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shadeaux63
Keeper of dreams
Posts: 840
(9/1/04 1:34 am)
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What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
In this area,I'm just going to be throwing around some old memories,things that have happened to me in my life-good,bad,boring,weird,whatever.
I'm gonna warn ya now,this area is definitely ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!You may find out things you just didn't want to know.![0]](http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/alien.gif)
I'm totally serious,do you really want to find out that I was a juvenile stripper?I was! I got my ass beat all the way through the house,when I was 5 years old for taking off my bikini outside,in front of Bradley,the kid who lived across the street.I did it in the front yard,too,in front of ALL the neighbors,in broad daylight.And to make it even worse,my mother beat my ass in the front door,past the baptist minister,and his wife,who were visiting,through the living room,and all the way to my bedroom,STILL NAKED.Ask HC,she was there.Of course,if you ask her,she may tell you about the times I chased her with crawdads,or the dead snake,in the baggie,and I wont repeat the diary stories here.
I did have a rather strange childhood,though.I was a tomboy,but I was also extremely sheltered.I was "THE BABY".I put that in caps because that's all I ever heard as an excuse.She can't do this,because she's "THE BABY"."I don't want her going because she's "THE BABY",and she might get hurt." I didn't learn to swim,because my mother put off her own fear of water on me,and wouldn't allow me to learn to swim,because she was afraid I would drown.She caught my sister and a neighbor trying to teach me to ride a bike(and I almost had it),and yelled,scaring me half to death,and I've never been back on one since.I never learned to roller skate,either,because I might get hurt.
So,I compensated,I ran and played in the field next to our house.I caught my first snake there.It turned out to be a copperhead.I was 4 years old,and it was longer than I was tall,so it drug the ground.When I came running up to the house with it,my half blind,great-uncle was outside pulling weeds.He saw what I had,and went so pale it was a miracle he didnt pass out.He took the garden hoe,and knocked it out of my hand,and chopped it into about a million peices.I was crushed.He killed my snake.I didn't realize it would have gladly killed me first.or maybe not,there was no way I was handling it properly,and by all rights,it should have been able to easily get away from me,but it didn't.Maybe it sensed I was no threat.I don't know.But that garden hoe sure was.I got my ass beat that day,too.I got my ass beat a lot.
I developed a deep love of animals though.All animals.I would watch spiders build webs for hours in that field.And I would watch birds.I would gather up the tallest grass(which was way taller than I was),and tie it at the top,to form a sort of teepee,with a small entrance,and just enough room inside for me,and maybe one friend,if she could come out with me that day.Sometimes we just sat and watched squirrels in the trees,or rabbits running around.Sometimes we watched bugs.When I would get home,my grandmother would ask me where I had been,and I would tell her "in the field."and leave it at that.Everyone thought I was wierd.
There were some people in my family who actually thought I should have been put in a mental institution.That's no lie.I had one uncle in particular who tried to convince my mother I needed to be committed.Uncle Joe.Boy was he a good one to talk. Emotionally crippled, verbally, and physically abusive, alcoholic, yet I needed to be committed.His reasoning was that I didn't take any shit from anyone,and in his eyes,children were to be seen and not heard.I questioned authority(NO!not ME?),and I was only 3 or 4 years old at the time.I had the nerve to stand up for myself.Mom was a single parent,who felt that us kids needed a male influence,so if we got in trouble(we didnt need a male influence when we were being good,only when we were in trouble),she would call Uncle Joe.He resented the hell out of it.I can't say I blame him,but he should have said"Look Joyce,I'm not coming,spank em yourself this time"But,I think he enjoyed the spanking part.Well, he would show up,and I would protest,loudly.Actually,I would put my head down,and charge,like a bull,and attack.I guess I figured if he was coming after me,I was at least getting in one good lick first.
