The Real Fairy Tale

Every girl knows the story line to follow, we don't even have to read from the cue cards we know how the perfect fairy tale unfolds; boy meets girl, they fall in love, get married and live happily ever after.   Sure I was the little girl who grew up on the farm, who more often than not was found covered from head to toe in mud, but I read those books and if I had only them to rely on to judge how I'm doing at this thing called life I'd be royally boned today.  See I got to watch a fairy tale unfold right before my very eyes, one more powerful, meaningful and real than any Princess who found her Prince Charming (who was clearly a necrophiliac and into running around kissing non-responsive women.  I really do wonder how that fairy tale ended, did he only get off if she "pretended" to be asleep?).

Before I continue this story I need to apologize to the lady who told it to me, she lived this experience and dealt with harsh judgment and probably a lot of shame.  When she told me this story she asked me not to talk to other people about this and I have respected that until now, I am not telling this story to place judgment on any of the people involved, I wasn't there.  All I can say is that I'm sorry Gramma I love you so much and miss you every day, but I need to tell your story so that I can heal this part inside of me that is hurting so much right now and to find the hope and strength I need to carry on and I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me, wherever you are.

My Gramma and I were best of friends, she was always so kind and loving - quick with a joke and she had the cutest mischievious grin ever.  I was so socially awkward growing up, I didn't have a lot of friends and I had a Dad who drank - this woman she made me feel so loved and she lived close to me too.  I spent a lot of time with her as a teenager, I'd drop in after school to talk to her when I went away to college we wrote back and forth and called all the time.  They were comfortable, but never rich by any means but she gave me a gift no money could ever buy, the gift of herself.  We had real conversations, I could talk to her about anything and I got to ask questions and ask about her life...this story is pieced from those conversations.

My Gramma Bernice and the love
 of her life, Grampa Jimmy.

She grew up with like a million (okay, probably 10 or 11) brothers and sisters and with that many kids they didn't have a whole lot of money but the way she talked about her parents I got the picture that where there wasn't an abundance in "things" there was in love.  She only attended grade school and then she worked at a store at some point and then she met my Grampa Jimmy.  I don't know all the details of this other than they had a relationship of some sort that he was her childhood sweetheart and then somewhere along the line they had a fight and broke up.  (I don't know all the details because although I appear to be perfectly fine with asking inappropriate questions - just ask my friend Leah who had to field questions as to whether the Church was okay with nuns masturbating - but even I have limits when it comes to those kind of details with grandparents).  Anyway she then met and married this other man and had my two older uncles and my Mom.  I never met this man, he's not my grampa.  He wasn't a nice man, he drank, spent all his pay on booze and then came home mean and violent.  They would have to run to get away from him into the ditch.  But this was the 50's (ish) and there was no supports in place then for battered women.  To have known my Gramma, this beautiful soul, the tiniest woman ever and to think of anyone laying hands on her or scaring her makes me physically ill - and not just because I know that experience all too well myself.

Then somewhere along the line my Grampa Jimmy came back into the picture and they got together.  Don't ask me the details of when or how, I don't know - and honestly, I don't care.  She divorced my Mom's Dad and married my Grampa and together they had two more boys - but he was a Dad to those three other kids from day one.  And again, I wasn't there - and I know there was a lot of hurt and anger on some sides but all I know is that my Grampa was one of the best men I have ever had the privilege to know.  He always had perfectly coiffed hair, he used this cream to smooth it back and he had a well trimmed beard - he was a quiet man but then he'd slide these great zingers in, he had a wonderful sense of humour.  When I was a little girl I would run and get the comb so I could sit on his lap and comb his mustache.  For a little girl whose father barely acknowledged her you don't understand how much that meant to me.  You can't even begin to imagine how hard it is to type when you're crying this hard.

They weren't the storybook perfect couple, my Gram swore like a sailor and because of her stomach issues (or so she said) she did have some flatulence issues which would piss my proper Grandfather off to no end.  He always said she did it on purpose... and her story probably would have rang true if she had wiped the damned shit eating grin off of her face.  I never once heard them raise their voices to each other, yeah they fought, but it was respectful fighting and there was no ill-intent there.  One of the best memories I ever have when I was in high school and we had this big bonfire and my Grampa put his arm around my Gramma and pulled her close - my parents aren't affectionate like that with each other - seeing their intimacy and how loving they were with each other - it still touches my heart.  Of course once when he was drunk he grabbed her boob and she was always goosing him, but they had romance too.  Are you really shocked?  It's my family! :)

I was in high school (the mid-90's) when my Gramma had a heart attack, I was there when it happened.  She threw up again and again and she was in such pain, laying on the bathroom floor and my uncle had to call the ambulance.  My Grampa never left her side, not once.  He went to the hospital every day, helped her to recover...held her hand.  He was her rock.  She recovered, thank God...and I remember us laughing about the book they sent home with her about having sex after a heart attack.   I was never more grateful in my life than when she came home and I knew that she was going to be okay.  It nearly tore my heart out watching her in that bathroom in so much pain, and I couldn't help her.

