Tags
Can’t Find My Way Home
“Come down off your throne, and leave your body alone…”
♫ F, G, Gm, D ♫
When we’re born we make a contract with God. Some are written in fine quill pens; some in blunt pencil, others in red handprints on a wall.
He was the eldest of 6. The true prodigy; an urban celebrity by age 8. Even in our brilliance, we were all just diluted versions of Him. He was the one my mother truly loved, but who could fault her? He was caring and funny, gentle and kind and wise beyond his years.
Thrust into the role of father at age 13, he was my Hero. The unabashed center of my universe.
My protector; protecting me from the bullies outside and the one inside my home, too; stopping her hand which held a shoe or spatula. Not fast enough to stop the cutting board, he held me tight while they put the stitches in my head.
I run my hand over the bump in my scalp, and feel HIM.
“somebody must change…”
♫ F, G, D ♫
In high school the Citywide Spelling Bee champion and National Mathlete who performed in Carnegie Hall at age 8 turned rebellious. As those who are put on display so often do.
And the Valedictorian, Senior Class President, Editor-in-Chief of the yearbook wrote an elaborate poem wishing high school ‘farewell.’
The first letter of each sentence spelling out the acrostic:
F-U-C-K Y-O-U A-L-L,
and the Golden Boy was banned from graduation. My mother cried and felt betrayed. I laughed and felt – relief.
Eventually it was time for him to go, though I begged him not to. Hitchhiked to the West Coast to become a musician/actor/writer and landed in Haight Ashbury.
Met some Kind folk from Humboldt County – growers – and became a purveyor of that fine, majestic purple bud.
“you are the reason I’ve been waiting for so long, some body holds the key…”
♫ F, G, Gm, D, F, G,D ♫
Came home for my high school graduation. The next day we left for Cali with only backpacks and guitars.
He taught me to hitchhike and the chords to this song, too.
I only strummed the rhythm, and sang the melody; his expert fingers picking the lead, and his voice wrapping around mine in harmonies my brain could never find.
It was my summer of Firsts and never has there been a more magical time. I was enamored of him. It was a summer long House Party; his keen mind and magnificent heart attracted people to him like flies to honey.
He was especially prone to saving the strays. A lost soul with no place to go would always find their way to his couch.
Years passed and we spoke in 5 hour phone calls and 10 page letters and visits as often as we could.
As he traveled the world; Europe, Africa. Finding himself and when he did, he came home to Los Angeles. Won a spot in the prestigious UCLA screenwriting program and entered college at age 30.
“Well I’m near the end and I just ain’t got the time…”
♫ G, Am, D ♫
One night the phone rang at 1 am and woke me from a sound sleep; yes, I slept back then.
And a voice was saying something about “blunt force trauma” and “next of kin” and “identifying the body” and my messages on his answering machine, the last 3 days.
While he laid there.
And then I stepped outside my body and it got on a plane with two of my siblings.
“…and I’m wasted and I can’t find my way home.”
♫ Em, G, Em, D ♫
Before even stepping into his home, the smell. Assaulted us.
In the past it was always homemade bread and spicy, piney sinsemilla and vinyl from the hundreds of records he kept in actual record store racks.
And now, it was dried blood and death and a rotting body.
And the putrid odor made us all vomit.
Blood was everywhere.
Soaked into the ottoman where he bled out. Spattered all over the walls, the ceiling, soaked into the floor. How could there BE so much blood?
Bashed repeatedly; 27 times the papers said, the police said, that’s how.
And now there were more police and even FBI because of his association with the Kind folk up North; was this drug related?
A mafia execution?
Was he a “drug lynch pin?”
Their ludicrous investigation of his loving, hippie soul poured bleach into my torn heart.
Cold hearted snake-eyed reporters shoving microphones in my face every time I opened the door.
“Leave me alone! This is my brother, not some fucking NEWS STORY,”
I screamed on the news, but the network bleeped out my expletive.
FBI helicopters overhead, round the clock surveillance on the “drug dealer’s family.” That relentless punishing “whup whup whup;” I hear them still.
And what were those handprints in red, all over the door? His contract with God.
The detective said those were his. As he fought to escape. Fought for his life.