Mom finally stopped calling on Uncle Joe when I turned 11.She had no choice,really.She called him one day,and he came over to "visit".I was in the kitchen,getting ready to fix myself some lunch.My report card had just come out,and I had gotten a bad grade,which was the reason for the "visit".He was ranting about "damn kids not paying attention",and I was ignoring him,paying attention, instead, to my lunch.He yells out,"Are you listening to me?"and I say,"I didn't know you were talking to me,I thought you were talking to Mom."That did it.He called me a smart-ass,and got up to come after me.I ran into the living room,and out the front door,around the house,and back in the kitchen door.I tripped over my moms foot,and landed in a heap,next to the stove.He was right on my tail.And he had his hand raised back in a fist.So I raised mine-in a fist.I clenched my teeth,and got ready for the fight of my life.I told him,through my clenched teeth,"You lay one hand on me,and I'll kill you." And He and I just stared into each others eyes for a minute.He knew I was serious.I was fed up,and wasn't going to take it anymore.He finally backed down,and left the house.He and I have barely spoken since-only when we've had to.I won't attend his funeral when he dies,I may send a congratulations card to his children.His widow-to-be can bite my ass,she's a thief.She stole my grandmothers silverware from me,when my grandmother died.Not that I harbor an true ill will, I no longer care about the silverware.But I hate being lied to.When I asked if anyone knew where the silverware was,she sat right next to me,and said"I don't know,I think it's a SHAME that it disappeared the way it did."The following Christmas was held at her house,and when we arrived,(angelic music plays)LO AND BEHOLD-there it was,right on top of her hutch.The least she could have done,was hide it, so I wouldn't SEE that she was a lyin ho.I was so dumbfounded,I didn't even know what to say.I stayed to myself most of the night that year.I could hear my grandmothers voice,saying"Don't worry about it,she'll get hers one day."It was like she was rubbing my face in it.That's ok,though,I have memories of being a kid,and sitting there,polishing th at silverware,and having my grandmother tell me what a good job I was doing.She has no memories of that,only memories of how she got that silverware-by taking it,knowing it was supposed to go to someone else.I wonder if she will pass that memory along to her own children?
Not all of my childhood memories are bad ones.I'll think of some good ones tomorrow,I promise.
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shadeaux63
Keeper of dreams
Posts: 849
(9/2/04 2:08 am)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
When I was born,my sister was 6,and my brother was 4.Laurie was so excited to have a little sister.Boy,she didn't know what she was in for.Jerry,my brother,on the other hand,was the type who would have preferred a puppy.
From day one,he decided I sucked.he would come into my room,climb up on the edge of the crib,punch me in the stomach,and run.I would start screaming bloody murder,and Laurie would come in to comfort her poor baby sister.Well, by the time mom would get there,all she would see was Laurie standing over a crying baby.So,of course,in her eyes,Laurie MUST have been the one to make me cry,so guess who got punished?No wonder Jerry grew up to be a Republican,he figured out early on how to get others to take the blame for his screw-ups.
In a lot of ways,I was lucky.My father wasn't in the picture(long story),so my mom was living with her parents,who also had thier great uncle living there.Uncle Ollie had been in WWI,and had lost most of his eyesight in a barracks fire.He had married once,but his young wife had died early on,and he never remarried,or had any children.He never talked about her,either.Every earthly possession the man had was in one suitcase.He lived to help his family,and he dearly loved us kids.He taught us how to tell time,on his old pocket watch.He taught us how to tie our shoelaces.And he taught us how to play checkers.We loved him as much as he loved us.Come Christmas time,we never knew what to get him,we always wanted to get him something special,but he never wanted anything.We always ended up getting him a carton of Kools,or a bottle of Old Spice.He got some kind of military pension,and Social Security,but since he never had any expenses,he would always sign the check over to our grandmother,and tell her to use the money on us kids,for our school clothes,or for Christmas,whatever we needed.When I was 11,or 12,I dont remember which,he seemed more frail than normal.He made a couple of trips to the doctor,but never talked about it,and said he was ok.The next thing we knew,he was gone.It turns out,he had prostate cancer,but he never told any of us,because he didnt want to worry anyone.That was just the way he was.We were all shocked that he was gone,but a part of me was happy for him,that he was finally able to be with his wife again,after all those years.I don't even know her name,only that she must have been very special.
