom and Daddy moved into Mom's parents' house in 1981. About 2 or 3 years later, Hyde appeared on their doorstep, on the lam from we never knew what. He needed a "safe" house. Yet another mystery in the life that was Hyde's. Needless to say, showing up suddenly, in desperation and in fear, with no explanation except that he needed a place to stay, spoke volumes about his frame of mind and state of his life at that time. It also pretty much put the kibosh on anything even resembling a pleasant visit with Mom and Daddy for years to come .

One good thing that came of him moving in was that from that point on, Jeckle and Mr. Wizard were "forced" to let me stay with them when I came in for a visit. Up until then, they operated in a fairly insular fashion but now they HAD to let me in! It was the beginning of a long road to forging bonds between us all that have stood us in good stead, particularly during these past five years of major family upheaval.

Anyway, Hyde moved in and, for a short period of time was kind of hanging on to his sanity. I think he was trying to either finish school or find a job, or both, the two activities that consumed most of his adult life. It seems there was at least one incident during this time involving losing a job or something. I say incident because Hyde never JUST lost a job. There was always some drama, some mystery, some accusation, something sinister that came into play.

At any rate, something triggered his insanity and it just got worse and worse. He often sat holed up in his room, 2 different T.V.'s on (with aluminum foil "wings" coming out of the sides of one), tape recorder playing over and over a phone conversation he'd made to some tele-evangelist's headquarters, listening and watching intently to either capture the messages he was being sent or to figure out who was reading his mind. If he wasn't holed up, he was wandering around, muttering to himself, or out terrorizing the community with ranting and raving.

I tried to have a conversation with him once during this period. He got extremely agitated with me because I was acting like I didn't know what was wrong, didn't know what was going on. He knew I could read his mind so why the hell was I acting like I didn't know why he was upset?! I was clearly in on the conspiracy and faking concern. (He had a particularly nasty way of sneering, "Oh, right. I know. You're CONCERNED about me. You LOVE me.")

The situation devolved to the point where he wasn't bathing, he was yelling and cursing, slamming doors, screeching down the driveway and screaming out of the window and, finally, making threatening statements and calling Mom a bitch. It got to the point where even Daddy could no longer ignore what was happening. That's how bad it was. Daddy had managed to ignore and deny a lot over the course of 30+ years.

So, Mom did the required legwork. She got a court order. The next time something big happened, she called the police. Daddy came home from work. Maggie left work and went over. Mom's brother went over. The police came. Fortunately, one of them knew how to handle the situation. Hyde was escorted to the psychiatric unit at the hospital. He underwent an evaluation. He was told that IF he started meds and therapy, he would not be hospitalized. He grudgingly acquiesced.

I found out later from him that for the next year he was just "playing along," biding his time, waiting, basically, until the "truth" came out and he would be vindicated. No one else knew this, of course. We all thought he was on the road to recovery.

That same year coincided with my last year of living in N.Y.C. In the middle of that year, I left N.Y. and showed up on my parents' doorstep to live until I found a place of my own. I was NOT unannounced, however; they knew I was coming. I remember Mom totally made up a place for me in the basement (the basement is huge-not dark or dank or anything-it was nice, once upon a time) with a bed, bedside tables, chifarobe (I don't have a clue how to spell that and even tried to look it up to no avail), rugs, desk. She was happy I was able to stay there.

I got a job with the Parks and Rec Department. All was good, except I was living under Hyde. Literally. And, of course, he wasn't really in recovery. He was still crazy as a loon and harboring much resentment about me being there (remember: my being born ruined his life).

What happened next? Stay tuned for the next installment of "Living Under Hyde."

Nursing Home Fiasco

I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever clean my apartment again. Back when I was in the midst of cleaning out the house, going through all that STUFF, breaking down the zillions of empty boxes, I vowed that the very first thing I would do upon my return would be to CLEAN HOUSE and get rid of anything and everything that was superfluous.

It hasn't quite turned out that way. Instead, I'm finding I don't want to clean anything. I'm barely getting to my dishes, let alone the rest of the apartment. I definitely haven't made any moves towards getting rid of stuff. No "spring cleaning" going on in this house!

Hmmm...but now that I think about it, I guess I really am doing a lot of cleaning; spiritual cleaning, that is.

What the hell? The other stuff can wait.

So, when I last left off, Daddy had broken his hip and Hyde had become convinced that it was the result of a conspiracy amongst the nursing home staff. He even went to so far as to claim that the orderly who went to try to guide Daddy back to his room actually pushed Daddy down, causing him to fall.

Daddy returned from the hospital and was moved into Mom's room (I almost said Mother; that's what Hyde always called her). During this brief period of time (Daddy died a couple of weeks later), Hyde became quite involved and, shall we say, PRESENT at the nursing home. He was very agitated and angry about what had happened and, allegedly, he began behaving in what the staff perceived to be threatening ways.

I can speak from experience: Hyde's behavior could be VERY scary and threatening. He NEVER saw it that way and always felt peoples' reactions to him were unjustified. He always thought THEIR behavior was out of line. However, I will also say that it's unclear what was actually going on. By this point, there had been enough questionable actions on the part of various members of the staff to throw doubt onto the veracity of their claims.

But, again, let me be clear: I do not think there was a conspiracy; just an unfortunate (mostly) disconnected series of events.

So, one night, I'm hanging with Jeckle and Mr. Wizard the phone rings. I really don't remember who answered it (Jeckle often wanted me to when we knew it was Hyde-caller I.D. and all) but the upshot was that Hyde was at the nursing home. A nurse claimed he hit her and called the police on him.

We go down to the nursing home.

OK, I have to admit that right now, as I am thinking about this again, I can see Hyde sitting on the bench outside when we arrive, his air filter mask on top of his head like a yarmulke, looking crazy as a loon, staring straight ahead with that autistic look he could get, and I feel overwhelmed with sadness for him. I know he was just feeling sad and scared for his Daddy. He wanted Daddy to be taken care of; he felt Daddy was being neglected and, worse, targeted for abuse. But it was part of what was so maddening, and so tragically sad, about dealing with him. When he was "losing it," when he was paranoid, he just created big-ass messes for himself.

And what mess came of this? He was basically thrown out of the nursing home.

So, when Daddy died a week or so later, Hyde did not go down to the home, and he hadn't been there in the days leading up to Daddy's death. And the only time he went down there again was with Jeckle, to see mom, at Thanksgiving and/or Christmas. He lived a 5 minute drive away and felt he couldn't go down there to see his mother.

