The Family

Part 2. 'The Family' as they are appropriately termed by the judge - though I do not mean to make out that the judge was of a Mafiosi mind - but it fits - did not reckon on the tenacity and sheer bloody mindedness of child 2, who ABHORS injustice and saw this final act of her mother as, well, the final nail. She did not act alone, in fact the fingerprints of the dastardly ones that married into The Family are all over the death documents x2. 

Finale: Child 2 'wins' and gets full costs. But there are no winners here. Only losers. Though the morally bankrupt ones had to be taken on. Especially the orchestrator (rhymes with woman hater) who has likely done what he has to other crossers and who will likely continue to do, unless apprehended. By the law.

I will dissect this foul smelling cadaver with a pen (mightier than the sword) in the weeks and months to come. I'm still coming to terms with the ugliness of all I have been through. What happened in court, where I discovered monsters behind the scenes, is hard to digest. I don't have a grid for what I have seen. It would be hard to put into believable words. 

Behind my own scenes and indeed through them, I battled breakdown followed by 2 bouts of major surgery, hot-heeled by an ear shrivelling diagnosis and high blasts of chemo that have left a legacy of instant menopause and scarred, burnt and bruised insides that, given so much of me has been pulled out, now find themselves displaced all over the place. The scars unseen, physical and more, are stubbornly ropey. 

But outside where the light causes the dark to fade, there is pure, unadulterated joy. Not least in the faces of my girl, my boys. I am not a victim. I am an overcomer. Come on life. Keep on coming. I'm here.

The #1975InheritanceAct

This epoch (three and a half horrible gobbled years) began in the weeks before Christmas 2015 and ended last Monday with a victory of sorts, in court. Though I'd call it rough justice. Very exposing, court, and open to all sorts of untruths peddled by unscrupulous people. You have to take a long hard look at yourself, while you are forced to look at them, those you hoped not to see again.

The #1975InheritanceAct, I am reliably told, was drawn to help the illegitimate children of men who died and so could no longer support them (if they ever had), so that ALL the children of the deceased benefitted and not just the 'legitimate ones.' The act was amended in 1975, interestingly, the year my stepfather entered my life. Here is the premise of my 1975 Act: 1966 - Beautiful woman (my mother) marries beautiful man (my father). Marriage is disastrous. Woman leaves with 3 children and snip! Cuts ties. Woman marries second, younger man. Middle child does not accept status quo. She is still tied. Upshot: She and her views have to go - this is executed (sometimes violently) by degrees, until, child 2 gets the message, which she eventually does when she is close to 50. 

Though her IQ is high (or was - all that recklessly high living!) she is slow to realise what the family have been and are up to. It takes a cop with a lot to gain (an acre, plus a lot of house) to launch a public Facebook attack with his wife and daughter braying from the sidelines, and the silent complicity of The Family to make her go. Why? A bolt from the blue prize has arrived by death courier, courtesy of the woman's uncle and grandmother. A mere year later, death comes calling again and the prize passes on to one not intended by the uncle to inherit: The Stepfather pockets the cash and sells the property to the Machiavellian one. Did Machiavelli wear pink and lilac suits? Do lies smell of roses? Was his testimony like pink icing on a gently rotting cake? Did he eat all of it?

Part 2 Tomorrow