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Gabriel Johnathan

(December 12th 1959 – July 11th 1962)

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I have felt you here with me somehow… like you were looking after me and helping me get through the worst of it… It made me feel safer… I still feel you being around… looking out for me…

Sometimes I hated you for leaving… So many times I wanted to follow your footsteps but it was like something told me that I had to be better than you… to be stronger than you… I wonder if that “something” was you… Maybe you heard me speak to you and maybe you answered…

I hope you have found your peace… where ever you are

His story

I only have a small piece of that story… most… if not all… from a conversation with my aunt… and maybe some from my dad… originally posted at my website sometime in 1999 – 2002…

My mother talked about him as well… but her version of the story was quite different….

This was before my time or about six years before I was born… The parents had their first child. They were both young and the pregnancy was unexpected but both of them had a promising life ahead of them. After the child’s birth the mother changed… Before, she was looking forward to the arrival of the additional family member but when he finally arrived she lost all interest in him… and life in general… The baby cried a lot and she was tired… The father had his education and a job to go to but when he came home he would find his son in his crib either crying or sleeping from the exhaustion of crying all day.

His wife was lying in bed and there were no evidence that she had gone out of bed the whole day… She hadn’t fed her baby or changed his diapers… Just had him lay there and cry… 

But the baby got older and the mother seemed to be doing better. No one knows if she got any outside help or not… But was she really doing better? Nobody seemed to know the answer to that question for sure. She “seemed” to be doing better… she smiled… she got a babysitter and even went out.

This was summer 1962… the father comes home from work… He finds the little child’s body… his son… in the back yard… He’s on the ground, and an open window above him… His wife acts like nothing has happened… and it seems as for her that little boy never existed…

My father never mentioned his older son to my ears…  but I remember my mother talking about him often… and usually followed my telling me about her being put into a mental hospital shortly after his death. Based on what she told me her experience was traumatizing…. She talked about her “not being sick” and they were just trying to make her believe she was… She talked about “fooling them all” and how she played along with “their ideas” so they would let her out of the hospital…

When I told her at 16/17 that I was seeing things that weren’t visible to other people, she warned me about never telling anyone about it as “They would lock me up fill me with medication and put electricity through my brain”

My father was the kind of man that would almost do anything for defend the “family honor”, and I guess in his life he has had to do that a lot… He had a crazy wife and he has a crazy son… right? But isn’t it overdoing it a little when you close your eyes too something like seeing your child’s body with cuts and bruises and you know why that is?

To defend the “family honor” my parents moved… They started a new life and had my sister Angela and they were doing great (according to my father)…but then I was born… and they moved again…

He knew very well what had happen…. but because of “family honor” this was to him “only” an accident, and somehow the death of my brother was filed as accidental.

“Somewhere along the way started I sort of made him my best friend… a bit like when kids have imaginary friends. In a way he was my imaginary friend. I “talked” to him and “told” him everything….That was sort of my way to get through the day …or the night… and it gave me the strength to survive…. Now when I’m at my worst….when I’m about to give up….my baby gives me that peace and will to go on.

(From a journal entry – Fighting the Urges 1999-05-28) “

She believed her first born, my older brother was evil. She also believed because he died his “evil powers” were brought on to me… and it was her calling to hold our evil powers under control. This probably sounds like something from the exorcist. I don’t know if she tortured my brother the way she did with me… but she talked about her hurting him in the same way. All of the abuse and torture she made me and maybe my brother go through was according to her “God’s will”… that’s how she justified it…

I’m certain that no God would have allowed the things she did… I know that she and her beliefs are the “bad one” in here… but I refuse to belief in a god or any other higher power that allows children to be tortured… or where people justify everything by saying it was “god’s will” or for that matter that something is caused by Satan…

I believe it is we, the people who live in this world that have “the power”… It is ours to do things to make the world a better place… for everyone… We don’t do that by saying that someone’s idea/belief is wrong or that my idea/belief is better than the next person’s…

I probably was a difficult child… I cried a lot and kept my parents awake my first months… When I was old enough to walk I started to run and I was always getting myself into all kinds of problems… I couldn’t sit still of one second…. not until I discovered the piano…

There are still a lot of gaps in my childhood memories but I am pretty sure my dad knew what was going on when he was at work. But again he chooses not to do anything about it… all in the name of “family honor”.

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