But why didn’t you fight harder? You were so strong, the strongest human being on the planet. In my eyes
Did you even think about me? That you were leaving me?
Why didn’t you FIGHT HARDER?!
YOU LEFT ME HERE ALONE
PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME
DON’T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE.
PLEASE.
For 3 days we went through his belongings. I was desperate to feel him. To find a forever remembrance.
I kept only his Martin guitar I caressed like a lover, or a child. And his passport, stamped with mystical places I would someday go.
And then – we found it.
Somehow, though they turned his house upside down, they missed that kilo of glorious, uplifting resinous bud. Red tendrils and purple strands interwoven into bright green and gold.
WAIT.
The smoke detector was disconnected.
The room was bugged. Were the police watching us? The FBI setting a trap?
Oh God. It was the killer. He was coming back.
He was.
He was going to come back, and kill us ALL.
Now we wrote notes instead of talking,
and ate them.
Choking on them.
Retching up the paper, so hard to digest especially when accompanied by
paranoia, grief, panic, sleep deprivation;
Emotional rape by reporters and police and cameras, and THAT FUCKING STENCH.
The house needed to be cleansed of death.
We hired a professional service. They walked in, five 6’7″ black men from Compton whom I found oddly comforting.
And all five of them walked out, and vomited.
The blood. That putrid odor. And now, 6 days post mortem, maggots feasting on decomposing bits of brain and flesh.
Finally the ridiculously inflated investigation led them to a man, a boy really. One of those strays he had given his couch to. A college student. Only this time, it was a mistake. A fatal one.
And home, to a family now annihilated. And never healed, not in over 20 years.
The two brothers who accompanied me forever torn apart by that horror; never speaking again.
My one loathsome sibling spewing that my brother was “disgusting; he brought shame to our family.”
He was the best part of our family, you monster. I won’t see you again until you die and I can spit on your grave.
The look in my mother’s eyes; her first-born dead, her golden child. I could see in her eyes she wished it were ME.
And so did I.
It might as well have been. I’m dead now, anyway.
All I ever was, was the embodiment of his love for me.
All those years spent living that dangerous life, that everyone envies,
thinking how “cool” I was,
was really just desperation. Me, hoping to die. And never getting it right.
Me, making sure to waste every opportunity I could. Sabotaging myself on purpose.
Mistrusting and alienating those who would love me. Failing because who gives a fuck?
And left with nothing but sordid memories and wasted opportunities.
And a passport of far off places I said I would go to and never did, and likely never will.
I was just lost.
A boy, now a man, sits in a cell forever.
All these years later there are still days, I feel such RAGE I clench my jaw and seethe and could kill someone who looks at me the wrong way.
But mostly I’m numb.
I’m lost. Hopelessly, and I freely admit it – not even wanting to be found.
Now I don’t sleep. I won’t. I won’t close my eyes, because if I fall asleep I’ll dream him.
Not the gentle soul who raised me and made me feel safe.
Vivid dreams of him screaming for help; his desperate cries in Surround Sound; his blood and brains in Technicolor.
I’ll do anything not to sleep.
“Well, I’ m near the end and I just ain’t got the time..”
I’m finally telling this story. The one I’ve hidden for 24 years.
Not wanting to be the girl whose brother was struck 27 times.
The girl who was attacked by the media when the only person who ever loved her was bludgeoned to death.
The next of kin who traveled 3000 miles to “identify the body.” Which was unrecognizable pulp.
Don’t look a me with pity in your eyes. Don’t write it here, either.
I would just like to go home.
“But I can’t find my way home,
Still I can’t find my way home,
And I ain’t done nothing wrong…”
But
I
can’t
find
my
way
home
Today is my brother’s birthday. Will you take a moment and join me in listening to the song below, in his memory?
Play it for him. He’s listening.
It takes as much courage to remember the awful past as it does to keep moving forward into the future. You have done both in this heartbreaking post scratched out so tenderly with the edge of a knife. The fact that you remember and think of your brother with so much love is the truest testament to who he was — and who he will always be.
Today you are your brother’s hero.
And mine, too 😉
LikeLiked by 5 people
Ned you write comments that are so beautiful, they’re like posts unto themselves.
