My Grandma
Last month marked the 19th year since my Grandma died. I don't know exactly what day. I only know that we had the funeral and my little sister Angie was born the day after.
So, sometime before March 23, 1988.
I still remember her. I idolized her. With her over the top blue eye make up, with her mole in the middle of her back (I inherited that mole), and her permed hair.
She always seemed so strong. I KNEW that she was taking care of everything even if my mom couldn't. Mom and I lived with her for a little while when I was younger. I don't necessarily remember living with her. I remember her little dog, Smoky. (I'll get you and your little dog too! hee hee)
I remember how she extended her eye liner out to look like cat eyes. Any time I see some young person wearing their make up like that I think about my grandma.
I remember how she always took baths. She didn't like the water on her face from the shower. Which seems strange to me now, seeing as how she always seemed so much larger than life.
Yet even she was scared of something.
I remember sharing the bath with her a few times. I must have been small to fit the both of us in there. I loved those times. Hanging out with my grandma, and she'd have me wash her back, and how I was always worried that I was going to knock her mole off. It always looked like it was barely hanging on to her back.
My mole is more attached and that's good. I'd hate to be permanently worried that my mole will come off.
I used to lay in her backyard in the sun and doze off. I remember the heat through my jeans. Any time I'm really cold or especially crampy, I always wish I could find the sweet spot where the sun perfectly warms everything. My legs, my butt, everything.
I have pictures of her backyard. Sadly, I do not have pictures of her.
I remember all the hospital visits later. I don't remember ever thinking..wow, Grandma looks really sick. I only remember her being the same, always.
I have no idea when they caught the cancer. I remember she had a fatalistic approach to it. Or maybe it was a realistic approach.
I got the feeling that she didn't expect anything to save her. She smoked right up to the day she died of lung cancer. I think I expected her to win, to be bigger than cancer.
I vaguely remember her having to be on oxygen. After awhile it just became a fact of life. We were going to go to the hospital as much as possible. We went out trick or treating for Halloween and came back to the hospital afterwards. They x-rayed our candy for us, which was amusing.
I don't remember my Grandma being sick for that long, but I guess from Halloween until March, that's almost half a year. And it wasn't anything new when we went in Halloween, so she had to have been sick for awhile.
This, in turn, gave my mother her own phobia. My grandma actually died while in the hospital. I think my mom is determined that the hospital will kill you. She doesn't like doctors anymore and only goes under great duress.
Even after death, my Grandma tried to take care of us. She left the house to all her kids. Sure, there were 5 of them, but they could have worked something out. Had something to fall back on. They sold the house, my favorite house, and I'm still pissed about that. They sold real estate. They sold the only thing our white trash family has ever owned.
The house that my grandma lived in.
I don't know much beyond that. Maybe they had house payments they couldn't make? I don't know, but I was so mad that they sold Grandma's house. It just seems like they've slid backward. Not a one owns a house.
Lately, I've realized that the rest of my family, the people who I thought were so much better than my own mother, was really just the same. My mother took a more destructive path, but most of my aunts and uncles did much of the same things. Really fucked up their kids. My cousin has been blogging lately, and his parents, the ones who I thought were the best, don't really take care of them. I don't know when that started happening. I knew them as young children and I always thought my aunt was totally cool and really good with them. They all went on bike rides and she'd stay up and play Monopoly with me. He's the oldest and now all he talks about is how he has to take care of his little brothers. How his parents aren't going to. How they used to stay up, get high all night, and keep him up, even when he had school the next morning.
Some of you may think that I'm a hypocrite, but that is really wrong of them. You don't do that to a kid. I may not be perfect. I may do things I shouldn't, but I don't keep my kid up. I don't expose him directly to anything stupid I might do. I remember how I always knew that my mom got high, I remember being scared in class when they taught us about DARE. I remember thinking they were going to take my mom away. Derek will never have to go through that. He seems so normal and well adjusted, and I really hope he is. I really hope that I don't miss the mark and screw him up some other way.
One of my other cousins tried to commit suicide. Again, his mom seemed so normal. But maybe it was just him. Maybe he was just screwed up?
Another cousin who found me on Myspace has two kids already. He's only 20. Dropped out of high school, and very much acknowledges that his mom is pretty hopeless and that without his kids, he would be too. There's no saving ANY OF OUR PARENTS, and it hurts my heart. What I don't know is why.
My mother didn't talk about growing up much. I have such fond memories of my Grandma, and I don't really get how she raised so many really fucked up children. What the hell happened that they all ended up this way? Was it more the era? Was it because that's what you did? You just did drugs, any drugs? The only things I know about my mother's upbringing was a story about how she ran away, and the things my stepfather would tell me when he was trying to discredit my mom. Which he did a lot.
Not just physical abuse here people, you get mental abuse too! Two for the price of one! (not really. It "costs" so much in the long run.)
My stepfather told me that they were home alone a lot. My Grandma worked, and they were old enough. He alluded to some sexual things, but never went into detail.