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Gaia Angel 
ezOP
Posts: 1959
(9/2/04 5:17 am)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
shad....dont stop this thread....of love the insight into you and your past!
thank you so much for sharing that part of yourself
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shadeaux63
Keeper of dreams
Posts: 851
(9/2/04 11:26 am)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
It's very cathartic to write about this stuff.This is something I've thought about doing for a long time,if for no other reason,than to gain a little insight into myself.I'm sure a few of my memories may be one-sided,and I hope that if I get anyhting wrong,my sis will not mind stepping in and helping me out.For instance,I found out a little while back that I had forgotten the date that my mother died.For years,I've thought it was Sept.26,same as my youngest sons birthday.But when I mentioned this to my sis one day,she told me that,no,I was wrong.I dont remember the date she told me,I think Sept.29th.My memory is just that bad.I DO remember the events that led up to her death.That was such a rough time on the whole family.I swear,I think it was harder on any of us,than it was on her.I guess now is a good time to talk about my mom,huh?
Mom never had a very lucky life.She always swore it was because she was born on Friday the 13th.She also tried to say she wasn't superstitious.Like I said earlier,I was the last of her kids,THE BABY.I also wasn't exactly wanted.She loved me,don't get me wrong.But I've always known that part of the reason I was as spoiled,and as sheltered as I was,was because she felt guilty that she really didn't want me,when she found out I was coming.My father was NOT the best of people,and I will not go into why.Just rest assured,that he wasn't.She left him before she knew I was on the way.She did remarry briefly,after her divorce from my father,but that didn't last long.I barely remember the guy.
When I was about 4 years old,Mom started having some health problems.I'm sure they started before then,but that's when she started needing to see the doctor a lot,and I remember her having to go to the emergency room a few times.She had a lot of pain,mostly in her knees,hips and hands,at that time.The tests and X-rays showed that she had rheumatoid arthritis.She was in her early 20's.
I don't have a lot of memories of mom,really.She used to take us to country music shows,Best of Grand Ole Opry type shows.I remember those pretty well.But mostly,I remember her getting dressed to go to work,coming home too tired to do much of anything,laying on the couch,and crying from the pain.She tried not to let us see her cry,but I always seemed to walk in on her.And I always got yelled at.She got worse as I got older.Her hands started to deform,from calcium deposits.Her knees got so bad it was hard for her to walk.She started to get calcium deposits on her toes,as well.That was rough,because she worked as a bookkeeper,and prided herself on her appearance.After a while,she began needing to wear her houseshoes to work,because she couldn't stand the pressure of shoes on her feet.Her boss didn't mind,but there was a woman in the office who made fun of her for it.Eventually she quit that job,because of that woman.She went to work for Kraft foods,doing some work correcting computer errors(back in the day when computers took up rooms).Kraft loved her,she was extrememly efficient at what she did.But she couldn't hold out long,as she had just continued to get worse.It wasn't long before she had to retire,and go on disability.Back then,if your doctor said you were disabled,the government believed them,and you got approved in months.
Oh,I almost forgot to add,moms doctor was a quack.She was raised to believe that he was the one who went to medical school,so he must know what he was doing,and she trusted him.Boy was that trust misplaced.He had her on all kinds of drugs,some experimental.Sometimes he had her coming in for different injections.Once, he was giving her injections of gold salts.She used to joke that she had a 14 karat ass.For quite a while,she was taking something like,over 60-some odd pills a day.That was while she was still working.Once,she was on her way home,and she started feeling dizzy.She pulled over,and tried to flag down someone to help her.I remember her saying several cops passed her,and they wouldn't stop-no one would stop.She began to throw up what looked like coffee grounds.Then it became redder.Finally,a police officer stopped,and called an ambulance.They had to rush her into emergency surgery to remove over half of her stomach,for gastric ulcers.They don't know how she survived,she had lost so much blood.The surgeon told her it was because of all the meds she was taking,some of them should not have been given together with some of the other ones she was on,and her doctor should have known that.She continued to go to the quack,still had faith in him.
