Revised: 2011 Jan 18   (First published: 2010 Apr 11)
 
My brother Alan is a cheat, a liar, and the executor of my parents’ Trust … a very bad combination. Interestingly, he’s also a CPA and lead auditor with the government.

Regarding all issues with the Trust, he has kept me out of the loop entirely. Alan never provided me with any of the documents required by law, except for an emailed copy of the Trust itself, after 10-days of asking.

He emptied out my parents’ house of everything, telling me he gave all their belongings to charity … another lie, as he told me things he was in possession of. He said he never had an estate sale … a decision I don’t believe was his alone to make.

He also took my dad’s Cadillac telling me that dad gave it to him a year before he died. On more than one occasion, I asked for the VIN number though he refused to give it to me. Living on opposite coasts, along with other obstacles, he knew it would be difficult for me to challenge him.

April 2010

I received the following voice mail message from Alan regarding my parents’ Trust … a full three years after mom died (dad died the year before mom). I do not believe he and I had spoken since he hung-up on me in August 2007 (the next recording down). continue reading…

An overwhelming trait of sociopaths is that they are void of common human emotions. Besides having no remorse or guilt, they do not have the ability to love, feel compassion, or be passionate. They are busy building their following, spewing their manipulative lies, and feeling the need to be the center of attention.

Therefore, it would seem to infer that those who are genuinely opposite to the above — individuals with true human emotions, and are content with a few good friends over a mass of gullible followers — are less likely to be sociopaths. Maybe not just less likely, but most likely.

The Process of Elimination

Maybe the process of elimination would be an accurate determination of not only who isn’t but who may well be.

The Shy-Types

In very general terms, how about people who have a quiet disposition, generally stick to themselves, those who may be considered shy. At work, they actually spend their time doing their job instead of schmoozing with whoever happens to be in the lunchroom. Sociopath? I would bet not. continue reading…

I don’t know how many more entries I’m going to be able to post here. Unfortunately, I’m no where near finished.

Realizing I was running out of time is one of the reasons I jumped on Semi-related Parallel Trauma to cover another very integral part of my recent past, but I didn’t even get to the guts of it. You see, I was infected with MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus) around my spine during a somewhat routine operation. The majority of those infected, especially in hospitals, don’t survive. I wasn’t supposed to.

For those who don’t know, MRSA is the third leading cause of death in the US. It kills more than those who die in car accidents, those who die of HIV-related complications and AIDS, and those who die of breast cancer … combined. continue reading…

. . . continued from Part 2
Back Surgery, November 7, 2001, 06:00, Piedmont Hospital.

2001 Nov 7, Wed

Karan, a woman I had met just a few months earlier, had offered to drive me to the hospital. It was not convenient for her in the least, either.

She had to drive an hour to get to my home from her’s, then travel another hour to get to the hospital. When we pulled up, I told Karan she could just drop me off at the entrance.

Her response was a very firm, “No way, I’m walking in with you.”

Karan won that dispute as she drove right to the parking deck and found a convenient spot. As soon as I checked-in, I was told they were ready for me in pre-op, so Karan gave me a hug, and wished me the best.

Within minutes of arriving in pre-op, they had run an IV, and suddenly, I had not one single care in the world. Shortly thereafter, my life was in the hands of an unnamed anesthesiologist.  continue reading…

continued from Part 1 . . .

January 2001

In late January, I began getting muscle spasms in my left shoulder. Within a week, I could no longer lie down, forcing me to sleep in a chair. The pain in my upper back and shoulders was becoming unbearable.

One evening, I was in my daughter’s room when I tossed her comforter onto the bed. That simple action almost took me out, by a new level of intense, acute nerve pain, unlike anything I had ever felt. continue reading…

 
Besides the evil perpetuated against me by my sister, Kathy, and Julie, my ex-wife, the 2000-2009 decade was also pay-back time for all the physical *fun* I had growing up. I had a passion for life, and that often meant living on the edge to place it all into perspective. But I must start at the beginning …

Age: 2-4
Being Grounded

This has nothing to do with being placed on restriction, as that would be a bit odd for a toddler. This is about that other ground, the ground that electricity always looks for. Based on my size and the layout of the house, this has to be one of my earliest memories … which also could have ended my race before I ever got out of the gate.