Abuse is a cycle. Everything in our past says that my mother was abused somehow. I don't know how. It bothers me. Did my Grandma let something happen to her?
It makes me wonder if my mom stayed home with us so that she could be different than her mom. So she could take care of us. Much as I take most examples of my mom's parenting and go to the extreme opposite. She worked at one point when I was really young. I remember hanging out with Mike (stepfather) while she worked and I also remember that day she came home and we were taking a bath. I thought it was all innocent, but I remember feeling bad after she freaked out. Even though I had to be younger than school age, I still felt guilty. I didn't know then that his bath taking with me would turn into more and more inappropriate things and I didn't know then that I DIDN'T HAVE TO FEEL GUILTY, that none of it was my fault. Some days I still don't remember that it's not my fault.
Then she never worked. And I'll tell you this, I had a lot of scorn for her for not working. Like she wasn't taking care of us, she was only sleeping with someone who would make enough money for us to live. But then he would threaten to take that money away, so it really gave her no power. I have to wonder if she gave up that power for US?
Maybe she thought she was doing right? I mean...she's my mom and I KNOW that she'll permanently be justifying anything and everything she's done, but maybe everything that I thought she did selfishly was really an attempt to be a better parent.
If her mom wasn't a good parent, and my mom wasn't either, do we get progressively better? Or worse cause we're farther and farther away from any good parenting that might have come in down the line?
Am I better off for distancing myself from them? Did I finally break the cycle by getting away from all the crazy people? These are questions that will probably never be answered. Not until my kid is older and has his own kid. Not until I know if I raised him well. If I hit that delicate balance between being too strict and not being strict enough.
And I'll never really know why my relatives are the way they are. Not unless someone could tell me. Someone who is completely unbiased about it. And none of them will be.
Adding in to all my thought process and my cousin's stories, we've been give blue ribbons to wear at work for the month. To stop child abuse was what I was told.
But that's a whole other post. This is already long enough.
So, sometime before March 23, 1988.
I still remember her. I idolized her. With her over the top blue eye make up, with her mole in the middle of her back (I inherited that mole), and her permed hair.
She always seemed so strong. I KNEW that she was taking care of everything even if my mom couldn't. Mom and I lived with her for a little while when I was younger. I don't necessarily remember living with her. I remember her little dog, Smoky. (I'll get you and your little dog too! hee hee)
I remember how she extended her eye liner out to look like cat eyes. Any time I see some young person wearing their make up like that I think about my grandma.
I remember how she always took baths. She didn't like the water on her face from the shower. Which seems strange to me now, seeing as how she always seemed so much larger than life.
Yet even she was scared of something.
I remember sharing the bath with her a few times. I must have been small to fit the both of us in there. I loved those times. Hanging out with my grandma, and she'd have me wash her back, and how I was always worried that I was going to knock her mole off. It always looked like it was barely hanging on to her back.
My mole is more attached and that's good. I'd hate to be permanently worried that my mole will come off.
I used to lay in her backyard in the sun and doze off. I remember the heat through my jeans. Any time I'm really cold or especially crampy, I always wish I could find the sweet spot where the sun perfectly warms everything. My legs, my butt, everything.
I have pictures of her backyard. Sadly, I do not have pictures of her.
I remember all the hospital visits later. I don't remember ever thinking..wow, Grandma looks really sick. I only remember her being the same, always.
I have no idea when they caught the cancer. I remember she had a fatalistic approach to it. Or maybe it was a realistic approach.
I got the feeling that she didn't expect anything to save her. She smoked right up to the day she died of lung cancer. I think I expected her to win, to be bigger than cancer.
I vaguely remember her having to be on oxygen. After awhile it just became a fact of life. We were going to go to the hospital as much as possible. We went out trick or treating for Halloween and came back to the hospital afterwards. They x-rayed our candy for us, which was amusing.
I don't remember my Grandma being sick for that long, but I guess from Halloween until March, that's almost half a year. And it wasn't anything new when we went in Halloween, so she had to have been sick for awhile.
This, in turn, gave my mother her own phobia. My grandma actually died while in the hospital. I think my mom is determined that the hospital will kill you. She doesn't like doctors anymore and only goes under great duress.
Even after death, my Grandma tried to take care of us. She left the house to all her kids. Sure, there were 5 of them, but they could have worked something out. Had something to fall back on. They sold the house, my favorite house, and I'm still pissed about that. They sold real estate. They sold the only thing our white trash family has ever owned.
The house that my grandma lived in.
I don't know much beyond that. Maybe they had house payments they couldn't make? I don't know, but I was so mad that they sold Grandma's house. It just seems like they've slid backward. Not a one owns a house.