Mom didn't have a lot of patience with us kids.People with chronic pain usually don't.I definitely understand that now.When you hurt,it's hard to deal with squabbles,and squeals.She would cuss at us,and yell a lot.We sometimes thought she hated us,and there were times we actually felt like she deserved the pain she had.We didn't know any better,any more than she knew how bad she made us feel with the things she said to us.The pain was talking-not our mom.
For a while,when she was still working,we lived in a trailer,right next door to our grandmother(my grandfather died when I was 4),in a trailer park.Mom had a boyfriend who used to come over quite a bit.I loved that.I spent a good part of my time grounded,and when he would come over,they would be sitting on the couch,and I would sit in the chair,right across from the couch,and just stare at them.Eventually,mom would say,"Why don't you go outside and play?"I would look at her like my heart was broken,and say,"But I'm grounded."She would look at her boyfriend,sigh,and say,"Just go."And out the door I went,smiling all the way.Yep, I was evil.Too bad she found out the guys divorce wasn't final.She had a thing against dating married men,and to her,until the divorce was final,he was married.she dumped him like a hot potato,and refused to have anything else to do with him-ever again.Unfortunately,she tried to teach us that just because she had one of the worlds worst track records with men,that there was no such thing as a decent one,so we may as well give up on ever finding one.All men were scum,in her eyes.Mom was a prude at home,but she had a wild streak that she hid quite well from us.Like,it never occurred to us to do the math,and figure out that if she was 21 when I was born,and my sister is 6 years older I am......Hmmmm,or that when I was a year old,and mom wasn't married,and living with her parents,I ate a whole bottle of birth control pills,why on earth did she need those?Hmmmmm......
But,anyway,when I was 10,or 11,I think,my sister got married.Mom was livid.But it was kinda her own fault.Laurie was dating someone mom didn't like.Our grandmother,Nana,told mom,"'You need to tell that girl,either you marry him,or you don't see him until you graduate high school."So,mom told her that.And she married him.Mom told Nana,through her tears,"I swear to God,momma,that's the last time I ever listen to you."
Mom was in and out of hospitals,and had so many surguries,she joked about how they should just install a zipper,to make it easier.Right around the time Laurie got engaged,Mom was in the hospital again.I should explain something real quick here.Mom hated rodents.Any kind of rodents.She felt they were ALL disease carriers,and deserved to die.Ok,that said,while she was in the hospital,once,I went out and bought a pet mouse.I had no cage,and no money for one.Mice cost a quarter,so I got one-period.I took two boxes,and connected them with a paper towel roll tube.I named my new baby Ralph(coincidence,huh?),and I loved him dearly.He never did try to get out of that box,even though he could have chewed out of it in about 2 minutes flat.I kept it on the kitchen floor,too.One day,the paper towel roll tube somehow got disconnected from the box,and he got out.Mom was still in the hospital,and I just knew I was dead meat.my grandmother was gonna kill me,and if she didnt,mom would.Mom was coming home a few days later,and I couldn't find Ralph anywhere.I was heartbroken,and scared to death.I came home from school a couple of days later,and there was mom,sitting in her recliner,in the living room.The second I walked in the door,she said"Sherry,come here,I want to talk to you."Oh hell, here we go."Your Nana tells me you have a new pet?"Oh,God help me."I understand he's pretty special to you?"yeah,but we're gonna set traps all over the house till the little shit's caught."I just want you to know,if anything happens to him,and we don't find him,I'll get you another one."WHAT??????????WHERE'S MY REAL MOM,WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HER?????