Like I said before, the beginning of the end.

Repair Shop

I want to let my one or two regular readers know (I understand I may be grossly overestimating how many people are reading this thing) there will be no new posts after today until at least July 19th. I'm going to southern Utah to volunteer at the Best Friends Sanctuary (if you don't know about it, check it out!) and my computer is going in the shop for a little disc repair (not unlike Jeckle).

The saga will continue...

The Nursing Home Mafia

You may laugh at the title, but a series of unfortunate events led Hyde to view key players at the nursing home as members of a cabal out to emasculate Daddy and him (yes, yes, it always comes back to him). I will be the first to admit that some of the staff made choices that were ill-advised and had disastrous results. I can even get mad about their behavior and decisions. I just couldn't, and still can't, get behind Hyde's conviction that they had a PLAN.

If only he could have realized they weren't cohesive enough or devious enough to form such a group. If only he could have realized that the basic problem was not that they were evil, but that they were incompetent. (True, some were arrogant and incompetent, which is not a good combination. But most of them were simply well-meaning but incompetent. Put the two groups together and you have a recipe for poor decisions leading to bungling and ineffective actions, but not a well-thought-out plan to "take down" Daddy or Hyde.) If he could have realized that the impact of their intentions was different than their intentions, he would perhaps still be here today. For this was the beginning of the end.

As far as I can remember, it all started with a phone call from the nursing home to Hyde regarding Daddy's behavior. He had, allegedly, begun making sexual advances to Mom's roommate, as well as (gasp!) to Mom herself. The person on the phone (a nurse who had previously been held in high regard by Hyde) indicated that Daddy's behavior had become aggressive, lewd, and uncontrollable. He had, allegedly, begun "playing with" himself when being given his bath. According to Hyde, he was pressured into giving them permission to move Daddy immediately out of the room that is next door to Mom's and down the hall so that he would be isolated from his "targets." Hyde remembers being told that if he didn't give permission, WE (the children) would be held liable if anything happened.

The story at this point becomes a big, convoluted mess (surprise!). It all happened very quickly, too.

Hyde gave his permission. He later found out that Daddy had also been given at least one unauthorized shot of Estrogen during this time (hence, the emasculation accusation) because someone (not Daddy's doctor) determined that the problem was that Daddy's testosterone level was too high.

Let me stop here and say, unequivocally, that I think both decisions, moving Daddy and giving him Estrogen, were senseless, reactionary, and they should have known better. Nursing home staff, of all people, should have been aware of the fact that such a drastic change in Daddy's behavior (he had heretofore been one of their most polite, beloved, and decorous patients) indicated that he had entered what is known as the premorbid stage of death. He had already, prior to this situation, begun exhibiting symptoms of aspiration pneumonia (he had Parkinson's and swallowing had become increasingly difficult). In fact, one staff nurse had notified Hyde that Daddy's "time" might be near.

And yet, because of incompetence coupled with poor communication-NOT a conspiracy-decisions were made that led to the final blow for Daddy (and, ultimately, Hyde): Daddy fell and broke his hip during an agitated excursion to get back to Mom.

Interestingly, this also set into motion Hyde's decline into the final premorbid stage of his schizophrenia.

Good vs. Evil

Wow. It seems like years since I last wrote. Time has been sort of kaleidoscoping recently. Although, as I write that, I wonder, "Is that really what I mean? Wouldn't is be more accurate to say 'telescoping' or 'microscoping' since what I mean is things that happened long ago seem like yesterday, and things that happened recently seem long ago?" Although I guess there is a sort of brightly-colored, ever-shifting-patterns, surreal aspect to what's been happening.

Anyway.

After my last entry, I kind of freaked out about the daunting task I had handed myself: Trying to explain the past two years of Hyde's life from my vantage point of VERY limited and convoluted information about what he had been up to. Even the pieces that I had been actually present for (for example, Christmas two years ago, during which we party-goers, including Mom and Daddy, sat pseudo-serenely in the living room while police officers stormed through the rest of the house in search of someone or something I can no longer remember) don't fit together. Everything was SO crazy and extreme, trying to create a cohesive story seems like an impossible task.

I wish Jeckle would start adding her two cents! (Maybe after her back surgery.)

I can talk about the players (and I've decided to drop the pseudonyms-you don't know them and will never meet them anyway!):

Brian, the brilliant physicist and socially inept friend who was hanging out at the downtown bar with Hyde.
Sean, the young, extremely crazy man Hyde moved into the house after knowing him for about a week.
Matt, another young, extremely crazy young man with really bad teeth whom Hyde moved into the house after things went south with Sean.
Michael, a gay man known to all of the above..

The latter three were all "friends" of Brian's, who introduced them to Hyde.

Here's what I can remember in some semblance of order:

Whatever went wrong with his "friendship" with Sean led Sean to begin harassing Hyde by making a variety of phone calls in Hyde's name. This started off on an incredibly juvenile level (remember, I've said Hyde had the emotional maturity level of a 15-year-old; his friends, too): ordering pizzas in his name, sending a taxi to the house; then escalated to calling the police claiming to be Hyde with a pregnant wife in the house and not knowing what to do, or calling 911 claiming he was Hyde and threatening suicide. It was one of these type of calls that led the police to "raid" the house on New Year's Eve while we were all hanging out in the living room.

After Hyde kicked Sean out (which clearly pissed Sean off), he invited Matt to live with him. He and Matt became a unified front in the "fight against Sean" who Hyde had by now had labeled "criminally insane." Somehow Hyde also managed to reach the conclusion that Matt was his boyfriend, even though Matt had a girlfriend who was pregnant. Hyde was quite giddy about this. This led to Matt being part of our family Christmas gathering at the nursing home. When I lodged a protest against this, Hyde was quite hurt. Matt was "part of the family."

Sometime during all this, and somehow, Michael also became part of the Sean situation. Hyde reached the conclusion that Sean and Michael were in cahoots to harass him (and now Matt).

This "Matt and Hyde vs. Sean and Michael" idiocy went on for a month or two, with each side egging the other on with one stunt after another. Taunting messages, phone calls, emails, encounters. For as much as Hyde and Matt pretended to hate Sean and Michael, they certainly engaged with them quite frequently.

