Damn straight she did. And we will.
Why is it that my grown daughter feels it is ok to ignore my phone calls? I know cell phones are invasive, and that you dont HAVE to answer them, but its her mother for God’s sake, wouldnt you think she’d pick up just to make sure everything is ok????? When she calls me, I answer. When her dad calls, 99% of the time, she answers. When I call? its a 50/50 chance she will pick up. Seriously.
In the morning I will think again of my grandbabies. How will I face them. How can I speak of hope and peace and dreams and goals when we have let this man be elected President. I ache for our country, but especially for our grandbabies…
with this cell phone, tablet, facebook filled world is it makes you have the expectation that you can get ahold of someone all the time. And then, when you cant, when you have exhausted all the wonders of technology and they dont pick up, text back or respond to an IM,,, your head goes to the worst place. Ridiculous. Only to be cured by a ringing phone.
Tonight I went to my son’s house and spent some time, just talking with my granddaughter. We have seven grandchildren, blessings all, and I am fortunate that I get to see them each week, they have grown up surrounded by grammy and pop’s arms.
Tonight I needed some time with Ava. It was a horrible day. The air hung heavy with the killings of two black men, a friend of mine was arrested for a horrendous crime…..I felt dizzy and dark and so so sad.
But Ava and I went out and played with the fairy garden for a bit. and then we went up to her room and looked in her treasure box and talked about life, and disney world and summer camp. and nothing. just talked about nothing. And I was so happy that her world is still full of enough light that she can just do that. Spin in her chair, make fun of my singing, and hug me with those wonderful little arms when I have to leave.
Thanking God tonight for my babies. Praying that we can find a way to change this path our society seems to be running down.
mom is in the Assisted Living home. She has a sweet little apartment, complete with refrigerator and microwave, coffee pot and toaster. And most of her beautiful stuff, her antique desk and her grandmother’s rocker were the first pieces of furniture we brought in. I had them all set up before she came into her room. It made her smile, and I like to think, gave her a sense of home.
I am left to clean up the mess that was her home. whenever you walked into moms it was dark. Since I was a child she avoided turning on lights in the house. her home always looked neat and tidy. When we began to ready her move and I had to open drawers and cupboards I found out that she has kept every piece of paper to enter that house since dad died over 5 years ago, along with a multitude of bills etc. from when he was alive. And, among these bills, checks, receipts and contracts, I found no less than 15 letters and notes where she detailed a variety of wrongs my brother and I had done to her. Hateful notes full of self pity and accusations of neglect and anger. Not one, not ONE of them spoke of her great grandchildren, or her grandchildren. Of visits to dads grave, or shopping trips or Christmas meals. None of them spoke of her sorrow at dads passing or her memories of their past together. Each was a scathing hit at one of us, or dad. She kept one from 1956 that she wrote to dad, a private note between a young wife and her husband, full of hatred and threats. And they were scattered throughout her troves of papers. You couldn’t miss them, and, for all except one dated October 2012 and the one written to my father, you couldn’t tell when they were written. And even if now she doesn’t remember they are there — if her fog is that deep— when she wrote them, when she placed them in with these papers, she knew we would find them . She wrote them to cause us pain. We were meant to find them after she died, when we couldn’t confront them or her, when we couldn’t question her or dispute. She wrote them to cause us pain. What a pitiful, angry life.
And a lesson for me to surround myself in gratitude and joy and let the anger and pain roll off. It is just cruel to cause pain to those who love you — and to do it when it is too late for them to make it right.
that I am part of the “sandwich” generation. However, right now I am about out of peanut butter and this whole “caretaker” roll is getting stale. So self involved, I know, but, I’m exhausted.
I stayed home from work today. Appears I have vertigo — leaving me nauseous and dizzy and wobbly….around noon I received a rambling text from a former student. not just any student, this kid was in my class for 6 years — middle school and high school. talented, empathetic, stubborn, ridiculously beautiful, easily led.
She floundered junior and senior year. her mom got sick, her friends ran wild and she ran with them. Barely graduated, barely. Thinking back, they did her no favors pushing her on and through. she may have benefited from another year of structure.
But it was not to be. She graduated. straight into drug use, abuse, addiction. went to jail, to rehab, to halfway houses, to rehab…..struggled. got in touch with me when she was clean and then would disappear for months.
Until, around 3 years ago “momma rock, I’m pregnant…hes a great guy, in treatment too, we understand each other…” struggled to stay clean in pregnancy, failed. Baby daddy disappeared. Baby born addicted to heroin, 3 weeks in a locked ward in the hospital, then sent home with mom — no requirement for treatment or followup required.
For the past 2 years she has been in and out of touch. mom and I speak fairly regularly. She asks me to touch base every once in a while, says Kelli feels a bond with me. Mom has custody of the baby, beautiful 2 year old Kenna.
So, today I get a text. Asking me to find her a shelter. Asking me to forgive her, asking me for money. I sent her the centralized intake number for shelter. Told her she never had to ask me to forgive her anything, but that I could not give her money. She typed ” I understand” and not another word.
I contacted mom and told her of our conversation, she thanked me for giving her the number and said, she too didn’t know if kelli was clean or using and that she understood why i didn’t offer cash.
I wish I had offered to take her shopping. I wish I had been able to drive her to a shelter. I wish heroin had not gotten ahold, so many years ago, of such a beautiful, innocent soul.
a rough day. Professionally. You try and try, you work and work….and find yourself attacked. It hurts, it angers, it makes you wonder if it is worth it at all….