"They're here. I'm going now."

I haven't been in church for several Sundays. Today I decided to go because I was visiting with a friend who was going. But this blog today is not about church or my church attendance or my relationship with God. Instead, this is a memory that settled on me during the sermon about someone that I lost 2 years ago this month during one of the most difficult periods of my life. Myson2 was the older brother of one of my adopted sons and lived with another family. He had always been the stronger of the two during the time they spent in the social service system, had endured abuse, molestation and many of the other horror stories that you sometimes hear about kids who are orphaned. At 6 years old, his mother died and neither of the baby daddies stepped forward to take these 2 kids (my son, Myson1 was just a week away from his 5th birthday). So Myson2 became the protector, mother, father and guardian for himself and his younger brother. Now fast forward 7 years. Myson2 and Myson1 are split up by the system and sent to separate homes. I am asked by DSS if I mind having the brothers keep in contact. I say "sure" and the visits between them pretty much leads to him becoming a part of my household on weekend, vacations, trips, etc. He chooses a name for me, Pops. And so, another father/son relationship is born. Our trust level reaches the point that he let's me know that he is gay, and without giving him details, I let him know that we have some common ground. By age 17, he is fairly much on his own - his foster parents are older folks who find having a teenager to be more than they can handle. Myson2 establishes a relationship with 30-something DlLover. For the next 10 years, they have an on/off/on relationship. It is hard to say who introduced who to HIV. I can only tell you that it cost the life of a beautiful, spirited young man who had a great deal of love to offer the world.

I mentioned that this was a really difficult period. Over the years, I had struggled with Myson1 who descended into the hell of drug use. During the final days of his brother's life, Myson1 was unable to think about anything but feeding his habit. This to the extent that he robbed my house and pawned the items under his own name (police reports). His story may come in another blog. Since the police were already looking for him on other charges, I didn't press any, but got an eviction order. During this time, DlLover got in touch with me while I was out of town to tell me that Myson2 had died, and that only Myson1 could handle arrangements as his only known surviving relative. Of course, he was caught and arrested which put him in no position to do anything. A charitable organization was finally able to gain custody of the remains and have them cremated. The memorial service was held a month and a half later. Myson1 convinced the sheriff's department to take him to the service. Since I couldn't bear to be in his presence at that point, I chose to stay away from the service.

I believe we all need closure when we lose a loved one. Fratman1906 who has always found it necessary to advise others did not take the road (to attend the service) and he has come to think about it many times. It is especially true every July when Myson2's memory is so strong in my mind. I will always celebrate his brief life and never forget his trusting gaze and easy laugh. Oh yeah, the attendant at the hospice told me that on the last night as he came on duty, he went into Myson2's room to check on him. He asked Myson2 if he was ok, and he replied "they're here; I'm going now." Then, closed his eyes and died.

Shem hotep (I go in peace).