In the late 90's my Grampa was diagnosed with bowel cancer and it was my Gram's turn to become the rock - she never left his side either.  He had treatment and he was so sick...this vital, strong man just sat on that green chair in the living room or laid on the couch...the morphine making him so sick and pale.  Although he still found it in him to make fun of my car.  I was so proud, I had a Barney-purple Geo Metro, I drove it up close to the house so my grandparents could see it.  He got his can and looked out the door for a few minutes, said nothing.  Then out of the blue he says "it's small, has it been sick?"  Fucker.  lol.

He died when I was away on a work trip to Vancouver.  I didn't get to say goodbye.  I didn't get to tell him I loved him and how much he meant to me and when I walked into the funeral home and saw him laid out in that casket I cried like I never have in my whole life.  And my Mom, the woman who was never a hugger came over to me and folded me in her arms and I wept.

The night of the wake I asked Gram if I could stay over with her and she said yes.  I remember we were getting ready for bed, they had a waterbed and a wall with carpet on it - wow, the things I remember..anyway we both just got settled and we were talking for a little bit about Grampa, the wake and how much we both missed him.  Then there was silence.  I looked over at her and said "Gramma, did you fart?"  Thank God it was a motionless mattress because she quite literally shook with laughter, we both had tears in our eyes from laughing so hard.

She never married again, or dated... she was still in love with him and really I still always felt his presence in that house, sitting in the green chair.

Some time in the early 2000's Gramma got diagnosed with Colitis, she was really sick could eat barely anything without it ending in some sort of explosion.  Still, she had the best sense of humour ever, we could always make each other laugh.  She's always come into my parent's house and grab the leaves of this plant by the door and literally maul it and ask if it was real....my Mom was like "yes, ya bitch, stop wrecking it."  Man she would laugh.

I have very few pictures from my wedding, but
this one I cherish with all my heart. 

When I got married a friend gave me beanie baby bride and groom bears - my Gramma collected beanie babies and I helped her to find some to add to her collection.  Anyway, we went to a family potluck and I brought the beanie babies to show Gramma.  Oh how she fawned over them, I packed them away and didn't think about it again.  Well two weeks later in the mail I got a package, in it were the two beanie babies with a note that said "don't you love us?"   Bitch.  So then Steve & I moved into our first apartment together in Bowmanville, she and Mom came to visit.  I took them for the very brief tour (it was tiny but beautiful and by the water and you could hear the train), we sat and chatted it was great.  Two weeks later again I get a package with the beanie babies in it - she had stolen them!  Well I fixed her little red wagon, at my wedding I bought another pair of identical beanie babies and enlisted the help of one of the groomsmen to help with the massive prank.  So at our head table we had all these flowers, candles, etc. and my set of the beanie babies...well at one point I removed them and hid them under the table and then our grooms man stood up and announced "someone stole  the beanie babies!" and then everyone from the head table looked at my Gramma.  She was mortified!  I laughed my ass off and then pulled out the other set and gave them to her.  lol....she took it like a champ.

SIDE NOTE:  An even better story of revenge around my wedding was that my Dad always used to say that I was the mail man's kid - the mail man being Perry Grandell who wasn't even the mail man when Mom was pregnant, but whatever.  He really wouldn't let it go, so I put an announcement in the local paper that said Perry Grandell and Gwen Gray (my Mom) along with William Gray are happy to announce the wedding of their daughter....  It caused quite the stir.  And go figure, Dad was pissed.  Tight assed bitch. Ha!

My Gram and I stayed close and I called her all the time, she was like my go-to person when something good happened, hearing her voice just made me happy.  I never really told her about the bad stuff, I don't know why - I guess I didn't want her to be disappointed in me and of all people she could have related the most.  I don't live in regret, but there are days that I wish I had reached out to her, but it's hard to reach out to anyone when you're busy punishing yourself I guess and I forgive myself for that...and I know she does too.

Not long after my wedding my Gramma got gall bladder cancer....with mets, well everywhere.  She died just before her birthday in July 2005.  I remember her laying in that bed, so damned little and in so much pain and I was so filled with anger that this woman, this beautiful, wonderful woman had to suffer so fucking much, I was rocked by the unfairness of it all.  She never complained, when I went to go see her in the hospital - she'd ask how I was what was going on in my life.  We still had real conversations, even in that hospital where she spent her last days. I told her I loved her every time I left, I hugged her when I saw her and I hugged her even tighter when I was leaving.  At then end when they called the family in I was the last one to arrive, everyone else had went in and said their goodbyes so I went in alone and I sat with her.  She wasn't conscious.  She looked so damned peaceful and even though she was in a room by herself the room felt full, and I knew she wasn't alone.  Think what you will, I don't have to defend myself but I saw little tiny pinpricks of light around her bed and whether they were angels or relatives who had already passed on who came to be with her, I felt at peace knowing she wasn't alone.  I held her hand, I told her I loved her and I hope that she heard me.

