I find myself wondering if these visions are going to alternate, a bad one for a good one, or a horror for a blessing, that kind of thing. I killed my father when I was young, I remember that, and I remember never regretting it. My sister and I were transferred to a foster care home, and then adopted by the people I can see now, Thom and Marie Dervish. I was ten and my sister was eight when we were brought to the Dervish home, where we spent many great years.
One of the best, and in my mind one of the most defining moments of our lives, was when the adoption process was concluded, and my sister and I became a part of the Dervish clan for the rest of our lives. I’ve heard so many horror stories about the foster care system in this country while growing up, but my sister and I were lucky. The Dervish’s weren’t perverts, they weren’t freaks, and they were ready and willing to care for two kids, one of them a murderer, after they’d heard the particulars of our case. In fact, the entire family, and it was a big one, had been welcoming from the start. We’d gained more cousins than we knew what to do with, but no brothers or sisters.
I can remember this moment vividly, when our case worker had come over to the house to check on us, and to deliver a surprise that only I and my sister had been ignorant of. Our adoptive parents, oh screw that, our parents had invited most of the family over for a barbecue, and had dropped the news on us that day, that we would be staying for good, that we were now a part of the Dervish clan. I can recall several moments in my life when I’ve been this happy, but this is one of the first that stands out in this manner. But like all happy days, it’s fleeting, and I can see darkness flitting around the edges as I try to maintain the vision of my sister and I being crushed in a group hug that included aunts, uncles (no creeps thankfully), cousins, grandparents, and family friends. I felt safe that day, because my sister felt safe, and better than that, she was happy.
But like I just mentioned, good times are often over too quickly, and I can see this one fading as the last one did, no matter how hard I try to hold on. What replaces it is something I had hoped to forget, especially since it was another point in my life when I truly became my biological father’s son.
I don’t want to look, but I can’t close my eyes, and I can’t turn away.
(to be continued)