Oh, let me say that during my winter visit, I went to lunch with Hyde and Matt. Matt drove. He WAS insane and quite mean to my brother. I didn't like it AT ALL and told Hyde how I felt. He brushed it off at the time (his usual m.o. when it came to one of his sister's observations about his life) but later came back to it as proof that HE was right about Matt.

So, one day, Matt and Hyde were in the car. Something happened. They had an argument. Matt hit Hyde. Hyde kicked Matt out of the car and out of the house. This led to Matt trying to exercise his "rights" as a tenant and police involvement and really bad feelings and, ultimately, to Hyde reaching the conclusion that Michael, Sean, and Matt had been "working together" all along to take advantage of him and that they were all "insane criminals."

Hyde eventually hired a private investigator to deal with all of this. He got a restraining order against Sean. He took Sean to court regarding the 911 call. I actually went to a court date with him. I was glad I was there because otherwise I believe Hyde would have done something incredibly foolish. As it was, while we were in the hall with everyone else, waiting, Hyde kept making really loud, threatening, sneering comments about, and gestures towards, Sean's parents.

(It reminded me of the time Jeckle and I went to dinner with Hyde a few years ago and he decided that this innocent man who was out for dinner with his wife and two kids was watching him and doing something TO him. Hyde began sneering, "Oh, he thinks he's going to be on T.V. later!" and making the "I'm watching you!" gesture from "Meet the Parents," threateningly moving his two fingers from his eyes and jabbing them towards this poor man. We would be in the middle of trying to converse and Hyde would suddenly stop what he was saying, whip his head towards this guy, give him an ugly, haughty sneer, and proclaim, loudly, "That man is staring at me! I should have him arrested!" As you might imagine, Jeckle and I were horrified. Getting Hyde out of there without a big scene was quite a struggle. In retrospect, we realized WE should have had Hyde arrested.)

It's very telling that during this time, when Hyde was CLEARLY losing it himself, he took to labeling everyone with whom he had any real or imagined issue as "insane," "a criminal," or a "crook," and all of THEIR behavior as "crazy."

However, it is important to note that during this time, Hyde was also very manic and giddy with the pleasure of finally getting to hire a private investigator (a life-long dream, as he revealed to me one day) and with his self-proclaimed righteousness (he was good fighting evil!) and perceived power (he would win, of course). In the midst of all this danger and excitement, he was happy as a clam.

However, his superpowers were not strong enough once he had to "fight" the evil forces of the nursing home.

Background Information

OK, so some of you may have been wondering, "Just what sorts of activities was Hyde up to that would have warranted the attention of a P.I.?" That's an excellent question. Here's what I know (which means, of course, there's LOTS I don't know so let your imagination run wild):

Summer 2006
Hyde and his brilliant, yet socially challenged, friend, Bobby, start hanging out, somewhat obsessively (at least Hyde does), at a downtown club. Hyde's main activities are photographing and filming the crowds and bands, as well as "interviewing" unsuspecting passers by outside the club. In sharing his exploits with us over dinner one night, he demonstrates an alarming lack of awareness of peoples' personal space and the potentially upsetting aspect of being filmed by some stranger. He does not seem aware that he is, perhaps, simply being tolerated as a harmless, eccentric, "old" (for clubbing) man and not embraced as a true part of the scene. He is also drinking, a lot. And giddy (read: manic).

Hyde also begins a website and starts to broadcast a variety of porn, as well as movies with which he was obsessed ("Fight Club"), interspersed with social and political commentary, courtesy of him (remember: one of the two greatest living political minds). I'm not certain of this, but my guess is that he did nothing to ensure that minors could not access his website.

I know about the website and porn because he makes a point of showing me, not only his porn website, but the various porn posters and DVDs he has in his room. He claims his therapist told him he should. I feel certain there must be a misunderstanding but he stands by his belief that she told him to "show my sister my porn."

It is through Hyde's association with Bobby that we move into the next phase.

Bobby introduces Hyde to Steven, a 20-something straight boy of questionable reputation and sanity. One day, Hyde calls Jeckle and says, without any preamble, "I have a roommate."

Now, one could say that Jeckle and I shouldn't have anything to say about this; Hyde is a grown man. However, he is living in our grandparents'/parents' house, full of their belongings. Plus, we know he often exercises poor and impulsive judgement when it comes to his affiliations. People who are allegedly his friends often end up really mad at him (and doing things like breaking into his apartment and stealing our home movies). So, Jeckle reacted with, "What? Who is this person? How did you meet him? How long have you known him? (About a day, as it turns out.) I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

Hyde calls me and gets basically the same reaction. His next move is to go to Daddy at the nursing home, 9:30 at night, to whine, "Jeckle and Heckle don't want me to have a roommate. Whah. Whah." Daddy falls for it, doesn't ask questions, and gives Hyde his blessing. Mom can't, because she has Alzheimer's.

Now, can you predict how this turns out?

Overdue Cred

This particular post contains no family drama-related story; it contains an explanation of why this blog even exists.

I want to take a minute out of my busy blogging schedule to give overdue (though not long, since I've really only just begun) thanks and credit to the person who helped me get this thing started. Of course, one could say I really didn't need any help; after all, blogging is pretty easy. But the truth is 1) without her, I would have remained unaware of how perfect the blog format is for what I wanted to accomplish, 2) she wrote down the website to use, thus reducing my excuses to zero, and 3) she opened my eyes to the possibility that writing all this down might be more than entertaining; it just might be therapeutic (it is!). Plus, we all know that sometimes you just need a little extra encouragement to stop dragging your feet (or sitting on your ass) in order to finally begin to pursue a long-talked about goal or dream.

So, for all that and more, my dear Mariposa, I thank you.

Short Dream

Jeckle and I are in the basement/garage of the house we grew up in (the brown house on Brown Street). It is dark and cluttered; unfamiliar. It feels more like a tomb or crypt. We're looking through stuff, moving things around. We're searching for something; a clue?

I look over towards the middle of the garage part and a refrigerator materializes. As I walk up to it, writing appears, like when something's been written in lemon juice and then a match is held under the paper. The writing looks rusty around the edges. As I get nearer, I am able to make out the words, "I will miss you." The rest seems to be in code. I call Jeckle over. We know it is from Hyde. It's what we were looking for.

