This past Saturday was a day of reckoning. Almost anyway. I received a message from my mother wanting to give me critical information. It was a surprise to say the least, but sent a world wind of thoughts in my head. My eldest brother had died. However, to understand this situation, we need to go to the beginning.
On January 5th 1991, Markeetah Alexzandria Hill was born at St. Joseph hospital in New Jersey. A city filled with poverty and hope. Growing up, I had two half brothers. One produced by my mother, a name that will not be mentioned, and one from my father Raymond. David, on my mothers side was the greatest brother a girl could ask for. I mean, I lived with him, ate with him, I wrestled with him (possibly the reason I was so strong), and in the end, I hated him. I grew up oblivious to my surroundings, and at the age of seven, thrown into the world of another family and the "system". I couldn't understand at that age why my mother had gone into a room and came out walking past me and leaving. Or maybe I didn't want to. Ironically, the home I had been place in was a 5 minute walk to where my mother had reside with her youngest daughter and only son previously. One day, figuring that rules were meant to be broken, I visited her and paved my way to a new home. A miserable place even as I had been surrounded by family. Well, my fathers family. Without him. Even so, I had forgotten about my brother Derrick from my fathers cells. Those four walls built my anger, blocked what had been and a young girl embodied the ability to take it out on whomever was around, regardless of their guilt or innocence. Everyday had turned into a mission to hurt others the way I was hurting. Catching on, my school sent me to our resident social worker. A women who would show me that the world was much bigger then the struggle, pain, anger, and hatred I had been hoarding. She ultimately saved my life.
In the summer of 2000, I had been picked up and moved to a suburban up bringing in Union County. I spent the rest of my early years learning who I was and what I wanted in life. I had visitation rights granted to my biological mother and saw her on a regular basis. However, my visitation would not last long. It grew to be an on off cycle of promises and regrets from my mother and brother alike. By the time I had hit high school, I decided that I wanted nothing to do with them and their antiques. I t was a one time shame on you, two times shame on me situation. And will never get the chance to happen a third time. I had given up on them. Fully aware that they did not know the worth of my being. I would never let someone drag me along only to crush me, bruise me, scar me. I had ultimately given up on them and their life choices and as a result, wanted nothing to do with the town that had birth me and the blood that bound me to my biological family. But there was one person whom had not given up on me. Derrick. Nearly two to three years ago, faith intervened and he found me on Facebook. He wanted to know how his little sister was doing, wanted to be assured that I was safe and well taken care of, wanting to let me know that he loved me and missed me. At that moment, I informed him of my gratitude and of the fact that I did not want to associate myself with anyone from my past, not particularly just him, but more so the idea of being strung along to be heartbroken. I did ask about our father and was informed that he had passed. Being fair, I decided that I would not cut off all ties and would stay in contact with Derrick, but on my terms. We would not communicate everyday, he would not receive my personal contact information, and I did not want his as well. But for those days that we just wanted each other to know that we cared and was still there for each other when needed. Quite frankly, recently, I had been thinking about reaching out more. Always telling myself that even it wasn't today, I would have a day to tell him everything and patch up our relationship. Hoping that one day, I could meet his children and become their aunt. Hoping to hear how proud he was of me for fighting for what I wanted while making it through my years of high school and college life with a degree plastered with my new name yet same blood. Life once again, had a different outcome.
Getting in my car, realizing that my mother had sent me a message of urgency. Over the speakers of my KIA, I was told that Derrick had passed away. It was, what we later learned, to be the cause of a heart attack. I could not let myself feel pain because really, we were not close. But the more I thought about it, Derrick was the only blood relative, even if it was half, that I had been wiling to give a chance to and was excited for our possible future once I had gotten to a point of complete and utter forgiveness. And life has once again taken something away that had my hopes up. I can no longer tell him that I love him and that I did not blame him for anything that has happened and knew that if there was a chance for him to fix all of my pain, he would. I can not compare our genes that we both gained from a broken family. I could not do anything, because he now can not do anything. In the end, I could not bare to face his lifeless body and his loved ones even after learning of his burial arrangements. I did not want to face something that I wanted so badly to happen for me and my blood in the future. So I sat all day, thinking of this. And finally having the courage to share it with you.
September 23rd 2014.
From Markeetah Alexzandria Hill to Markeetah Alexandria M. Anderson.
Here lies my lost thoughts, My hopes, my struggle, my life. My brother Derrick Marquette Myles. The Catch up (R.I.P).