So what does this have to do with my story?  Why did I have to tell hers?  Because their story is all that gives me hope some days.  I have hope that there are men who love their women and don't yell and scream and hurt them and then call that love.  I have hope that there is a time for romance....sickness, love, everything, every wonderful, beautiful, painful part of this life still left to live.  And listening to this song I think what I got out of spending time with my Gramma in the hospital is that she didn't need me to make things better for her, she didn't need me to take away the pain (although I really, really wanted to more than anything), she needed for me to treat her like a person.  She needed me to make it okay to laugh, to cry, to hug....to just be.  And from the other side as someone who is going through this right now I get the perspective of maybe not knowing what to say.  The other lesson I have learned is that I can't live my life wrapped up so much in my own pain that I escape and live in my head because I miss out on all the wonderful people in my life and being there for them - and that's not okay with me.  I can't escape from life.  I'm handing in my title, I don't want to be the Queen of the great escape anymore.

I have been vulnerable and scared in my life and before I used being overweight as my shield, to make people not want to be near me - and now, now when the pain feels so overwhelming and like my body is betraying me that feeling of being vulnerable and scared has increased tenfold because I feel like I couldn't protect myself.  I need to remember, I'm not in that place anymore.  I'm safe.  I have beautiful, wonderful friends who love me so much, I've never had a greater outpouring of love and that's what I need to immerse myself in, the love - not the pain.  How can I not be living my very own fairy tale?  I have friends who are throwing me a farewell to my uterus party and sure it would be cool if the uterus-shaped cake Amie was making me had strawberry jam in it so that it exploded when I cut into it - but her way is good too.

I think Pink says it best:  "I'm terrified of the dark, but not if you go with me."

















Love,
Wendy
xo

My pen is a razor and I have been bleeding...Anthony Beal

We accept the love we think we deserve. --Stephen Chbosky

I've given this quite a bit of thought, and I'd say in excavating my past relationships that this has been the problem all along.  I thought I had done a lot of work around this in the past year and a half, made changes in how I felt about myself and what I deserved but there is still a hesitancy, not believing that I deserve good.  Even after agonizing and working up the courage to work towards things I want, I run away the minute there is a bump in the road - I interpret those bumps as an indication that I'm not enough, that no one would ever want me and that I am flawed beyond redemption.  

This has been what my mind has struggled with since weight loss surgery, I thought what I was fighting against was the half life of not being able to physically be a part of the world - well now I am and that hasn't fixed the core of the issue.  I have been so busy fighting fat, fighting cancer...fighting with myself - half in love, half in hate with myself and I realize that's the problem.  I'm fighting all the time but the fat - it's part of me.  The cancer - it's part of me too.  I'm not usually a stupid person but man I have been dumb as shit, I stopped losing weight right around the time I abandoned the promise I made to myself that I mattered and I would do everything to take care of myself and work towards health and happiness.  

I don't know why I thought my inability to salvage a marriage that was sick on so many levels was all my responsibility - but I thought it was, I thought I should have been able to fix it, fix him, fix me.  And it would have been our 11th wedding anniversary on April 6th and I miss him, not the bad times and the fighting and the anger, but I miss him.  He was the first man who ever loved me when I was massive and felt so ugly inside and out.  And now that so much has happened health-wise a lot of the bullshit has just been cleared and I realize I love him, he was the first man I ever loved and in my heart I will always love him.   

I have avoided writing about him, I told myself it was because I didn't want to bad mouth him, and that's true... but not the whole truth.  I think the real reason I haven't written about him is because it hurts so fucking much.  He was my best friend - and good or bad (and yes, there was a lot of bad) - and sometimes I still want to pick up the phone and tell him about my day.  I wanted it to be a good goodbye with him, in our marriage we had tons of time for blame and I didn't want our divorce to be about that.  I realize now that I have done myself a disservice by not writing about him, he is part of me - I carry him with me and to not honor that and work through the pain has only added to the weight on my shoulders - and today I let that go, it's not mine to carry anymore.  I don't need to to bad mouth him, I don't need to excavate the past and lay it out for the world to see.  I've found peace with him and I can honestly say that I will always be happy that he was in my life and at his heart he is a good man, his intentions are so pure but like me he just didn't have the skills to make a relationship work: communication, self-worth...I could go on but there is no point.  All that matters is that I wish the best for him, love for himself, romance, happiness and health and I know he wishes that for me too.  So today I raise a glass to "Steve & Wendy" and I will be sad, just a little but the devastation, the guilt and blame, it's gone.  

One day there will be romance in my life, I know now I will not always be alone.  I still come with flaws and scars, but they are beautiful and so am I and for the person who is worthy of my love and trust well we will build a life on mutual respect and support.  

This song, it means a lot to me...and I dedicate to Steve & I to the love we shared and the love that is still to come in both our lives.