Live Action Figures

O.K. here is a link to a video on YouTube, courtesy of my cousin, Truman (son of "JFK"). He's the featured performer (with good reason-he's so darn cute!), but when you enter the 1 minute 36 second to 2 minutes 10 seconds stretch, you will see me (red striped shirt, major tow-head), Jeckle (I lean over to her in the my chair), Hyde (orange shirt, black-rim glasses, looking VERY uncomfortable), and Mom (to the left of Hyde).

Daddy must have been gone fishin'...

You need to cut and paste the link.

Thanks, Cousin!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Uzo2BMAJXw

Curiouser and Curiouser

I've just finished re-reading "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time," which is told from the perspective of a fifteen-year-old boy who is autistic, although that is never made explicit in the book. It's funny how things show up in one's life just when one needs them. Although Hyde was not autistic, his mind worked in very autistic-like ways and this book helped illuminate those ways and, in the process, make Hyde more human and vulnerable for me. I have also recognized for years that Hyde was perpetually stuck in a fifteen-year-old's emotional state (the age at which he started becoming really mentally ill), so the book was interesting from that perspective, as well. Here are some excerpts:

p. 12
Prime numbers are what is left when you have taken all the patterns away. I think prime numbers are like life. They are very logical but you could never work out the rules, even if you spent all your time thinking about them.

p. 73-74 (in which the narrator is comparing himself to Sherlock Holmes)
I also like "The Hound of the Baskervilles" because I like Sherlock Holmes and I think that if I were a proper detective he is the kind of detective I would be. He is very intelligent and he solves the mystery and he says
"The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes."
But he notices them, like I do. And it also says in the book
"Sherlock Holmes had, in a very remarkable degree, the power of detaching his mind at will."
Also Doctor Watson says about Sherlock Holmes
"His mind...was busy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted."

p. 116
That was because when I was little I didn't understand about other people having minds.
But the mind is just a complicated machine.
And when we look at things we think we're just looking out of our eyes like we're looking out of little windows and there's a person inside our head, but we're not. We're looking at a screen inside our heads, like a computer screen.

Six Feet Up Your...

Here's a touching little moment that happened at the cemetery, inexplicably called Grandview (a grand view for whom,
exactly?), while making arrangements for Hyde's burial.

There we were, Jeckle, Mr. Wizard, and I, sitting together in a room with walls that are "decorated" with all the different types of grave markers. It was eerily familiar, as we had been in this very same room less than 12 months before. Mr. Ghoul had left the room for a moment, giving us a chance to discuss what marker we wanted. Jeckle and I decided we liked the plain granite one best, not because it was the least expensive, but because it was simple and stately. It appealed to our aesthetic senses.

Mr. Ghoul returned. We told him what we wanted.

"Oh, you can't get that marker."
"Why not?"
"Because it won't match the other markers in that area. You have to get a brass one."

Need I say that a brass marker was significantly more expensive? But I can see how important matching grave markers would be to the residents of the cemetery.

"O.K., so since our mother and out brother are going to both be cremated, and she already has a plot, is it possible to bury Hyde in her plot, for them to share? He would like that."
"Oh, no. That won't work."
"Why not?"
"Because there won't be room for his marker."

Now, correct me if I am wrong, but there's nothing but grass around a grave. And the hole for an urn, I mean a $150 cardboard box, is not nearly as large as the hole for a coffin. Seems to me there'd be plenty o' room for two urns and another marker.

Oh, wait. Then Grandview wouldn't get $1500 for another plot!

Sidebar: It cost $900 just to use the room at the mortuary for an hour-long service. Oh, O.K. We did use their DVD/TV and stereo, although Mr. Wizard had to figure out how to work the DVD player: Push play. I think they should have knocked off at least, oh, say $300 for his technical expertise.

I'm thinking I'm going to start renting out my apartment for services!

No, what I'm really thinking is this: When I die, donate my body to science. Have a party at someone's house. No plot, no marker, no cremation (if I have to be cremated, toss my ashes somewhere outside, or divvy them up among friends and whatever family I have left), no service. The cost of Daddy's funeral ($12,000) and Hyde's ($7,000) has left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth for funeral "homes." (Why, exactly, are they called homes?)

I won't go so far as Hyde and put them on my "hit list," but I certainly agree with the sentiment.

9/3/07

DREAM: Jeckle and I go over to the house to check on Hyde. He's not there, but there is a "swarm" of cats (and a dog?) that he obviously hasn't fed for days. When we feed them, they pounce on the food. The place looks abandoned, and a mess. As we investigate more, we become increasingly concerned. Somehow, we reach the conclusion that he has been M.I.A. for 3 days.

At one point, I am investigating a piece of carpet that is completely saturated and totally gross. I find a coin in it, but it is SO nasty! It is next to a grate. EVERYTHING in the house is neglected, nasty, and in a complete state of disarray.

Later, I'm in the house alone, and Hyde shows up at the door. (Or maybe I go back to the house and he opens the door.) He's wild-eyed, THIN, and his clothes are torn and dirty. I'm shocked and VERY worried. He, of course, is totally crazy and in his sarcastic, "Oh, I know- you LOVE me!" mode. I'm crying and pleading with him-he walks away and gets in his car and screeches away.

I go to follow in some kind of Model T contraption but I can't get my car started. It's flooded. I push it out of the grass and finally manage to get it going (it's like lighting a kerosene lamp) but I'm too far behind to catch him.

Brotherly Love

July 29, 1950. Hyde is born.
January 18, 1953. Jeckle is born. Hyde now officially has a "little helper" for his schemes, investigations, and creations. She just has to get a wee bit older.
May 10, 1960. Heckle is born. Hyde now officially has someone to blame. Heckle manifests her first Super Power: ruining Hyde's life at the ripe old age of 1 day by taking Mother's attention away from him.

Things went downhill from there.

Here's what I remember: Hyde working on projects, like taking his motorcycle apart or building the hydroplane; Hyde's boyfriend (I think) living with us-he had a trumpet. Thus, when it came time in the 4th grade for me to choose an instrument, I knew I wanted to play the trumpet. "They" tried to fool me with a (more feminine) cornet but I would have none of it; Hyde being gone for long periods of time (living with the grandparents, moving to Florida, living in another town), which were somewhat peaceful, then returning and chaos reigning; Hyde badgering Mom, following her around the house, endlessly, asking her the same questions over and over and accusing her of the same things over and over until she would lock herself in the bathroom, crying, then he would find me out on the porch and badger me into having sympathy for his plight; Daddy always gone fishing or hunting; Jeckle either gone or taking refuge in her room; having to tiptoe around the house during the day because Hyde was sleeping (I later found out that during one of these periods Hyde was taking LSD every night for approximately 250 days in a row); and, perhaps most famously in my memory and in terms of its long-term effect on me, the following scene.

