May 1970: Reality, what a bitch, the worst week of my life.
It was May 18th 1970.
I go to the hospital to visit my mother.
My oldest sister meets me in the lobby, she is so upset she could not talk.
I understood what happened.
My mother had passed away.
Even though I knew she was sick and I knew that this day was coming, it was the worst day of my life.
I went back to the block and friends asked me how my mother was doing, but I could not say the words, so I said, she is okay.
May 20th 1970.
Still dealing with the sadness of the loss of my mother, and getting ready to go to the wake.
My brother comes in and tells me, I should sit down, he has something to tell me.
I say what the fuck can you tell me that is worse than what I am dealing with right now?
After I sit down he tells me that our grandmother has died.
May 21st 1970.
There was an old man that lived in the bar on the corner, that I was friends with.
He also died that week.
People say things come in 3s, this week, they did.
So after 3 wakes and 3 funerals and many tears, I am homeless.
Once my mother died, the apartment we were living in was no longer available, so me and my 2 older brothers were out in the street.
I was 16 years old, my brothers were 17 and 21.
My 3 sisters, 2 were already married and had children, the other went to live with the oldest.
I was working for the milkman, and he said I could stay with him and his family.
It turned out his family was a bunch of crazy people, so I got the hell out of there and went back to living on the street.
No one helped me, I was a prideful prick, if you offered me a hand, I would have slapped it away.