Lately, I've realized that the rest of my family, the people who I thought were so much better than my own mother, was really just the same. My mother took a more destructive path, but most of my aunts and uncles did much of the same things. Really fucked up their kids. My cousin has been blogging lately, and his parents, the ones who I thought were the best, don't really take care of them. I don't know when that started happening. I knew them as young children and I always thought my aunt was totally cool and really good with them. They all went on bike rides and she'd stay up and play Monopoly with me. He's the oldest and now all he talks about is how he has to take care of his little brothers. How his parents aren't going to. How they used to stay up, get high all night, and keep him up, even when he had school the next morning.
Some of you may think that I'm a hypocrite, but that is really wrong of them. You don't do that to a kid. I may not be perfect. I may do things I shouldn't, but I don't keep my kid up. I don't expose him directly to anything stupid I might do. I remember how I always knew that my mom got high, I remember being scared in class when they taught us about DARE. I remember thinking they were going to take my mom away. Derek will never have to go through that. He seems so normal and well adjusted, and I really hope he is. I really hope that I don't miss the mark and screw him up some other way.
One of my other cousins tried to commit suicide. Again, his mom seemed so normal. But maybe it was just him. Maybe he was just screwed up?
Another cousin who found me on Myspace has two kids already. He's only 20. Dropped out of high school, and very much acknowledges that his mom is pretty hopeless and that without his kids, he would be too. There's no saving ANY OF OUR PARENTS, and it hurts my heart. What I don't know is why.
My mother didn't talk about growing up much. I have such fond memories of my Grandma, and I don't really get how she raised so many really fucked up children. What the hell happened that they all ended up this way? Was it more the era? Was it because that's what you did? You just did drugs, any drugs? The only things I know about my mother's upbringing was a story about how she ran away, and the things my stepfather would tell me when he was trying to discredit my mom. Which he did a lot.
Not just physical abuse here people, you get mental abuse too! Two for the price of one! (not really. It "costs" so much in the long run.)
My stepfather told me that they were home alone a lot. My Grandma worked, and they were old enough. He alluded to some sexual things, but never went into detail.
Abuse is a cycle. Everything in our past says that my mother was abused somehow. I don't know how. It bothers me. Did my Grandma let something happen to her?
It makes me wonder if my mom stayed home with us so that she could be different than her mom. So she could take care of us. Much as I take most examples of my mom's parenting and go to the extreme opposite. She worked at one point when I was really young. I remember hanging out with Mike (stepfather) while she worked and I also remember that day she came home and we were taking a bath. I thought it was all innocent, but I remember feeling bad after she freaked out. Even though I had to be younger than school age, I still felt guilty. I didn't know then that his bath taking with me would turn into more and more inappropriate things and I didn't know then that I DIDN'T HAVE TO FEEL GUILTY, that none of it was my fault. Some days I still don't remember that it's not my fault.
Then she never worked. And I'll tell you this, I had a lot of scorn for her for not working. Like she wasn't taking care of us, she was only sleeping with someone who would make enough money for us to live. But then he would threaten to take that money away, so it really gave her no power. I have to wonder if she gave up that power for US?
Maybe she thought she was doing right? I mean...she's my mom and I KNOW that she'll permanently be justifying anything and everything she's done, but maybe everything that I thought she did selfishly was really an attempt to be a better parent.
If her mom wasn't a good parent, and my mom wasn't either, do we get progressively better? Or worse cause we're farther and farther away from any good parenting that might have come in down the line?
Am I better off for distancing myself from them? Did I finally break the cycle by getting away from all the crazy people? These are questions that will probably never be answered. Not until my kid is older and has his own kid. Not until I know if I raised him well. If I hit that delicate balance between being too strict and not being strict enough.
And I'll never really know why my relatives are the way they are. Not unless someone could tell me. Someone who is completely unbiased about it. And none of them will be.
Adding in to all my thought process and my cousin's stories, we've been give blue ribbons to wear at work for the month. To stop child abuse was what I was told.
But that's a whole other post. This is already long enough.
Comments
Mina hated me for moving us here, and she'll probably continue to hate me for deciding to be with Aaron. But hopefully, one day she'll have kids and realize that sometimes you have to make decisions for their welfare that are for the best even though they don't understand it.
Some day she will be glad that I made the choice to settle down with someone who is stable and loves us and will take care of us rather than continue to be independent and poverty stricken and feel guilty for never having enough time or money for her.
I hope so much that they do grow up and go...oh! I get it.
While my mom wasn't necessarily parent of the year, some stuff I understand a lot more than when I was younger. Just having a kid made me go...hell, she didn't know what she was doing. I was the first one, and you don't know how you'll react until you are in a situation with your child. I can justify some other things that I thought were so mean at the time. They did hurt my feelings, but I don't think she meant it that way. She just didn't think it out before she'd say something.
I took a parenting class @ the pregnancy house and basically, they told me to stand firm, and get eye contact with your child.
Not a whole lot to go on, but I passed that class. LOL.
I think time is the most important thing you can give your child. I mean, stability is good too, but time. Time means so much. And they grow up so fast.
Anyhow. Thanks for the compliment! I gotta go, I'm getting all verklempt. (who knows how to spell that word?)