He was missing for a couple of weeks,when one day,I was in the kitchen,and saw a flash of white scurry behind the stove.I moved the stove,and there he was.He let me pick him right up,didn't try to run,or anything.The tip of his tail was all black.Something had crushed it,and it was rotting.I had to take a pair of nail clippers and cut off the dead part.He sat there and let me.He never flinched.Mom used to watch me play with him,watched how he gave me kisses,and how wonderful he was.Imagine how shocked I was when one evening she,out of the blue,says,"Hey Sherry,can I hold him?"OMG!! Did MY mother just ask to hold a MOUSE?????yep,and she kissed him,too.And she commented on how soft he was.I almost cried.My mom was developing a tolerance for something she never could stand.Maybe this was why I later learned that that was possible-to get over prejudice,and learn to love what you thought you hated.Was it prophetic that that little mouses name was Ralph?
Ralph died the day before Christmas Eve that year.Our neighbor had a brat,er,I mean kid,who she brought over with her to see us.He went in the kitchen(I wasn't home,or I would have killed him),and got Ralph out of his box.She yelled at him to "put that dirty-ass thing back."So he stood in the kitchen doorway,and he threw poor Ralph clear across the kitchen(about 12 feet).Ralph hit the wall,and slid down into his box.When I got home,mom told me I better go see how he was.He was laying on his side,breathing hard.His ears,and tail were blue.He was dying,from internal bleeding.I walked around for hours,holding him,and praying he would get better.My Uncle Bob came over to set up our Christmas tree,and seeing me carrying around this little mouse,asked what was wrong.Mom told him what was going on,and the asshole said"Hell, don't waste him,give him to me,I'll take him home to Cinnamon."(Cinnamon was his Siamese cat).I was only like 11,but I looked at him,and yelled"YOU BASTARD!!GET OUT OF MY HOUSE,AND DONT COME BACK.",and I ran out into the back yard.I later heard that he looked at my mom and asked what he had done wrong(duh),and why she had let me talk to him like that.She told him,"Bob,you deserved that.That's no way to joke with a child who's watching her first real pet die."She told him he should apologize,which he never has done.
I'll come back and write more later.The hands are killing me,and so is the rear end.
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shadeaux63
Keeper of dreams
Posts: 858
(9/3/04 1:44 pm)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
A few months after Laurie was married,she got pregnant with Iris.Mom was pretty excited about being a grandma,but she still didn't like her son-in-law.She tried so hard to get Laurie to move back back home.She even promised to send her to college.Of course,I'm not the only one in the family with a stubborn streak,and Laurie turned her down.But she did accept the offer to come and stay with us for a few days after the baby was born,so we could help her out.
I thought it was SO COOL that I was an AUNT at the ripe old age of 12.I couldn't wait to get my grubby little hands on her.More about Aunt Sherry,and Baby Iris later.This is supposed to be about mom,right now.
Sometime right around the time all this was happening, Mom realized she was dying.She had recently gotten home from another hospital stay,and was laying on the couch.Everyone else was doing whatever it was they were doing.Nana was in the kitchen,I was across the street at my friends house,and I don't know where my brother was.Next thing I know,I'm being called to come home.Mom wants to see everyone.She said she had seen God.She described being in the presence of a being of light,with the most beautiful face she had ever seen.(I now believe it was her spirit guide,in a form she would find comforting).She said he told her she still had a purpose,but it would soon be done,and he would be back for her in a year.It was intensely eerie,to say the least.Even the family preacher,who you would think would jump on something like this,started asking her if maybe she had been sleeping,or if it could have been the medication.This angered her,she told him she knew what she had seen,and if she could shout it from the rooftops,she would.That humbled him a bit,since it was straight from the bible.
We moved that Summer to an apartment.I made some new friends,started smoking pot,worried everyone nearly to death,and generally became a pain in the ass.My brother,who had decided to take Uncle Joes place as my disciplinarian,even though he was only 4 years older than I was,had taken up driving the year before,so he was rarely around.that was a good thing,because it seemed like when he WAS around,we were fighting.And I mean, knock-down-drag-out fights.
