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Yes, I really did. I called the man who is supposedly my step brother/half brother, or rather just the man who claims to be my brother. of course I had to leave a message, and of course he never called me back. This all ties into the stories I have written about my biological mothers death, there are several variations of it, "Then She Crossed", "Children of Fate", which has been gone over word for word, rewritten and rewritten again and then of course again.
IF you are thinking that this lady needs mental counseling for this, the answer is "no, I don't". I have already done it. If you are thinking, go to a lawyer, "I have already done that also". The answer from both lawyers and a judge were exactly the same. "Yeah, you are probably right, he and which ever relative he is dating, etc, probably did do this. In other words they probably did kill her, but proving it, there is no way. You see, she was old. Very old. She got carbon monoxide posioning somehow or other, went into a coma and died. But prove it. Prove that they took her out to lunch or dinner from the nursing home, gave her meds, left her sitting in a car, sleeping like a baby from the meds, while they rolled up the windows, left the car on, in a garage and then a couple of hours later took her back to the nursing home, when she woke up. Or maybe they only left her in there for a short 30 minutes or so, just long enough for her to get ill. Then they take her back to the nursing home, she gets very ill a couple of hours later, they send her to the hospital and she goes into a coma. But do you have the money to prove it?" Sadly, I shake my head. No, defintely not. So, I wrote and rewrote the story. I called the man who claimed to be my brother. When he listened to his messages that night, after I had spent the money to find out where he lived, and get his phone number and find out just which relative he was dating I simply said,
"How stupid of you to think that I would give up on this charade of yours and not go to the trouble of finding you. You need to realize that the blood runs deep. You also need to be prepared to furnish the DNA sample to prove you are actually even related to me, especially since you are the one claiming to be my brother. Last but not least, you need to tell that neice of mine that my blood runs a little deeper than hers and that eventually, wether it be here on earth or on her judgement day and on yours that you will both have to answer for what you did to that "OLD lady", just for a few social security checks. Now, if you still want to silence me, then you will have to come after me, because I intend to put the story into print and get it published. Have a great day, and don't forget that blood runs deep, and it's not watered down." Of course, I never got a return call.
But now, writing seems to be hard for me. I wrote the story, the one story that needed to be told. I still write poetry, and I could write one hundred thousand words on social security and disability. But this one story, this one real life moment in my life is still stuck in my brain, and it won't go away.
copywrite, A. J. Angerstein
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