I think I needed to remember this part of the past so I CAN move forward. Thank you for reading, and always saying the perfect thing in the comment section.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Yeah, mine, too. Your brother was definitely keeping you afloat. I do believe that.
I’ll never be able to hear that song without thinking of your brother, and saying a prayer for him.
I’m glad there are some guys here. I’d hate to be the only one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This was powerful and heart wrenching. It had to hurt to write, but hopefully it cleansed as well. Sorry for your loss seems pathetic to say, but when your blown away by a story, your brain just goes into survival mode.
I think it’s time you got some sleep.
LikeLiked by 2 people
No one really knows what to say to something like this. That’s another reason I never discussed it. Thanks for reading, and commenting. It means a lot to me that you did.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Unflinchingly honest and heart-wrenching; I applaud our courage. Writing this as I listen to the song posted with this piece. Haunting melody and a perfect counterpoint to your words. No one understands the magnitude of your loss but you, I won’t offer useless platitudes, only the hope that you will find peace.
LikeLike
I wrote this story while playing the song on repeat. It’s written to the rhythm of the song.
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment. This support means more to me than you know.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I read this yesterday, and didn’t know what to say. I still don’t, except that I’m sending love and good thoughts your way. There’s nothing that could make me fathom what you’ve gone through with this. Thank you for writing about it, and I hope that it was a release.
LikeLike
You don’t have to say anything. Just you being here is enough.
Thank you.
LikeLike
Terrible story, beautifully told.
So many people in those days were wasted and couldn’t find their way home. Many of us never found our way home, but became something different, something very broken but maybe stronger. I can’t imagine what you went through here. So, so well written, and so full of love for your brother and hate for what deserves hating. You have honored him greatly with this.
Did they really have to tape the drumsticks to Ginger Baker’s hands because he was so wired on speed that they would just go flying off otherwise? “Badge” was my favorite Cream song. Steve Winwood was, what, 15 years old, when he sang “Gimme Some Lovin'” with Spencer Davis?
Listening now.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You know your rock history!
It has been widely said that yes, they taped the drumsticks to Ginger Baker’s hands because he was so high. But I’ve never read an interview where he confirms this. He did get on and off heroin about 30 times, and he is an INTENSE person, so I wouldn’t be surprised.
Steve Winwood joined SDG when he was just 14, and he was 18 when he sang their hit, “Gimme Some Loving.” Great music, right?
Thank you for saying I honored my brother. That was what I was going for. And thank you for knowing and enjoying all this music. I find it comforting.
LikeLike
Samara, my friend, my SisterWife, you are so brave. And so loved. I can’t find words. Even after my first comment vanished. I’m still not sure what to say. What a good man to remember. What a horrible way to lose him. I’m so sorry. I want to hold you and pat your head and sit in a room and listen to all of his favorite songs with you. You amaze me with your past, with your strength, and with your words. I listened to the entire song. Yesterday and today.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Mandi, I said it a few times, but it bears repeating. Only the strength of this group got this post published. And I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I really need to get some sleep. <3<3
LikeLiked by 1 person
Such powerful words to describe a totally helpless, horrific thing. *hugs*
This.Post.Is.Incredible
I can feel your love for him. You honor him with this.
I’m so sorry for your loss, sweet friend.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Beth, my love, my friend-
Thank you for saying I honor him with this. That was my main intention. I love you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Probably more than most first responders, and definitely more than I should, I often think about the many bloody messes I’ve stood over and wondered what their stories were. Had I investigated your brother’s death, this is the sort of info I’d think about. Who loved this dead man? Who will miss him? Whose life did he touch? Surely, even the worst criminal in the world loved something or somebody. Anyway, your brother lived a life many of us wish we had tried with the travel and the seat of his pants living to find himself and you’re so right about not only yourself, but thousands of people who live life with a fuck it if I die young attitude. If they die, so be it, but worse, if they live then what? Find your then what, Samara. You’re smart and talented and can do whatever you want, and I hope you are.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Don, thank you for being here. It’s so good to see you.
