Death Does NOT Become Her

Each life experience changes the things that lie within the deepest chambers of our hearts and the inner core of our souls. Among those experiences is the death of a person that you loved more than most. 

January 1, 2020, the clock struck the hour of "death" and the bad news was delivered. My brother was found dead in his bathtub. My mother was in her room on the second story, oblivious to the passing of her only son. 

Earlier that day, my brother's neighbors noticed a build-up of deliveries on his front porch, and the mail had started to accumulate. One of those neighbors decided to investigate the scene. He went up to the door, knocked, rang the bell, approached the side door and slider, but to no avail. The windows were locked, and nothing could be seen from the outside. 

The police were summoned. Upon arrival, they banged on the doors, yelled out, but no reply, no signs of life. They decided to force entry. The odor of death was in the air as they yelled out the word "police" and asked if anybody was home. There was no answer, only silence. They began their search. 

My brother was found dead in the bathtub on the first floor. In the interim, another officer had begun a search of the rooms in the upstairs. That officer was taken aback when he found my mother sitting there, in her room, watching TV.  She had not responded to the doorbell, the pounding, the noise of the forceful entry, and the officers shouting out. 

Mom was weak, confused, and later on it was determined she had not eaten for a number of days. The officers took my mother downstairs. There, on the first floor, in the tub, lay my brother's untouched body.  "Do you know this man?" asked the officer. She replied yes, that's my son. The officer asked her a second question, "Do you know he is dead?'  Her reply, "No, I didn't know." There was no reaction.

The officers asked my mother who they should call, but she didn't know. They put my frightened mom, a lady in her 80's, into the back seat of the squad car, keeping her safe. Suddenly, one of the officers at the scene remembered being in my brother's home for his oldest daughter's high school graduation party. So, of course, that daughter was contacted at 6PM in the evening to come to the home of her estranged, dead, father. 

My niece never bothered to contact me regarding my brother's death, nor was I asked to come for my mother. Instead, the dear niece contacted her mother, my divorced brother's ex-wife. They made an independent decision to take my mother to Sue Tedesco's home in Pittsburgh without notice. I did not receive a call, or even so much as a text. I was notified of the death at 9PM on January 1, 2020 by a person I will keep anonymous.

During the days that followed my brother's death, I called Sue Tedesco multiple times, leaving voicemail each time, and sent multiple text messages. She never replied. Finally, a call came from her daughter, my niece Christine Barzen, letting me know that her mother, Sue Tedesco, has been "too busy" to call me, and that my mother will be living with Sue Tedesco going forward. I was denied all visits and have only been permitted to speak with my mother twice since the passing of my brother.  I believe they pirated all of my mother's worldly goods. 

My brother's estranged family started removing things from the house immediately, a home where my mother also had goods. It is said that no will was found. However, there are at least three people who know that Sonny, my deceased brother, had a written will. It was never probated. Did the estranged family find it? Discard it? Burn it? 

My brother's house and land were to be given to the Veterans Administration. Worldly possessions were allocated to people other than his children, grandchildren, and ex-wife. I never saw the written will, but he did read it to me over the phone, and his final wishes were given to an estate attorney. His divorce attorney was contacted, but that firm did not handle the estate. The will was written after my brother's divorce became final.

This is not the end of the story. The saga is on-going. More shall be revealed in future blogs. 

TIME DOES NOT HEAL ALL WOUNDS

It is said that time heals all wounds. My wounds are not yet healed. Instead, they are still oozing. The bleeding hasn't stopped but it has slowed down. There are still nights when I close my eyes, I see my brother in that tub, my mother in that room, in the squad car and frightened, and there is no comfort. I dream that one day I'll be reunited with my mother.

To my readers: I vow to tell the truth in this and all matters. What you will be reading about my family will be factual.