The Muse Wears a Shoulder Holster in Detroit City

I am often haunted by the suspicion that the same older cousin who once showed me a radio script he wrote -- and thus taught me that people like me that I actually knew could write stuff worth reading -- is the same cousin doing time in the Michigan prison system for murder. I would like to believe that my memory is wrong about this. But I doubt it is.

In fact, I have several cousins who are either doing time or have done time for murder. One of them is dead; the others are still in prison as far as I know. They are all people with whom I grew up. People I considered surrogate siblings. I find it difficult to talk about this aspect of my family without sounding like Michael Corleone talking to Kay Adams about his family. Granted, I would like to think I'm a long way from being a Michael Corleone. None of my relatives are members of organized crime as far as I know and I certainly don't aspire to live the gangster lifestyle. But I do have relatives in prison and I am continually haunted by the notion that it is only by the grace of God and a few lucky breaks on my part that I never ended up there myself. I don't aspire to break the law -- though I would be a fool to deny that there were times when I was tempted. And while I consider myself smart -- well, the cousins who went to prison weren't exactly dumb either.

It would be nice to blame their sins on society but then I would have to ask myself why society did not push relatives of mine who grew up in similar circumstances to do the same thing that they did. Moreover, I don't believe that it's all that useful to society to forever use it as an alibi for the sins that one chose to commit. And I certainly don't believe that it's useful to me.

The last few times I went to the hospital, I stopped breathing while under observation. By all rights I should be dead right now but the hospital staff managed to revive me and get me breathing again. And yet despite my many health problems, I managed to outlive my younger sister and my best friend -- both people who seemed sure to outlive me. As a result, I often feel a bad case of survivor's guilt -- especially around the winter holidays.

And yet it could be worse. I could be in a prison cell. I could have blood on my hands because I took another person's life. I could feel the guilt that comes with making a very bad choice that could never be undone.

Then again guilty people don't always feel guilty. One of the cousins I mentioned above was notorious for never taking responsibility for the life he took. As far as he was concerned, she was just some lady who got in the way. Who should have minded her own business. Who did not understand that it was none of her business whether or not he took a loaded rifle over to his ex-wife's house...

I really wish I didn't have stories like that swimming around in my head. And I wish to God they weren't true. However, they are true. And they'll probably be swimming around in my head till the day I die.