Yes, you have that unique perspective. I worry for you, the bloody messes you’ve seen and likely will continue to see. But sometimes, these bloody messes aren’t just horrific stories you hear on the news, Sometimes, they’re real live people who were loved by many.
I’m finding my “then what,” Don. Thank you for that. I love that.
xo,
S
LikeLiked by 2 people
What a touching tribute and heartfelt piece that shatters me to the core. What a heart breaking tragedy. Your courage is admirable sister.
LikeLiked by 1 person
In just a few concise words, you said exactly the right thing. I wish I knew that kind of brevity in writing.
Thank you so much for you support. It means the world to me.
LikeLike
I read this when it came out and the words wouldn’t come to comment here. Also, the song wouldn’t work. It’s playing now, and I’m back to try and say something. This is one of the most powerful pieces I’ve ever read – and I seem to have thought that more than once since Sisterwives started, but this is beyond anything. I think it’s incredible that you wrote it. I’m so sorry for what happened. But through the horror, one thing that rings out is the love you had for each other and that you still have. Thanks for sharing what must have been so painful to share after so much silence.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sara, that was my reason for posting – I wanted to honor him with the love I had, and still have for him. Thank YOU for taking the time to read, and to comment, even though it’s not an easy post to comment on. It means so much to me that you did.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I don’t have any words. This shouldn’t happen to anyone – not your wonderful brother, not to your siblings, certainly not to you. I’m having a drink tonight and toasting your brother while I listen to the song.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Jana. I really believe, with all the people who clicked “play” that he heard us.
I’ll toast with you anytime. You’re awesome.
LikeLike
I played the song. This piece was stunning, written with such rawness and visceral emotion. I think you did your brother proud. I hope you find peace someday.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I think this is the where it begins – finding peace.
xo,
S
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s not a matter of not knowing what to say here, because this is worthy of much more than simple words can portray. You have skillfully allowed me to feel exactly what you feel. I have experienced similar loss and I can only hope I would be able to express it as you have. I dodge sleep too, so my empathy is genuine. You have a new and loyal fan, for reasons too numerous to list here.
All I can do now is go back and read this again while listening to the song on repeat, so I can read it in the rhythm it was written in.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s more than I could hope for – to have someone read it to the rhythm of the song. But that’s why it’s punctuated the way it is, and how the sentences turned out. So it makes more sense that way. You’re awesome for doing that. And I’m so sorry that you’ve had similar loss.
xo,
S
LikeLiked by 1 person
My heart hurts for you but your ability (even after 24 years of silence) to tell the story astounds me. Be angry. Be hurt. Be whatever you need to be. No words of mine or anyone else’s could possibly be a salve or a balm for that kind of wound. Your words here memorialize your brother better than anything else ever could. I have no doubt he’s hearing the music and he’s still with you, in heart, mind, and soul.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, THAT was a beautiful, comforting comment and JUST what I want to hear. Some people just say the perfect thing, you know?
Thank you so much, Kayla, for taking the time to stop by. I’m honored that you did.
LikeLiked by 2 people
(((HUGS)))
LikeLiked by 1 person
I read this on Thursday and didn’t know what to say. Still don’t. It’s not fair this happened, and the weight of carrying this around, well all of it is devastating. You know you are surrounded by friends here. I hope it was a release, maybe even a small way to heal. Nothing I say sounds right or enough. Know that I’m sending love and hugs your way. Hope you feel them, and that somehow, sometime you will be at peace. I bet your brother is smiling down on you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Amy, this post hurt like hell to write. I played the song on repeat, so it’s actually written to the rhythm, and sobbed.
But after I hit “publish” – the outpouring of love and support – I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it. Besides all the friends, just having a platform like Sisterwives, with all these loving women propping me up to get this story out – it’s amazing.
Thank you for always being there. If you lived close, we’d hang out. I just know that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have no words, only feelings. Thank you for sharing your story and for your bravery.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for showing up. That’s all that matters; words are not necessary.
Please play the song. Thank you again.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Goddamn you’re a steel beam, woman. Fortified and refortified in fire after fire. The universe can leave you alone now (please, Universe, leave her alone now).
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I’ve walked through the fire, and so have you, my friend. So have you.
