Tears and Long Silence


The plan was to never visit this page again, but so many others are visiting it lately I’m compelled to give them what they want. Visitors from Sebring, Florida, have been on the site.  They visited on my birthday.  I’d like to think my aunt still cares.  I hope that’s it and that she hasn’t been looking around for someone else.  I’m not a hundred percent certain she isn’t still in touch with the people who murdered my brother.

The pain I feel over losing my brother is raw even after some time has gone by. It’s profound grief.  I wish I could say that this pain will disappear, vanish, never to return.  I’ve heard comments like that from many people: “Things will get better.” “You’ll get past this.” “This too shall pass.” Those who offer such comfort mean well, and it’s true that what you feel now you will not always feel. Yet it’s also true that what has happened will stay with you forever. I am a different person because of what was done.  As long as the people who took Rick’s life are out there unaffected by what they’ve done I will be haunted.

Haunted or no I recall what I learned in Bible study. In a tender scene, Jesus appeared to Thomas in his newly transformed body, obliterating Thomas’s doubts. What prompted that outburst of belief, however—”My Lord and my God!”—was the presence of Jesus’ scars. “Feel my hands,” Jesus told him. “Touch my side.” In a flash of revelation, Thomas saw the wonder of Almighty God, the Lord of the universe, stooping to take on our pain.  God doesn’t exempt even himself from pain. God joined us and shared our human condition, including its great grief. Thomas recognized in that pattern the most foundational truth of the universe: that God is love. To love means to hurt, to grieve. Pain is a mark of life.

So, Denise Enss Anderson Phillips or -,- . You work with computers.  You must know how IP addresses work.  When you visit my site, as you often do, I can see you all the way to Tallgrass Technologies. What do you want anyway?  Peace?  You will never have any peace.  You and your mother killed a man.  He was a good man.  He was my brother and my grief is profound.  By the way, your grandmother said she was threatened by your mother into saying the things she did about my brother.  She doesn’t believe you either.

I hurt and always will because of what you and your mother conspired to do and ultimately did. I’m sure that’s what you wanted to know.

A few weeks ago I came across these lines from George Herbert that gave me solace for a moment: “Grief melts away / Like snow in May / As if there were no such cold thing.” I cling to that hope even as grief smothers me like an avalanche. Indeed, the grief did melt away for a brief time, but like snow it also came back, in fierce and unexpected ways, triggered by a sound, a smell, some fragment of memory of my brother.

Nickol – I am getting a couple of writing awards next month in Kansas City.  The first person I thought of to invite was you.  You always had such a gift for writing and would have been nice to take you with me and introduce you to other authors and publishers.  My partiality to you always caused problems.  I wish we could talk honestly for a while.  Get mad and have it out and then maybe healing would start.  I need it.  I can’t NOT talk about my brother though.  He was my best friend and I loved him.  I know you hate me, but consider how much of that is real and how much of that is what the witch Rick sadly married says about me.  Of all the people I know that have been destroyed by this you are the one I miss the most.

On the other hand, you aren’t the person I thought you were.  You helped kill my brother.  I’m going to guess that’s why you stay so close to the very woman who fought so hard to get you out of your father’s life.  You’re all killers.  I think you are the biggest coward of them all.  Watching the three of you murderers together I understand completely why Charles Manson’s clad stuck so closely together.  Who else could ever fully understand the kind of individual you are besides another murderer.

I find it odd that you don’t want me to know about you or search you out on the internet, but you go out of your way to find out about me.  I know that you have people from the MAINE BUREAU OF TAXATION accessing my site.  Why?  Or should I ask your friend at the bureau of taxation?