One night,I came home from a friends house,and I was higher than a kite.By this time,Mom was very weak,and we had moved her bed into the living room,because she could no longer sit up.She called me over to her bed,and asked me,"Honey,is there anything you want to talk about?"I couldn't look her in the eye,because I knew that if I did,she would see.She would see that not only was I high,I knew she would understand that,but that I was upset.I knew she was going,and soon.I did not want to talk about her dying,with her.I wish now that I had.I told her "no",and I walked away.
The next day was my 13th birthday.My grandmother had gotten me a record player(shows how old I am,huh?),and my friends had chipped in and bought me Aerosmith Rocks.I was in my room listening to it,on my new record player,through my headphones,and I had it cranked up as loud as I could.The next thing I know,my brother is dragging me towards the hall,and hitting me.He had me down on the floor,and he began choking me.He was yelling,but to this day,I have no clue what he was saying.All I could hear was the rush of blood though my own ears,and my own screams.I thought he had gone insane,and was going to kill me.My grandmother was finally able to pull him off of me,and I found out that my mom had gone into convulsions.My grandmother had called me,and because I hadn't come running,Jerry got pissed,and that's when he came back and did what he did.Nana had to leave mom,to come back and save me from my brother.
When they got her to the hospital,her doctor told my grandmother there was nothing he could do,she was dying,and since she had made her request known that she did not want to die in the hospital,he could make the arrangements for an ambulance to bring her home.She hung on for over a week.
On the day she died,I knew something was up,I didn't feel "right" about anything I did.I didnt feel right about being home,I didnt feel right about being away from home.Finally,one of my neighbors suggested I spend the night with her daughter.Her daughter and I weren't really "friends",but we got along ok,so I said yes.That evening,her and I were on the phone with a boy from school,she was on the bedroom extension,and I was in the living room.I sighed and said,"Mom's gone." Timmy laughed and Gina said"don't joke like that." I told her to look out the window,and tell me I was joking.The coroners car was out there.
After the coroner pulled away,Laurie came and got me.I answered the door,and she was standing there,crying,and told me Mom was gone.I told her I knew,and went home with her.
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irisgoddess
Moderator
Posts: 179
(9/5/04 7:07 am)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
I was so little then and I just wish I could have been a little older so I could remember her. I am always told she love me so very much.
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shadeaux63
Keeper of dreams
Posts: 866
(9/5/04 9:16 am)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
Yes,she did.You were her little angel.It didn't matter how much she hurt,or how bad she felt,seeing you lit her up like a Christmas tree.She would hold you until she just couldn't any more.You always made her smile.Laurie and Robert would walk in the door,and she didn't have a word for them,it was "There's my baby,come see Mamaw."The rest of world could have gone to hell,as long as Mamaw had her baby.
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1hillclimber
Global User
Posts: 291
(9/17/04 10:58 pm)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
Yeah, Kiddo...it has definitely been a long, strange trip. And of course, it still is. AND, it will probably be, all the way til it's over. What can I say...it's genetic, right?
I know we lived it, but it's still really sad to read, just the same. And it seems a few lifetimes ago.
You only have just a few of your facts slightly bent, mostly concerning Uncle Ollie. For one thing, he did not lose his sight in a barracks fire. After all, he worked as a ditch digger after he got out of the army...gotta have your sight for that. He was involved in a cave-in, however, which is where he got his neck broke. Being the tough old guy that he was, he survived it, but I think that's why he was bent over in his old age.
Secondly, his wife was not young (and neither was he) when they married. He married Papaw's mother, and they became great drinking buddies (the three of them!). Papaw's father (Will Froman) had died of pneumonia when Papaw was young. His mother and Uncle Ollie married when he was a teenager. So, they were older and had no children together. I was always curious why he never talked much about her. I'm not sure when she died...she had "heart dropsy" which we know to be congestive heart failure due to diabetes.
I'll keep checking in to see how you're coming with the family chronicles, m'dear.
Love ya!
