Before Crazy came into my life my life was routine. I was neither gleefully happy or wholy unhappy. I had distanced myself from my unhappy past. Interacting with family was limited to brief time periods and only in public locations. I was not going to be cornered, held hostage or gaslit any more.

I had been part of Crazy’s life for her whole life. Her tragic childhood, her very trouble teens, her triumphant return from her indulgent and drug fuelled early adulthood. Her pursuit of higher education, her professional career, public none conformist relationship, her successful business and the kind of parent she became. While we never “hung” or shared interests. Whenever we talked it was exhilarating, engaging and intellectual. It filled my cup to be able to engage with someone willing to converse, debate and be genuinely interested in what I had to say. There was never any competition just genuine interest.

Our interactions never resulted in rumours and we both carried the same backpack of burden. We were defined by our mistakes and we were both out of time with those who were supposed to be our peers.

Part of the getting sucked into Crazy’s world was discovering that the story of my departure was not just embroidered a little; but entirely fabricated. How my sainted sibling had been patient and compassionate while I was petulant and cruel. No mention of being excluded from the reading of the will. Told if I must read it – it was on the table, I had been made to read it several times by my mother so I didn’t have to read it. No mention of how personal items were distributed prior to my arrival. Or the fact that my youngest siblings family, and mine were systematically being excluded from any financial inheritance. No mention of how My sibling executor would only send emissaries to discuss his decisions. Nor was the straw ever spoken of.

The straw that broke my back was not the advance rumors circulated around town that I was going to contest the will or that I was constantly harassing my siblings demanding more than my share. It wasn’t being excluded fr5om the reading of the will. It wasn’t being excluded from from ALL decisions around the decisions around the funeral. It wasn’t being the one left to tell the Doctor to withdraw life support. Or being told it was left to me because no matter what they chose I would be angry. I would not have been. It wasn’t being told I shouldn’t speak at the funeral. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the truth. A truth my sib’s were never going to admit to anyone.

When I asked why my dead brothers children were being excluded. Having my executer sibling tell “Why do you care so much its not like your part of the family.”

The words felt like a house had just been dropped on me. I had to take a beat. As I hung up the phone and prepared for the world to swallow me whole as it spun off its axises. I was overwhelm with … release and relief. I had not spent my life being overly sensitive or misunderstanding the cruelty. I stood up lighter than I had ever felt before. I had finally reached adulthood. I was entitled to be treated as such; I was not asking too much.

I picked up the phone, as my sib started to speak – I interrupted and said: “No its okay. That was the bravest thing you have done. Speaking your truth must have been hard. I’m okay – we are done”

Crazy was the only person interested in my side of the story. I just wanted someone to know I had not been selfish or greedy. I never contested the unprobated will. I asked a simple question and pandora’s box came flying open. The only family I cared about knowing the truth was my oldest cousin, and Crazy’s mom. I was however, not going to get on the phone and try and defend myself every time I heard something. I knew I mattered to them as much as they mattered to me. My oldest cousin never asked but informed me that they knew none of what they heard was true. They knew the truth and I always would have a home and a bed when I returned to visit in my home town.

As the nature of my fabricated behavior reached it zenith and those that cared could not reconcile the person they were hearing about with the person they knew. Crazy reached out on behalf of herself and her mother. Invited me for coffee. Relieved that I was going to have the opportunity to be heard I was quick to accept the invitation.

I guess selfishly I was just so grateful that someone was willing to hear me out . I missed that Crazy’s world was starting to spin off its axis too. It would be another 2 and 1/2 years before that would come to light. It was however the hook that started to pull me in.