| 4/11/2006 |
I'M COMING HOME - Part 2
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Visitng my Grandparents isn't typically an issue. Though, lately, it stirs up a lot of emotions with me because of their age and their health. I've accepted the inevitable, but that doesn't mean I want it to happen any sooner.
The day went quite smoothly for the most part. My Grandmother had made a list of things that she wanted help with. Some tasks were rather mundane like helping her get boxes down from closet shelves, where she would need a step stool. In an organized effort to reduce the collected clutter of 80 years worth of belongings, she cleans. It's their intentions to move to a smaller place in the near future. So the more they go through now, the less there will be to do later.
As my Gradmother sifted through boxes I went to help my Grandfather with their vehicles. When it was all said and done, I'd hand-washed three vehicles (including my own) changed the oil in one, put oil in another, checked the fluid levels of most of them. Some of this stuff I've done on my own, but I'm 31 years old and I've never changed oil in a vehicle. It's never been an issue before. But with my grandfather's assistants I was under a vehicle and getting the job done.
When it was all over, I was sweaty, crusty, and had the grime of several engines on me. I went back inside where my Grandmother asked if I wanted to take a shower. "Look at me! I smell like car. I look like a hot mechanic! If I wasn't me I'd be all over me!" She didn't get the humor and simply handed me a towel.
The next task on her list of Things To Do, involed going over all the Important Documents that would need attention when one of them passes away. Now this has been something that I actively avoiding dealing with for quite a few years. I had no problem talking on the phone about any of it. Yet the realism of wills and burial arrangments and "in case of" plans sitting in front of me created a very surreal feeling.
What struck me as amusing was that since the last conversation about The Plans was that her Important Documents safe boxes has grown from one to five. Wow! Five boxes of stuff. I have nothing to compare all this too. So maybe five is tame compared to some people who have mounds and mounds of Important Documents to be dealt with.
In some of the boxes were costume jewlery and momentos of things she'd saved. Broaches and pins from various lodges and organziations she was a part of in her youth. Some letters of meaninglessness to anyone but her. As I sat there watching her go through each item, it was like watching a time machine transport her back to various ages. Each piece of jewelry usually had a story with it. Who gave it to her? Why was it important to keep? I was only half listening. The other half of me was writing this entry in my head. In a way this blog would become my safe box for which to store memories.
I was brought to full attention when she scoffed. I looked at her to see she was holding something in a small folded envelope.
ME: "What?"
HER: "You probably don't want to see."
ME: "What!? Is it a tooth? Did you seriously keep a tooth?!"
I don't know why that was the first thing I jumped to, but the absurdity of her keeping something like that didn't seem to far fetched.
What she pulled out was a simple, cheap, looking ring.
HER: "It was your Father's wedding ring when he was married to [my Mom]."
I scoffed back in response. I turned back to whatever I was day dreaming about before. Only now I was fighting off tears.
Tears!? Seriously... what is up with that? It's no secret that there has been bad blood between us. Yet here is a man who I care about as much it pains me to do so. She shows me a symobolic piece of metal from when he married my mother and I break down like Shelby has just died and I am M'Lynn is losing it at the cemetery. [Props to working a Steel Magnolias reference in to this.]
I'm not sure I could explain why I was crying. Even having thought about it for a while now, I'm drawing a blank.
It didn't stop there. As she continued going through these Important Document boxes she pulled out a large enveloped with typed events of what happend to me from when I was a newborn till I was about 8 years old. As part of hoping my Father would retain custody of me, my Grandmother urged him to keep a log of any contact my Mother had with me. Any positive or negatives events that happened.
She said again, that I probably wouldn't want to see these letters either. I told her I was feeling 'daring' and why not. Part of me has always had an idea of what took place. I guess part of me wants to know for sure if the memories in my head have been mutated by years. How accurate are they when compared to my Father's recollection of the events? I figured my Grandmother kept them for a reason. It almost seemed improper to NOT read them.
I could only skim the papers. First of all the smell of paper that has been sitting in a basement for over 20 years is not pleasant. Secondly, I was tearing up just HOLDING the papers. I wasn't about to break out into a full blown crying jag in front of her. I'd save that for my own apartment with a container of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough.
One of my earliest recollections is having pnuemonia when I was about 5 years old. I can remember the lights being really dim in my bedroom. My Grandmother and Great-Grandmother (who also lived with us) were sitting on the bed with me swapping out cold wash cloths and taking my temperature. It was intersting to read what lead up to being sick.
Obviously there is going to be bias becuase of who was doing the writing. I understand that. After having read the papers I don't think my view of either of my parents has changed. Reading them helped fill in a few gaps here and there. It even explained a few habits my Grandmother had in how she cared for me as a child and into adulthood.
Reading it, you can see the nervousness growing and I can pinpoint, almost to the day, I started biting my nails out of nervous habit. Which I'm sure is all fodder for The Couch someday. There was even a little information about relatives that I know I have, but have never really known. I have two uncles and two aunts on my mothers side. One of the uncles was in prison
My parents were young. Too young. A mother who wasn't ready and a father who didn't know what to do. I don't fault them for anything other than being careless. It's not like I can have any regrets about how things played out. If it wasn't for my past, I wouldn't be who I am today. And I like who I am, for the most part.
My Grandmother said I could do whatever I wanted to with the papers after I'd read them. I'll probably throw them away. I've read them. There is no point in holding on to them and continually re-reading them. Why do that to myself?
I'm glad I read them. I'm glad that I know.
There might be a Part 3 to all this... I haven't decided. I need to put some thoughts together overall and see what comes of it.
Thanks for reading. You're the cheapest therapist I could afford. ;-) And probably the nicest too! |
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I posted this @ 4/11/2006 12:47:00 PM.............Need a link?..........
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