HC
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shadeaux63
Keeper of dreams
Posts: 916
(9/19/04 1:04 am)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
Thank you for the corrections.As far as family history goes,I'm completely going by what I was told. And we all know how facts sometimes didn't match the stories around our family.For instance,Uncle Ollie was the one who told me he was IN a barracks fire,but he never said anything else about it.Nana was the one who told me that's when he lost his sight in one eye,and it damaged the other.She was also the one who told me Uncle Ollies wife had been young when she died.I never knew it was Papaws mother.I also never knew he had been in a cave-in.Being the baby,I guess a lot of stuff was kept from me,for whatever reason.I'm glad you're reading over this to help correct it,though.I hate to get things wrong.
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shadeaux63
Keeper of dreams
Posts: 917
(9/19/04 7:48 am)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
After mom died,life was just kind of surreal for a while. We spent 3 days at the funeral home,greeting guests,some of whom were people mom had worked with,who had read her obituary,and felt a need to be there,plus all the friends and family.It was there,that we learned that the woman who had once made fun of mom for wearing her houseshoes to work,had developed the same crippling arthritis that mom had,and was having the same types of problems.That's one of the few things I can really remember in detail,about that period of time.We were no strangers to that funeral home,they had handled so many for our family,I'm surprised we never got a discount.
Funerals had become almost a social event in our family.We spent a lot of time in the lounge,drinking coffee,and even eating our meals there most of the time.Someone would go out for burgers,or coffee cake,or something,on a regular basis.My grandmother felt the need to be there early,and stay late,and I felt obligated to be there,as well.There were a few times one of my cousins and I would go for short walks,just to get out of there for a little while.It was driving me nuts hearing everyone talk about how pretty she looked.I could never understand how anyone could say that.She wasn't pretty,she was dead,and she looked dead.The funeral home had tried to make her look like she was sleeping,and I'm sorry,but they failed.That was my opinion on it,which I could not share with anyone.
Somehow,someone in the family decided to start telling people that at some point during that 3 days,I was getting high,while I was there,at the funeral home.That was such a lie.I never found out who started that,or I would have confronted them on it.It was also going around what cold,unfeeling little bitch I was,because I hadn't cried.I overheard one of my aunts talking to someone about that.She said she couldn't believe that anyone could be so unfeeling about thier own mother.I wanted to go off on her,but it shocked me so bad,I couldn't think of a thing to say.she couldn't have possibly understood,anyway.I can remember exactly how I felt at that time.It was such a mix of emotions,that it was hard to handle.We had known for so long that she was dying,I had prepared myself for it.I had watched her suffer for almost my entire life,at that point.I was relieved that she wasn't in pain anymore.I was sorry that I had never really gotten to know her-the real her,not the woman who hurt all the time.The only thing that really hurt,was knowing that if I ever needed her,she wasn't going to be there.But,I had been taught not to show my feelings,except anger,so I hid that pain.
When it came time,the day of the funeral,to walk past her casket for the last time,I bent down and kissed her forehead.That was when I shed a few tears,but I made sure no one saw it.I took a deep breath,and walked away.
The day after the funeral,I went back to school.I could have stayed home a few more days,but I just couldn't stand to do that,so I chose to go right back.I didn't want to bother my grandmother for an excuse note,so I clipped the obituary,and took it with me.My home room teacher had no idea how to handle it,or what to say.She knew already,because everyone in my neighborhood knew,and most of the kids around there were in my class.She just didn't know how she should deal with it.My class had pooled some money,and went out and bought me a houseplant,in a hanging planter.It was a sweet gesture,and made me feel a little more cared about.
