My father once told me that he worried the most about my brother, Richard and me. Or gave him the most worries or fears. My family will get mad at me for posting this, but, highly unlikely they will read it and if they do, well, I tend to do or say stuff that makes them mad at me anyway, why change now.
I am not sure about that word worry. When Richard died I thought it was better than waiting for the middle of the night phone call saying he died in an alley somewhere, needle in his arm, overdose of heroin. Was I worrying that would happen? I do not think so, just an expectation when that phone rang at midnight or 3AM. Worry, as in concern, more than anxiety or fretting. Uneasiness, more than disturbing peace of mind. LOL I had enuff of my own stuff to disturb my peace, without letting the thought of how Rich might die bother me.
Richard battled an addiction to heroin his entire adult life. He likely had a dual addiction to alcohol ~ beer drinker. Understandable that dad would be worried about him. But me? I was insulted. Birds of a feather flock together, maybe dad suspected me of drug use because Richard and I were close ~ tho' Rich told me we were not. Or because ex-husband was a bird or my brother's feather.
Dad could have been worried that my husband would strangle me to death. But I do not think that was what bothered him about me. Lots of stories there.
If anyone was predicting homelessness, I am sure they would have predicted my brother would wind up living on the streets, not me. When Richard's second wife had enough ~ and she stuck it out for many years ~ she sent him packing. He lived with my mother for the rest of his life. If mom had refused to let him live with her, would he have become homeless? He worked. At one time he and his wife had their own business.
At the end of his life he was working as a mason laborer; construction work is an up and down industry. Rich likely had stints of collecting unemployment benefits he earned. Rents high in the area. Yet I think he would have found other living arrangements if he had to. I could have stayed at my mom's if it were not for my oldest sister and her son. Long story there also.
LOL my original Blogger blog I told that story. Deleted it, stopped blogging here spent my time working on websites. Then came back, to Blogger as a means to an end ~ my homeless story was on a website I called gypsywoman. Then I moved that website here. Off-topic again.
After living in Long Beach since 1994 it felt like home to me. There was a hope that I would be helped off the streets. How often I read "they don't avail themselves of services" ~ I intended to avail myself of those homeless help services, be off the streets and working in short order. LOL
Alternately, thought I would not survive long on the streets and would be gratefully dead. Thought about my father a lot as I lay trying to sleep on cold concrete staring at that number 555. I guess he was right to worry about me and how my life would turn out.