"It Was To Be The Summer Of Me"

Guest Post: B.A.M.

Photo by    Akshar Dave    on    Unsplash

Photo by Akshar Dave on Unsplash

I've had a year filled with health issues — then the death of my brother in July, followed by more health issues, and just a few weeks ago, my sponsor's cancer returned, having spread throughout his body and well, the prognosis is not good. 

My health issues are what they are and I am having some tests in the next few days. My hope is that my stage 3 liver disease (cirrhosis) is the worse issue; there is a chance it will not advance to stage 4 for years. I'm taking the actions and hoping for the best.

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Victor Jr. 1947–2018 

Cause of death: liver failure from cirrhosis of the liver. For a year I went with him to the VA hospital begging and pleading he be put on a list for a transplant. The protocols for a liver transplant are very strict. You have to be really sick and even then there is no guarantee of getting evaluated, only then to be put on a waiting list. Finally, in May the VA set up a trip to Philadelphia for an evaluation. We had the tickets and lodging all done, but the night before the trip my brother went into an encephalitic state and we had to cancel. He never recovered enough to get another shot at the process again and he passed on July 13th. It was the second time I witnessed the death of a sibling, having witnessed my sister's death when she was 43 on July 4, 1991. I was and am still devastated. My older brother: my protector when I was a kid (we're 6 years apart) and my fishing buddy. Every summer we would get in many fishing days out on Long Island Sound. He had a hard life. Jr. was the first born and got the bulk of my father's brutality — things my father would be thrown in jail for today. Then Jr. was drafted at age 19 and was sent to Nam which finished fucking his head up. My resentment of my father has again come to the forefront, coupled with the resentment of the VA and the system. God help me because my thoughts of retaliation are sometimes all consuming and hard to fight off. 

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My sponsor has been one that we are lucky to have. He is my confidant, my buddy, my father, the one who gives it to me straight in a very caring and humorous manner. Such a wonderful person. So much so that he was calm on the phone when he gave me the news. I completely broke down and it was he who comforted me. Unbelievable.

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It was to be The Summer of Me. Had sold the apartment, paid every single bill and was left with a substantial amount to live off. Started receiving social security payments and was going to start traveling on my own wherever and whenever I got the urge. Well, as they say, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. For the most part of every day, the guy with the pitchfork and the guy with the halo are on opposite sides of my shoulders battling. It's always the same fight. Be nice, don't act out, be gentle, versus — you know what, fuck that shit, all you motherfuckers can blow me. You cocksucking pieces of shit don't know me or what I'm capable of. I'm from the LES and have witnessed everything you see on TV that turns your stomach. Everything including witnessing shootings resulting in death. So, go ahead you punk-ass bitch, FUCK WITH ME. PLEASE!!!

 

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