At home,all I ever heard was,"Your poor mother". "Your poor mother would have loved this plant." "Your poor mother would want you to listen to me."Everything was "Your poor mother".I couldn't take it.I found moms old prescriptions in the medicine cabinet.Pain pills,and lots of them.I volunteered to help go through moms stuff,and help my grandmother decide what to do with it.The pills went to my room.So did moms bed,the same one she died on.Maybe it sounds wierd,but it gave me a lot of comfort sleeping on it.But my days were getting hard to deal with.So,I started taking those pills.They were all painkillers,and strong ones.Two weeks after she died,I took one before I left for school.It hadn't kicked in when I got to school,so I took another one.It wasn't long before I was so stoned I couldn't think.I couldn't even sit up straight.My friends took me to the office.I don't know what they told the secretary,but she asked me what was wrong,and I told her I was sick.She asked if I wanted her to call my grandmother,and I said no,and asked to lay down for a while.I didn't wake up until 4th period.When I walked into my 4th period science class,the teacher just looked at me and shook her head.I asked her what the kids had told her,and she told me,"They said you were wasted."Twenty minutes later,the counselor called me down to her office.She asked me to empty my pockets.I didn't have much choice,so I did.She told me she had sat with me for a long time,while I was sleeping.She said she almost called an ambulance,because I was showing signs of overdose,but she chose to wait,and see if I woke up on my own.She told me I had two choices,I could call my grandmother,or she could call the police.I called my grandmother.And of course,she just had to get the one person I hated most to bring her to get me-Uncle Joe,the same one I had to stand up to when I was 11.And of course,he couldn't resist running his damned mouth.The counselor had advised my grandmother to take me to the doctor.The whole way there,all he could do was run his mouth about how his kids would never do such a thing.His kids would never take drugs because they knew better.His kids knew how to behave,and follow rules.I almost told him he didn't know his kids very well then,but I knew he would have stopped the car,and I would have been done for.
My grandmother took me to the same doctor my mom used to see.The quack.The same guy I blamed for her death.He checked my vitals,and told my grandmother I should be in counseling.Next thing I know,she has me going to a drug counselor.I went once.He asked me what drugs I had taken,and why I had taken them.Then he asked me if I was a virgin.When I asked him what that had to do with anything,he told me I just needed to answer his questions.When I told him I didn't feel like anyone ever trusted me,he asked if my grandmother had any reason to not trust me.I told him no,and he said"Does she think you're having sex?"I told him he would have to ask her what she was thinking.He then asked me if I WAS having sex.I told him,"Look,that's none of your damn business,and I want to know why you keep asking about sex,when I came here because I was caught with drugs?" He changed the subject,then recommended that I go into group counseling,where I would be not only the youngest one there,but the only girl.I never went back.
From that point on,every time I did anything wrong,or said anything wrong,or had a mood swing,or was just tired because I hadn't slept,I was accused of taking drugs.AAnd of course,whenever Uncle Joe was around,it didn't matter what was going on,he would find a way to tie it to me being a "druggie".One day,in the middle of winter,my sinuses were acting up,and were burning.My grandmother always had the heat turned up so high in our house, that you could have made beef jerky on our countertops.I was rubbing the sides of my nose,and Nana asked what was wrong,so I told her my sinuses were burning.Uncle Joe,without skipping a beat,yelled,"That's what you get for putting drugs up there."I told him,"I might do a lot of things,but snortin aint one of em."He laughed and said"What a damn liar,then why is your nose burning?Huh? Nevermind,don't answer that,because whatever comes out of your god damn mouth is a lie anyway."And all my grandmother did was lower her head,and walk away.That's when I figured,"Fine,fuck it,if I'm gonna be accused,I might as well do what I'm being accused of.Up to that point,I had smoked a little pot,and had taken some of moms pills.After that,I didn't care what I did,short of shooting up.I was too afraid of needles for that.I just didn't care anymore.I figured if I died,at least I wouldn't have to listen to how horrible I was anymore.
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irisgoddess
Moderator
Posts: 193
(9/20/04 12:52 am)
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Re: What a long,strange trip it's been(and still is....)
well we all know what a screw up Uncle Joes kids were Shad and you know I had a hard time with him a few times too and I know I wanted to knock his head off his shoulders so I'm real surprised you didn't try ....or did you? The bad thing about our family is all but a few sucked ass in a big way and as far I know there were only 3 that were worth anything. That would be Nana and mamaw and aunt pat but I don't know that part of my family and that's by their choice not mine and it's their loss I got past the point of caring about them when i hit like 12 or so.... I love you and I'm glad you never hit the point that you took to much. Oh by the way I didn't forget 
Love you
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