I've had to recently acknowledge to myself that I have no idea when this actually took place. For the longest time, I thought I was five but realized a couple of years ago that was impossible, based on where it took place (in a part of the house that wasn't built until I was in the 3rd grade). More recently I've realized I had to be old enough to know what the word he used meant (you'll find out in a minute).

Hyde was on a rampage. This was not unusual but the fact that Mom and Daddy were both there, together, was. He was screaming and cursing. For some unknown reason, I walked into this scene (meaning, I don't know why I wasn't in hiding somewhere). Hyde was at the bottom of the stairs, carrying on and when he cursed, Mom said, "Oh, Hyde, not in front of the child!" (Boy, as I write that, that sounds REALLY fishy, but that IS my memory of what she said.) And Hyde responded with the words that have been burned into my brain ever since: "I don't know why you had to go and fuck and have her anyway!!!"

Needless to say, this did not endear him to me.

Oh, and a little footnote: Obviously I've known for years that I ruined Hyde's life by being born but I have to give him some credit for, in recent years, acknowledging that perhaps that wasn't really my fault. It was admitted a tad bit too late to undo the psychic damage, but appreciated nonetheless. However, a year or so ago, Hyde "revealed" to me that I had also taken Daddy away from him by becoming the "son he never had" (I liked to fish, hunt, be outdoors, and play sports which were all near and dear to Daddy's heart-Hyde liked none of those things) and that I knew what I was doing and that I knew it was wrong! And that Daddy making me into his "son" probably accounted for many of my emotional problems.

Jeez!, I wish I had even a third of the power over peoples' lives Hyde believed I had over his! It would really come in handy sometimes.

Miscellany

Since my return, my mind has felt devoid of witty and clever things to write. I suppose that has to do, at least in part, with the shock wearing off and being left with the undeniable, yet still unbelievable, truth that Hyde is dead. In fact, I find myself saying, out loud, "Hyde is dead."

Hyde was a genius. Have I mentioned that yet? In fact, in his sane moments I think he WOULD have been a great President; he was certainly smarter than our current so-called Commander-in-Chief. His genius was both his greatest asset and his biggest enemy. Being that much smarter than everyone else around him made him a "marked" person, something that he would, over time, exaggerate to deadly outcome.

Back to my conversation with Cap'n John. After he told me that Hyde was just causing trouble for himself, what he then said was, "He would disappear for days on end and no one would know where he went or what he was doing." Now, you see how that's kind of a strange thing for him to say? Unless Big Brother was watching, who would know or care what Hyde was up to? Why would where he went and what he did be of any concern to anyone except Jeckle and me, especially if all he was doing was "causing trouble for himself"? It was at that point in the conversation that the Cap'n veered off course and attempted to paint himself in a favorable light (having realized his faux pas) and let me know that he did not trust this P.I., even though he recognized the name of the person who hired him (a local). He righteously declared that he did not give him any information.

And what information, exactly, did he have to give and where did he get it?

The whole thing smells fishy to me!

You see, this was always the trouble with Hyde's delusions. There was always enough truth behind them to make them somewhat plausible. It's just that they became so grandiose they would fall apart under their own weight. Why would HE be the target of such intense scrutiny and "campaigns of terror" (as he started calling them this past year)?

But what if...?

Jeckle and I even briefly entertained the idea that it wasn't Hyde's body lying on the kitchen floor, that he had murdered someone (intentionally or in self-defense) and then disappeared in order to start fresh. After all, no one made a positive I.D. or checked his dental records and Mr. Wizard, who actually looked at him, stated, "It could have been anyone."

See? I have to shake my head to clear it in moments like this because it is very easy to get sucked into Hyde's world of madness.

Memories

The three days Jeckle and I spent cleaning out the house were predictably intense. After all, we were sifting through the remains of our grandparents, parents, and brother. The sheer physical bulk of what we had to get through was daunting. The first day in the basement I stood and did a 360 and felt immediately ready to quit without having begun.

But "a thousand mile journey begins with one step," I reminded myself, and started sorting and tossing. And, as you know, I soon realized that at least a third of the stuff was simply empty boxes. (I think there is deep meaning in this.)

But of course it wasn't really the physical piece that was the most daunting. It was the memories.

When I first moved to California, the house I was living in burned in the Oakland firestorm. I remember when we were finally allowed to go back to the "house" and start sifting through the ashes. Any tiny fragment of anything became a precious treasure to the point of ridiculousness: "Look! The handle off of that ugly tea mug that was in the give-away box!" And it was held up triumphantly and laid carefully aside to be periodically gazed upon with love and longing.

I can clearly remember the point at which I realized I didn't want any more memories and stopped searching. Everything I had already "saved" became tinged with sadness. Ultimately, I just wanted to get rid of everything.

That's what happened in going through the house. Initially, I enjoyed the "discovery process." Or, in the case of the things I had stored in the basement for 30+ years, the re-discovery process. I realized how much I had forgotten. I was reminded of people and events that were once incredibly important to me. But as time went on, it slowly started dawning on me how sad I was feeling. I didn't want these memories. They felt heavy. And it became increasingly clear to me that the memories were, literally (because they were contained in objects), dead weight.

So, I made a decision to keep only a few token items that were meaningful without having a direct connection to me: Daddy's hunting knife, mom's binoculars, one of the arrowhead frames, a box with a fish on it. Things that would remind me of my family but did not have personal memories. As such, I saved only one thing of Hyde's; a quote from a book by Ray Bradbury that he had printed out.

