Why And How My Sister Killed Our Mother

 It is entirely possible that my youngest sister, Eileen might have overheard my mother's last telephone conversation with me when she told me that she was going to change her will and leave her money to me. Her words, "Ann and Eileen have done well for themselves. They don't really need the money. I've helped you whenever I can because I see that you have tried, but you never had the breaks that they've had." She told me that she felt that she had messed up when she became pregnant with me by a married man with whom she could never depend on to be a father to me. Instead, I had to endure bullying not only from my classmates and the neighborhood kids, but also bullying and abuse from her second husband, Andy who is Ann's father, who would beat me mercilessly just for getting a D on my report card.  Andy resented me because he had a son, Charlie whom he wanted to come live with us. Mom wasn't having it. She already had two children. That was more than enough for her. Yet, he had to deal with and support me. Love me, love my dog.

Mom continued. "I like helping you because I get satisfaction knowing that I can while I'm alive. Don't expect shit from your sisters when I die because you are getting nothing from them. I'm going to change my will and leave whatever I have to you. Maybe that will help you to get a leg up." This was while I was in Tampa in 2011 when she sent me a check for $6500.00 to buy a mini-van so I can get around town, make some money and have a life. It was a loan that I never had the opportunity to pay back.

Enter Heather Richardson. No, not the famous one. Heather is the daughter of a former girlfriend who deceived me and led me to believe that she was my daughter. I was not there to be a father to her just like my father was not there for me. In fact, until my mid-twenties, I believed that someone else, whose name I bear, was my father.                                                I was gone for the first eighteen  years of Heather's life. Curiosity got the best of me, and I embarked on a mission to find her to see how she had turned out. I managed to find Barbara, Heather's mother, and we arranged to meet. They drove to my aunt's house and when Heather emerged from the car, I knew immediately that she was not my daughter. Nothing about her yelled, "Ray's daughter!" Not wanting to burst her bubble, since she had grown up thinking that I was her long-lost father, I embraced her and apologized for not being around for her boo boos and flus. She was graduating from high school in June, and she asked me to buy her a prom dress that she liked for her upcoming prom. I obliged. She was happy, I was happy that she no longer felt like a half a dollar since there I was...her father in the flesh. I have never to this day had that pleasure, so I knew how fulfilling that must have been for her. My sister, Ann, Tia Titi, my cousin Paul and Pop were happy. I went back to New York and lost touch again for thirteen years. Like an idiot, I found her on Facebook and sent her a hello.

To be continued