PRAY ~ LOVE ~ WRITE *entry one

I am embarking on a journey. A historically forbidden journey in my mind. There's still a little child in me that hides behind the thickets of my soul. But she flirts right to the edges, hoping to be enticed or welcomed out.

This leg of the journey I am the enticer. Lucky for me I am a safe person and my little me can trust me...feel me...Finally, she is set free. I take her hand. We ascend to the heavens. I can feel the warmth of the air as it brushes past my face, hair, shoulders and souls of my smooth bare skin. We release hands and soared in the clouds. We laugh as we cheerfully chase one another through the billowy white airy clouds. (If this is how the story starts and there is already elation, then I am in for a ride)

This journey is built upon a solid rock foundation. It is the very foundation by which all other things are possible in my life. So my journey starts with prayer because without it my journey might not be impossible.

PRAY
intransitive verb
1 :  to make a request in a humble manner
2 :  to address God or a god with adoration, confession, thanksgiving and supplication

Webster's definition fits my literary but not spiritual comprehension of the word, Pray. Answered prayer is where this present journey begins... fueled by the past. Many solemn and difficult years, devoid of intoxicating pure love, have gone by since my brother died in 1984. While he was alive and throughout his life, there was very few moments of sharing between us but the times we did share are some of my most cherished memories. Growing up we were raised by a village of unfamiliar authoritative grown ups and not one of them being my paternal parent. Eventually some earned the title of surrogate parent because at my tender age of 6, I was not equipped with self-rearing skills and needed parental guidance and support.

On November 1968, a day I can remember like it was yesterday; when I chose to remember but as I get older I don't channel back there as often. It was a day that I figuratively carried elation and sorrow with profound remembrance for a six year old. My brother and I were delivered to my mother who was living in a commune with her newly wed husband, Harvey, soon to be the greatest father alive.

I vaguely remember my brothers presence that day. What I do remember of my brother were the very few nights that we were allowed to sleep together in the same bed until we were permanently separated weeks later.  Because of the structure of our environment, my brothers age group did not much interact nor live with us older kids. Remember I was six at the time. So we were pretty much physically separated from that age on and for the next ten years of our lives. I don't have much recollection of having much interaction with my brother. I think it was due in part to the fact that I was in a perpetually debilitating state of survival. We are 6 and 5 with no parental interaction or guidance. We are dropped at a dorm room with our peers and several unfamiliar adults to tend to us everyday and raise us. Some day I will tell of my existence in the Commune; Synanon.

After ten years of living in the commune, both my brother and myself left; My brother in 1977 and me to follow in 1978. From 1978 to 1984, for 6 short years of my brothers last years on earth, I still did not have an opportunity to connect. Leaving the commune did not improve our life. It sadly complicated it and created greater struggles to survive on our own independently. We went from one negligent environment to some more of the same. We had no family that could take us in or cared to take us in. I found my self at 17 years of age back to fending for myself and in survival mode. Of course, this was a familiar place and familiar set of circumstances and results. And because of these challenges of not really having a place to call home, my brother and I were again separated.

During this time of our lives, we were fortunate to live in an era of modern technology. We would constantly reach out by phone. Even that was a daunting task to try to find access to a phone. This was not the era of mobile phones. There was still the stationary desktop phones. I think around this time might have been the sightings of the hideous 20 ton metal boxes that transmitted sound waves. I am fortunate to say that I was not part of that experiment...hehe...

Because of our circumstances, my brother was living on park benches in Santa Monica, California at 18 years old. It was at this point that my brother decided to enlist in the Marines. He was basically forced to chose a life in the military. It seemed to me that from the time he enlisted until boot-camp, life was manageable for him. My heart ached so profoundly for my brother. I was not able to help him. I felt like my hands were tied as I watched my brother drowning. It was the most helpless feeling I had to endure. Now that I was older, I was more aware of our horrific circumstances and felt even more responsible for our situations.

Days before my brother was to begin his boot camp, our mother, Melanie, allowed him to come and stay with her and our Stepfather, Rick. I don't say this with resentment, I'm just stating the fact of the living situation for all of us. I was living at my girlfriends apartment with her two kids. She lived not far from my mom and step-dads house. This made it convenient for me and my brother to spend what would be our final few days together. I was given an indescribable gift those last few days before he went to boot-camp. He would come to my apartment because I don't remember being very welcomed at my moms house. We would spend hours together. If I can recall we probably spent all nights and days together because I can only remember this time we spent. Years later I looked back on that time as the hand of God orchestrating that for us knowing that we would never physically see each other again.

