On the Spectrum

                  Trick or treat is a binary choice. Binary choices are inevitable in life; but create division. You’re in one camp or the other. A point easily evidenced these days. Either or. Blue or Red. What I am against decides what the world thinks I am for.

                  My brother Butch is many things, including intellectually disabled. He just moved into a supervised home. Getting him approved for that level of benefits took years. Years. Despite being the son of a military veteran left permanently disabled by a WWII sniper.  I mention that in relation to Butch’s benefits because my father’s unresolved traumas compounded my brother’s issues in ways I’ll never fully comprehend.

Last month Butch finally left the time capsule apartment he’d lived in since our mom died. He had her everyday dishes. Our not so silver spoons.  My mom’s favorite mug, sipped at her coffee table, which he also had.

I went to help him move. Sorting. Choosing. Watch piles whittle down to odds and ends, including a metal frame from Ben Franklin Five and Dime. Blurred glass. Chipped finish. Protecting my mom’s or grandma’s needlework. Neither had the ego to sign it. 5x7. A replica of our home, with the platitude, “God bless our home,” cross-stitched beneath

Binary. God either blessed our house, or He didn’t.

Impulse says didn’t, but let’s not reduce this to an either-or proposition.

I think on a spectrum. I am not balding. My hair is 53% intact.

So, it is my nature to consider that perhaps God did not, not, bless our house.

My father was an angry man. An addict, sadly. At times violent. Not a blessing. That left me stronger. Blessing. Ray Triggs was generous, smart and filled with rage, but I loved him. Blessing. Before my dad died of renal failure, he was in a coma during which he constantly growled. His last emotion was anger.

Tragic.

Thank you for your service, Sargeant Triggs.

I grew up in what felt like constant fear. My life is no longer fearful. That’s a blessing.

I choose hope over anger whenever I can. Another blessing.

Brother Butch had already moved, so I was alone in his apartment on the final night of my visit. I took a long shower, dried off using a threadbare towel of my mom’s, and got into bed.

My childhood bed. It belonged to my eldest brother Art before being passed down to me, and then Butch. The maple bookcase headboard and frame were purchased at Frauchi’s Fine Furniture, which was also a funeral home.

Crib to casket in one convenient location.

My brothers are two of the greatest loves of my life.

I was going to be the last one of us to sleep in that bed.

62 years old, in the dark, reliving old arguments and threats. Constant tension. Memories of bargaining with God to keep my family safe for one more night.

When I was a kid, that bed blocked a metal heating register in our small bedroom. I’d wedge my leg between the wall and the bed hoping the discomfort would keep me awake until my father came home from the bars, when I could finally be sure he’d pass out instead of fighting another war.

Instead of fear, that night in my brother’s apartment, I felt the warmth of how different adult life has been. Grateful for how many of the dreams I dreamt in that bed came true. Yearning to be in the new bed I share with my beautiful husband and our dogs.

More blessings than I dared to imagine as a child.

The next morning, I put the needlework in my suitcase, locked the door and walked away.

When I got back to the home to Narrowsburg I threw the old frame away. The fabric felt fresh air for the first time in decades - ready be seen in new light.

The linen had separated a bit. There were little stains and stray threads. Consequence. Scars. I didn’t clean it before having it reframed. Better to see the truth.

Life is not binary. Two things can be true at the same time. God had not blessed our house; but God had blessed our house.

Never or. Always and.

Trick and treat.