I kept it because I could imagine us, under different circumstances, having a conversation about why he chose it, what it meant to him. I kept it because I could feel Hyde's essential nature, that of a wondering human, amazed by the mystery of the Universe. I kept it because I could relate to it, which meant I could relate to Hyde, which, in real life, happened no more than 5 or 6 times. Here is the quote:

Ray Bradbury: Introduction to Infinite Perspectives

"But then the second sights came. Peering closer at the wondrous blue sphere in Space, we said, 'Where have I seen that face before?' The answer was: never. Until our time, cartographers fumbled their hands over terrains arctic and equatorial and made Braille transcriptions to steer sailors of seas and clouds. The whole of the Earth was a crinkled maze awaiting the rough guess of sea captains, pathfinders, and nomad tillers of soil. From these palsied reckonings, windblown prints sprang, hoping for safe passage but risking death. Airplanes did the first new chartings, jets sharpened the perception, but it was the Shuttle that lassoed the globe to tapestry darkrooms with manifest dreams. At 25,000 miles per hour, those bullets unraveled photo lightning flashes that drowned in chemistries rose as revelations. Now we fire off toward our tomorrows, Space Station One: Earth. Space Station Two: The Moon. Space Station Three: Mars. Then take off for the whole Universe."

At long last, I suppose, Hyde has taken off for the whole Universe.

The Eulogy by Jeckle

This is what I said at Hyde's service. The names have been changed, of course.
And the Mr. Wizard named in here is the T.V. persona, not Jeckle's husband.


Less than a year ago, my sister and I wrote, and I delivered, the eulogy
for our father. Naturally we assumed that the next one
to be written and delivered would be for our mother. We never
dreamed that instead it would be for our brother, Hyde. It hasn’t really
even sunk in that he’s gone, and yet, here I am. Each time the phone
rings, we expect it to be him. We keep thinking we need to call him and
let him know what’s happening. It just doesn’t seem like this could be
true.

Our brother, K***, or Hyde as we called him, was first and foremost a devoted
son to our parents. He took care of them during
the last few years that they lived at home, enabling them to stay
there for much longer than they would have been able to otherwise.
This meant a great deal not only to our parents, but also brought some
peace of mind to Jeckle and me as well.

Besides his role as son, he was a brother to both of us, but because of
the differences of our ages, we had very different relationships with him.
He and my sister were closer to each other in age and shared
the early years of their lives. She has often said that she was his “little
helper” for many of his projects, and was always fascinated by his intelligence
and creativity. I came along several years later, and because of
our age difference, we were never as close. But regardless of these differences,
our relationships with him had a profound and lasting effect on
both of our lives.

Hyde had a keen interest in all things scientific, and as a young boy and
teen he was greatly inspired by Mr. Wizard, the kids’ science guru of the
50’s. His interest in math and science later grew into a career in computer
programming. Electronics were an “integral” part of his life.

Hyde also had a keen sense of adventure, and throughout his life he engaged
in such activities as spelunking. He was a member of the University Caving
Club, and took Jeckle & me on caving expeditions. He even took
Mom and her best friend once. It’s hard now to believe we all actually
went! Then there was the time he built a hydroplane from scratch (yes,
that would mean water plane) and he actually took it out for a test drive.
He once took Jeckle on a trip through the drainage system under the
streets of Murville, a trip which not surprisingly ended up at Pistol
Creek. Hyde raised pigeons, brought home bats, filled the wading pool
with crawdads- all the kinds of things my sister found fascinating. She
was especially amazed at the full-size putt-putt course that he built in
the basement and extended out into the yard.

Hyde had many happy times in his life, but throughout most of it he
struggled to cope with his mental illness. Just getting through day-today
life was often a challenge for him, but during the times when he
was doing well, he worked hard to improve his situation in life and his
relationships with others. There were long periods of time when he had
a good job and led a very happy and social life. Then there were periods
when he sunk into deep darkness and everyone became his enemy. He
had a very complex mind, and his life was full of twists and turns and
ups and downs. But one thing we know for sure: it was never boring!

Mac was a complicated man of many facets- loving son and brother, scientist
and inventor, adventurer and risk-taker, a brilliant intellectual, but
he was mostly just a human being trying to find his way in a complicated
world. He wasn’t always successful at that, but he always kept trying.
In some ways we wish he were still able to continue his struggle, but at
least we do know he has finally found peace. He will be greatly missed.

The High Price of Death

This will be short and...well, short. I came home last night. Thanks go out to my friend, Cupcake and her two boys, for picking me up at the airport. There is a lot to be said for door-to-door service with a familiar face after an ordeal such as this. Not to mention home-made muffins!

Now I just feel REALLY tired. Ah, let the real fun begin, aka, processing. A therapist has already been called...

In fact I'm so tired my brain is completely devoid of anything remotely witty or suitably macabre for the blog but I had to share the final costs (in cold, hard cash only-I won't even pretend to know the emotional cost) of Hyde's death.

The bill for AfterMath's clean-up (which did include removing flooring, walls, and cabinets): $29,000.

No. Don't get your glasses; you read right. $29,000.

And the total funeral costs (cremation, plot, grave marker, service, etc): Approximately $7,000.

It costs a lot to die in this country.

A Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Waste

During one of the house clean-out days last week, Jeckle found, stashed away in the corner of a small, high shelf of a floor-to-ceiling cabinet, a stack of computer discs labeled "back-ups." Jeckle's husband (who still has no clever name but for now we'll call him), Mr. Wizard, has been going through them. There were thousands and thousands (he actually said millions but that sounds like too many even given the hyberbolic-made that up!- nature of this whole situation) of photos of a pornographic nature.

But there were also thousands of what I'm going to call virtual index cards (remember, Hyde wrote everything on index cards), laid out on the page in rows and columns, each one containing one-line declarations that fell into one of the following categories: People who endorsed Hyde for President, sexualized slurs against a variety of people and groups, "revelations" about the "show" that was going on across from Heckle Street (my grandparents named their street after me), names of "mafia" connected people and businesses, and a slew of "...will be put to death" cards.

A sampling...

* Steve Forbes; Jesse Jackson, Jr.; Coretta Scott King; Sammy Davis, Jr.; Bill Schneider; Shirley MacClaine; Bob Dylan; Orrin Hatch; Karl Rove; George Stephanopolous; Karl Rove; Sam Donaldson, Allan Colmes...all endorse Hyde for President.

* Bill Frist: We need Hyde now.
* Boehner: Hyde looks like our best bet.
* Rove: Hyde has a first-rate political mind.
* Rove: The two living greatest political geniuses-Bill Clinton and Hyde.

* The (local) police have no penises.
* Bruise Obama's asshole.
* Bruise the Coach's asshole.
* The Coach's wife has a penis.

* The "actors" in front of Heckle Street are all criminals.
* The people across the street are also on T.V.
* Criminals: Everyone is aware of this slide show.
* This is the real Truman Show.