I was crawling on the floor in our family room, and I happened to squeeze in behind an overstuffed chair. There, in front of me, were two things that seemed to go together, at least based on my limited-life experience.

On the floor was a metal bobby pin and on the wall was a small, rectangular plastic covering with two slots on top, and two on the bottom. I know my mom stuck things in there. So, I recall seeing no reason, whatsoever, that the two sides of the bobby pin should not go in the two little slots on the wall outlet. continue reading…

PART 5: When Plans Backfire

 
… con’t from Part 4

On the morning of Kathy’s and Marlin’s departure, Kathy told me that they would have a stop-over in Salt Lake City, and that if I needed to get in touch with her, just leave a message on her cell, and she’d check it when they landed.

I remember that hit me as odd, since that would be only two hours after their flight left, and I didn’t plan to speak with them for the week they’d be gone. While driving them to the airport, she said it again, so that time it raised a flag. I didn’t ask anything, but I wondered what she was expecting me to call about.

“Surprise … I lied.”

continue reading…

PART 4: Body English: Physical Reactions while Lying

 
… con’t from Part 3

It was now less than two weeks before my scheduled trip to Mesa. As I stated in part 3, this was to fulfill my week-long obligation to house-sit and kid-sit for Kathy and Marlin while they were out of town.

As I planned, after those first phone calls with Kathy, I did not mention anything relating to Julie or Kathy’s mystery denials of communication. During that month, my 10-year-old daughter returned from one of her mom-visitation-weekends, with a question …

“Dad, isn’t Aunt Kathy your sister?”

“Yes she is.”
continue reading…

PART 3: The One Small Lie and the Big Red Flag

 
… con’t from Part 2

My son, David, had now been in Arizona for a few days. Kathy and I had been on the phone regularly. By the end of the week, though, the number of our calls decreased substantially. It was during one of those, I remembered that I needed to share the information concerning Julie.

Since Kathy had no idea that I was aware of their communication, it was only natural for me to begin with a question …

“… oh, and before I forget: Have you been in touch with Julie?“

“No.”

RED FLAG: That was not the correct answer.

As simple as it was, I thought I confused her. So, I rephrased it …

“I’m sorry, let me try that one again: Have you been communicating with Julie, you know, by email or by phone?”

“No, I don’t even remember the last time we spoke.”

Except I knew with 100% certainty that Julie and Kathy spoke the previous weekend. At that point, I dropped it, as if it were no big deal.

But, it was a big deal.
continue reading…

PART 2: How I almost missed a Red Flag.

 
… con’t from Part 1

Five days had passed since I pulled my son David out of school. Due to the school’s inability, or more precisely, unwillingness to recognize their student-on-student harassment problem, I was forced to tackle it myself, at least as for my son. Once again, though, it seemed like the bad guys had scored another victory … but they had accomplices: the school administration.

By Sunday morning, my sketchy plan was to file a formal complaint with the Board of Education, talk to the police, and if need be, an attorney. I’d complete the details by day’s end.

An unexpected call from Kathy

Shortly after noon, the phone rang. It was a call from my sister, Kathy.

I recall she sounded upbeat, saying we hadn’t spoken in a while, and she just wanted to chat and see how we were doing. It was not something she did often, but just occasionally — maybe once every year or two. Even though distracted with the issues I was facing, I began sharing information about us as a family in general.

I recall the very next thing she asked was how the kids were doing. Although I did not want to share much detail about my David’s situation, I began with talking about how my daughter Emily was doing. Eventually, I segued to my son, saying …
continue reading…