Sacred Healing
One weekend I returned to Denver from Chicago and at that time Stapleton was the airport and the “family duplex” was not more than a five minute drive down MLK Blvd. My car was stored there, I knew my brother could stand me to be around at least for overnight so that was my first stop. Upon arrival it was clear from the cars parked outside this was typical Friday night and business was booming. To my surprise it was not my brother who answered his door, which was not locked normally but guarded by Teddy, my brother's well known Chow Chow, but a friend of his I knew from the past. On the floor perched against the wall in a dazed stupor was my brother in a condition I had never seen him in and other people in his home that I did not know. They all had to go immediately without a second thought of who they were they were served notice of eviction right then and there. He had went below rock bottom and was no longer in control of his senses, he was a user and not a dealer, non functional and invisible. The others had taken over his home his address like squatters taking over a vacant house today.
My parents were innocently ignorant to everything and could not fathom how someone could sell and use drugs with a job to buy them. I had a serious sit down in the living room talk with them using a two dinner plates, an ounce of sugar and an ounce of salt and gave them a lesson in cutting and distributing cocaine. It was a simple yet vivid and clear understanding how to find sources that will give you credit to start and provide and endless supply as long as payments are made on time. It did not go over well at all with my Mother who simply to accept it or hear anymore. My father sat in silence and sadness more than disgust or anger as he knew it was true but had for so long hoped it would go away. It was so far away from the farm that he grew up on that his mother and father tilled, so unimaginable even for a man of his worldly travels. When it was over I had the impression that they really did not appreciate me discussing what was true and there was a sense of denial. My mother could not understand why I could not help him more and my Father went silent.