* Some mafia-run businesses (according to Hyde) included Domino's, local hospitals, the police, the state FBI, churches, local car dealerships, and the local mortuaries.

And the list of those that will be put to death include the Coach, the nursing home staff, the personal trainers at the local gym; Hyde's long-time doctor, former friends, me, Jeckle, and our cousin, JFK (he has always reminded me of him, so why not?).

He billed himself as "a stranger in a strange land."

All of these particular files were backed-up on May 17th, two or three days before he died.

Now we know why he called no one. EVERYONE was his "sworn enemy" (to borrow his expression) and, Jeckle and I imagine, he was probably raging against all of his imaginary enemies as he was bleeding out: "You goddamn criminals! You're not going to lure me into your hands with this little stunt!"

A Beautiful Mind?

I saw that movie with Jeckle and Hyde when it came out. Actually, I had seen it the week before with a couple of friends and was profoundly moved by it. Seeing it with my brother was moving in a different way. He acknowledged that it was, with a few necessary cinematic contrivances, an accurate depiction of how the schizophrenic mind works. In other words, how his mind worked.

My way of describing his mind is that he could connect-the-dots of a thousand (or more, apparently, now that we've seen the contents of his computers) disparate pieces of information and tie them all together in a spider web of intrigue that, somehow, made a beautiful pattern in his mind. Or, if not beautiful, at least cohesive. Somehow, it all made sense to him. And it made him mad that nobody else could track what he KNEW.

In the past year, he called me several times to relay some piece of the story (little old ladies following him in the grocery store, men tailing him in his car, surveillance planes flying over the house, police officers making suggestive gestures towards him) and, after a beat, ask, "So, do you think that sounds crazy?"

This was always a tricky question, one that he asked me numerous times over the years. And each time, I was faced with a decision: Do I shine him on and keep the peace? Or do I tell him the truth? Once upon a time, I opted for saving myself and would say bland, non-comittal things like, "Well, it seems like that could have happened." Or I might even actually agree. But as time went on, I became stronger AND I could no longer stomach lying so I started telling him the truth: "No, Hyde. That seems pretty farfetched. I mean, why would people be spending so much energy on YOU?"

This, of course, led to a "parting of the ways," which is why I hadn't really spoken to him for about six months before he died.

Of course, the movie did a lot for creating empathy for people with severe mental illness. And it made a strong statement about the power of love, something I'm all for. Unfortunately, when it comes to reaching out to, and reaching, someone with mental illness, love, most often, simply isn't enough. And the mind is an instrument of torture, both to the sufferer, and to those that suffer with her/him.

At Long Last

Three years ago when Jeckle and I had to remove/rescue our parents from the house because Hyde was no longer helpful or sane and they were no longer able to function (Daddy had fallen and couldn't get up and Hyde basically told him he was tired of him "faking it" and called Jeckle to come get him; Mom was wandering around in 7 pairs of dirty underwear and feeding the cat bananas), we decided it would be prudent to remove all of the guns from the house. Hyde seemed a tad bit unstable, afterall, and was already standing out at the road pretending to shoot passersby; he needed no real ability to do so.

Anyway, we got all of Daddy's guns out, we thought. Until Daddy informed us there was one gun unaccounted for. Where was it? Had Hyde taken possession? Would he use it in a heinous crime against himself or others? It became yet one more anxiety-producing element in the unfolding drama. It became an oft-repeated question between Jeckle and myself: Where is the gun?

So, remember all the tackle boxes? Tonight I was looking through them again, marveling at the sheer amount of lures, spinners, rubber worms, hooks, and lead sinkers, when all of the sudden, I knew. First I came across the long, thin-bladed knife used to clean fish. Then I saw the rag lump. And felt it. And picked it up. This was no bag of sinkers. But it was heavy. And inside of the rag was a plastic bag. And inside the plastic bag was a blue zippered bank bag (one that a business would use to transport its petty cash). And, lo and behold, inside the bag was the gun.

"I found the gun!" I yelled triumphantly. And as I held it in my hand, I remembered this very gun, in this very bag during one of my fishing trips with my Daddy.

Eye Openers

Today, Cap'n John came on over to inspect the ammunition. It was making me a bit nervous, having so much of it in the house and I thought it might be a good idea to figure out what to do with it.

Eye opener #1: You can sell ammunition in an estate sale. In fact, you can do just about anything you want with it EXCEPT throw it in the city dump.

Eye opener #2: Ammunition in a fire just kind of fizzles out (he explained why but I won't go into it right now). So there was no real danger with regards to that.

Anyway, he was a real talkative fellow so I found out all kinds of fascinating things related to law enforcement.

Eye opener #3: The amount of ammunition Daddy had was actually kind of puny, according to the Cap'n (scary!). And he actually said, "In responsible hands, no amount of ammunition would be dangerous. In the wrong hands, no amount is a safe amount."

I asked him all manner of questions while he was sorting through the bullets and shotgun shells and he obliged me with good Southern-style tales about the reason why he and his wife and daughter were trying to get up to Minnesota, about his first homicide case, about the ins and outs of doing a background check, about the expansion of the high school. So, as he wrapped up his sorting and we wound down the conversation, I decided to go for broke.

"Was Hyde causing anyone any trouble?"
"Just himself," he replied.

Now, as I reflect back on this part of the conversation, I realize I believe Cap'n John started out telling me one story then had to revise it but here's the gist of it:

Eye opener #4: It turns out that Mac's suspicions that he was being followed and the phone tapped were, true. Mac was, in fact, being spied on. Someone hired a private investigator to find out why he would "disappear for days on end."

As I said to the Cap'n after he probably revealed way too much to me, "Why would anyone but Maggie and I care about anything like that?"

But of course, the Coach would.

Men With Tools

Today Jeckle discovered a very nice art portfolio filled with a great Hyde-created poster collection of "men with tools," if you get my drift. How fitting that this happened on the same day that the real "Men with Tools" came to mow the lawn. Believe it or not, that's the name of a father and son handyman business. They appear to be blissfully unaware of the "homosexual" undertones of their business name as the father proudly proclaimed they were "men with tools!" without a hint of a smirk or even the slightest suggestive gesture. Thank God for small favors!

PARTIAL Inventory

As you can see from the quantity of today's posts (if anyone is reading this!), I finally have a few moments to get down some of my thoughts these past few days. If you're just tuning in, you may want to go to the first post and read up.