Thank you for reading and commenting. It means so much to me that you did.
xo,
S
LikeLike
The pain you have endured through this is palpable. I seriously fought back tears while reading. It is so amazing to me that we can suffer such unbearable pain yet continue to exist.. You do because of him, regardless of how hard to tried to self destruct. He wouldn’t let you. You see that don’t you?
I have always wished for the words of solace at times like this. I don’t believe there are any really, and I don’t think it ever goes away. It becomes a little more bearable but it never stops. I hate to say that, but it is apparent you are already aware of it. I send you hugs. Real, warm, long lasting bear hugs. And a prayer for peace. I send you what I think will help the most. Hugs and peace. Sleep will follow.
LikeLike
P.S. Happy Birthday to your brother.. Have a piece of cake.
LikeLike
You said exactly the right thing. There are no words, just hugs and the wish for peace.
Yes. I do believe my brother is my guardian angel who kept me alive through all the ways I tried to self destruct. And typing that right now, I get tears in my eyes. Not of sadness. Of gratitude, realizing that there IS still that connection.
Thank you so much, Julie. xoxo
LikeLiked by 1 person
Samara, listening to Can’t Find My Way Home, for a second time– soaking in the depth of your loss and trauma. NO pity, none. But enormous respect for your courage and strength to finally share such a deeply horrible story, such an enormous loss. It’s not what I expected, all the more shocking. No doubt, there are no real words that can comfort this kind of grief. Just know that I’m holding you in my heart, and your brother as well. Thank you for trusting us with this stunning story. Somehow, I believe this is the start of true healing. Telling the story does not change the trauma or the loss, but hopefully it helps you begin to own your own life again, Samara, and not be “the girl” who suffered it all. You are a woman who has shared it, and I hope the burden is just a little lighter. With sincerest wishes for healing and some peace, xo Dawn
LikeLike
I have always loved this song. It has had a hauntingness (I know…not a word, but should be) I can’t think of another word to speak my feelings. I will never ever hear it again without thinking about you and what you have endured. Saying I am so sorry for your pain seems lame.. to say the least, but as Julie said, it was palpable through your words and I am sorry. I celebrate with you for the life cut short and the memories you were robbed of Samara. I hope you do find your way “home” darling… he is looking over you still…. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
…and mine, too. *hug*
LikeLike
Reblogged this on Heavens Whispers and commented:
This is absolutely one of the most impressive and riveting blogs I have read yet….I had to repost it on my blog site hoping others would find it as intriquing and well written as I have….Wow what a great writer and she captivates us with the realism of her story…Well written and well taken by the audience and heart wretching,,,
God Bless You My Dear Friend…Great Post
LikeLike
Oh dearest, you have once again swept me up with your words and made me feel. I have shed a tear for you, and your beloved brother, and for all of us who never got to meet him. You are truly the bravest woman I have ever “met.” Thank you for sharing your love story with us.
LikeLike
There is nothing really that any of us can say or do to comfort you here except reach out across the sky and offer you a hug. May he rest in peace, and one day may your soul also find some sort of solace. Just an amazing letter you wrote here and it must have been so hard. So sorry.
LikeLike
An amazing Tribute to your Brother. Brave, so brave, but that doesn’t seem to shock me any more. As all have said there are no words, so here is my heart ❤
LikeLike
I’ve been there. Same thing happened to my FATHER. Can you believe it? Yes- I think you can. Maybe someday I’ll have the courage you have just found. Not yet. Not yet…
LikeLike
It took me over 2 decades to talk about this. And I had a lot of support from people.
If you ever need that kind of support, please let me know. xoxoxo
LikeLike
I know I am very late to this post but I read the title of this story and I just needed to read this. My brother died 3 years ago this coming Friday, he was my best friend and the only one who truly ever has and ever will understand who I am and why I am. I don’t mean to impose with my own personal story, as it is nothing as heart wrenching and dispicable as this, but I really needed you to know that I am astonished by your bravery and in awe of how you are able to so beautifully write such a tragedy. You are a true inspiration in all the work you put out here. I cannot express enough how much you touched my heart on a deeply personal level with this. Thank you.
LikeLike
Thank you. I appreciate this more than you realize.
LikeLike