These few days (about 3 I think), we spend talking about everything under the sun. We cried, we laughed, we yelled, we got angry, we confessed, I asked for forgiveness, we shared our opinions, advice, love and we made plans for the future. This was a hopeful time for us both. Hope for a better future for each other and a better future for us together, finally. There was such healing. The love that was renewed and stronger than ever before poured strength into our lives. It gave us power to stand tall on our feet. And, again, brought hope for a brilliantly bright and restorative future. Redemption was ahead. Redemption for years the Locus had destroyed. We were heading to the land of milk and honey.

Well, my brother went off to boot-camp for three months. He happened to be stationed at Camp Pendleton in Carlsbad, California which is approximately 1 hour or less from Orange County, which is were my parents and I were residing. Even if he would have been stationed across the United States, nothing would keep me from my brother ever again!!! I would write and he would call. I would take every opportunity to tell him that I loved him and I would stretch myself in every situation or interaction with my brother to show my love. I was so happy that I was getting a second chance to make my wrongs with him right. Three months came and went fast and his boot-camp graduation was upon us.

My stepfather, Harvey, and our younger sister traveled from New York to attend the graduation. This was yet another glorious time of restoration. Our younger sister, Andrea, was so attached to our brother. She and Brian probably spent more time in the commune together than he and I. And Andrea was protected, adored and guarded over my our brother. She brought life into Brian. He would spend hours with her. They had a special bond that I only wish I could know. My brother and I never much talked about anyone else but ourselves during those last few days that we would spend together. In this very instance I realize how beautiful of a gift it must have been for my step-dad and my sister to have been present during this time of our lives. Graduation time would have also been the last time that they, too, would see Brian. How beautiful.

Well, after graduation, my brother got orders to go to Hawaii. In the time that he was in boot-camp, my mom let me come back to the family home and live. My brother had leave time before this trek to Hawaii. We were able to stay together again for a few more days. We would stay up late at night and hang out. He would go out with friends from high school or just met in the super market. He wasn't what you would describe as an extrovert but he always had this charm that would draw people to him and he would instantaneously make friends and be invited to functions and home for dinners with families or invited to youth group functions. It was quite fascinating for me to get to witness this side of my brother. He got all the ladies and all the gentlemen's. I was surely proud of my brother. He truly made me a proud and sometimes a blushing sister.

While he stayed with us, he occupied the private living room downstairs. We would stay up late and inevitably I would be up at sunrise with giddy anticipation to see my brothers face. It was almost like a school girl crush kinda thing but a brother crush. I just couldn't get enough of my brothers time and presence and essence. I was so crazy about this new found bundle of love. I wanted it everyday, all the time, and forever. I never wanted it to end. I was waking up on cloud nine. I was in love. I would call all my friends. Talk to people in the check out line about my brother. An article was even published in the local paper, the Irvine News, about "one of Irvine's own, Brian Franklin, graduated from Marine Boot-camp at Camp Pendleton...blah blah blah". But of course, we were very proud of Brian's accomplishments.

When it came time for him to leave, there was excitement because he was going to a cool place, Hawaii and sorrow because he would geographically be so far away. Selfishly my soul hurt. But because of the love we had, there was hope that circumstances will work itself out and we would be together somehow soon. We even made a pack that I would come to Hawaii and visit. I started giving my brother money out of my paychecks to help pay for a ticket to visit within the year. Well, that day never came for me to travel because on September 10, 1984, my brother took his life at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

During the course of my healing; for the first year of his death, minutes would go by that were so excruciatingly painful. Only years could heal the frequency of pain that overwhelmed and consumed me. After about a year, I started to put the psychological and sociological pieces of my life back together. I started to allow the realities of my life come back alive. I was starting to get my strength and will to live back. I started to collect all my memories of my brother and figure out what to do with them. I never wanted them to die. I wanted to keep my brother alive for eternity. I started to remember things that my brother had said and recollection of things that mattered to him. I wanted to reach out to people that knew him and let them know of his passing and his sentiments for them. I wanted to be a messenger of good cheer and love for my brother that he was to so many people. I still have one more person to find and his name is Paul and that is all I remember of this friend of his. I do have a picture of them together which seems to come to my remembrance every few years but that too is fading.