Today was Day 2 of cleaning out the house that Hyde built. OK, to be fair, he just added the final, and most insane layer, to an already insane situation. Our grandparents built and lived in the house for about 20 years, then our parents and brother for the next 25. Apparently no one ever thought that having a yard sale might be a good idea.

For example, our daddy had not one, not two, not three, but FOUR tackle boxes. In those boxes are at least 1,000 fishing lures, many still in boxes. He had at least 30 rods and reels. And there were boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes of ammunition. There were loose shotgun shells in his hunting vests, and boxes in his closet, in the living room, in the trunk of his car, and in the basement. I can't even hazard a guess as to the total number of bullets and shells in that house, but I can say this: If there were to be a fire, everyone living within a 5 mile radius would be at risk.

There were at least a thousand photographs dating back to the last part of the 19th century.

Our mother apparently saved every single piece of paper (bills; letters; lists-grocery, to do, phone numbers/addresses, reminders; notes; receipts; cards; tax returns; interesting anecdotes) she ever received or produced.

There were enough dishes to outfit about 20 homes.

But all of this amounts to a hill of beans compared to what our brother contributed.

First, the dining room table: Completely covered with mail (opened and un) dating back at least 5 years. Then boxes and boxes of stuff from his days as president of a computer association. Files and files crammed full of all his attempts to get jobs over the years. And, of course, all of his documents that linked together all of the important people, organizations, and stories that were part of his organized crime/mafia paranoid delusions. Oh, and his index cards.

Next, his exercise equipment: A bicycle, roller blades, treadmill, total gym, bowflex, rowing machine, 2 exercise bikes, and a ton (no pun intended) of free weights.

But for the piece de resistance: Electronic equipment, half of which I can't even name because I have no idea what it's called or what it was used for. There is way too much to list but a sampling for your reading pleasure...

About 10 cell phones, 10 phones, 7 hand-held tape recorders, 7 computers, a wide variety of surveillance devices, several stereos and soundsystems, 5 or 6 T.V.s, a drawer full of AC adapters (at least 20), recording and mixing equipment, a reel of telephone wire, and boxes and boxes of miscellaneous electronics.

Really, I could write and write and list and list and you would never really get the picture, for this was not just a house of stuff, but stuff obsessively collected and saved over years and years.

Did I mention that in the basement was a box for every single thing that he ever bought? Or that Hyde would use a bar of Ivory soap halfway, then set it aside and start a new one (total in bathroom-about 40)? That there were 10 bottles of full tile cleaner? 15 tubes of partially used hair dye?

Whatever he bought, he bought obsessively and in excess.

Sort of like the pizzas previously mentioned.

A "Murvul" Moment

Contrast this with the reality of gay marriage now being legal in California (my chosen home-you'll see why)...

So there Jeckle and I are, sitting with the Minister of Music at our childhood church (our parents were lifelong members; Jeckle and I stopped going in our teens), discussing our brother's service. After trying to convey some of the complexities of his life to this "nice but incompetent" man (one of our favorite ways to describe many of the people we've had to deal with in the past 5 years around our parents and now our brother), I decided I needed to make sure there was no repeat performance of my high school graduation, which took place in this very church 30 years ago. At that event, the main speaker, the church minister, took it upon himself to make it clear that "homosexuality" was a sin and that "homosexuals" would not be admitted into the so-called kingdom of heaven.

Now, what that all had to do with graduating and our futures, I'm not sure. It certainly upset my mom on my behalf and she considered dropping out of the church over it (go mom!)

(Aside on a similar topic: The one and only time mom ever voted Democrat was during Clinton's first run and she did so because she could not abide the Republican's "family values" campaign.)

Anyway, I told this minister that my brother was gay and explained why I told him.

And he said (I kid you not): "Yes, I have a friend in the police department. He told me there were three deaths on Saturday, which is very unusual. Anyway, he told me that one of the persons who died was a HOMOSEXUAL."

"Natural" Causes

AKA, Death by Pizza

Three days after Jeckle and her husband (as yet without some clever moniker in this blog) found our brother's body, the autopsy report came back as "death by natural causes."

So, the pressing question of the moment is this: When one has been taking incredibly strong anti-psychotic meds (+ numerous other meds for a variety of ailments) for 20+ years , which would clearly tax one's liver; is drinking massive amounts of vodka in a fairly short period of time (10 gigantic empty vodka bottles found on the premises); is suffering from ulcerative colitis; is eating two large pizzas a day for approximately one month; and one's colon finally bursts resulting in a massive hemorrhage and death, is that death truly from natural causes?

Pain in the Back

Death is taking its toll on the clan, or what remains of it. Heckle (me) and Jeckle (my sister) are getting testy with each other over our brother's service. I want to play Patty Smith, she wants church hymns. O.K. she CLAIMS she doesn't want hymns, but she is concerned for all the old timers that are likely to show up. She doesn't want to stray too far from tradition, although Lord knows, it would be way more entertaining if we REALLY did something in keeping with our very crazy brother's life. (I suggested having that scene from "A Beautiful Mind" where Russel Crowe is looking at that big board of numbers and equations as our backdrop; she thought we could change it to a mosaic of the thousands of notes on index cards that was our brother's way of organizing stuff.) As my nickname implies, I am willing to push a few buttons and ruffle a few feathers by playing Patty Smith. Plus, I am long gone and live far away from this community so what have I got to lose?

Anyway, like all things concerning our brother, the physical and mental price is being paid in many ways: Cost of clean-up at the house? $25,000. Cost of finding his body after three weeks? Well, Jeckle's back has gone out and her hives are acting up again. Cost of me coming face-to-face with all my Hyde (brother) demons? Priceless.

Hell's Kitchen

Saturday, June 7, 2008. The phone rings. 7:45 a.m. Pacific time.
"Hello?"
"Wormy...?"
"Is mom dead? What's happened? What's wrong?!"
"Your brother is dead!"

And thus began the final chapter of "In a Nutshell: A Southern Gothic Tale."

Like all good Southern tales, this one is full of sick humor, like the title of this post. It refers to the fact that our brother's body was found by Jeckle and her husband in his kitchen, approximately three weeks after his actual death. And it refers to the fact that the kitchen was in our parents' house, and the mess he left behind will lead to floor boards, base boards, linoleum, and cabinets being ripped out and furniture and drapes being thrown away.