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.
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| My Gramma Bernice and the love of her life, Grampa Jimmy. |
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.
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| I have very few pictures from my wedding, but this one I cherish with all my heart. |
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."
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Love,
Wendy
xo
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