The light in the family

I have this picture of Thanksgiving dinner, I was probably 16. Now everyone, other than me, in that picture has died.

Everyone has baggage. Alot of mine comes in the way of un-reconciled grief. One by one my family died off. I was left behind. There was a moment after my brother died that I was actually jealous. I was upset that my little brother got to find out what happens when you die before me. That is not to say I was or am suicidal. Its not about that. Its just a way of working out these feelings.

I want to tell you about the people who are in that picture. Tonight I am going to tell you about my grandma Nelson. She was a kooky sort of woman, but the good kind of kooky.

When she was younger she married a man and had two kids. The man she married literally turned out to be crazy. He was schizophrenic. He got committed. She got a divorce. So here she is in the 1950's two kids and a divorce under her belt. Then she met my grandpa. My grandpa had not started a family yet and took her and her kids in, even though to do so was concidered taboo. They got married and started a home and family together. Then they had my dad.

My grandpa died when I was in kindergarten. I don't remember much about him, but one things I have come to learn is that he may not have been a very nice man all of the time. He was abusive, more verbally than physically. After he died my grandma kept the house that they had got together. In the back yard there was a smaller house, we actually still to this day call it the little house, they built that house for my dad and mom to move into when they got married. So I literally grew up on the same property as my dad.

Eventually we moved away. My parents separated and my dad got custody of us kids. My dad was an alcoholic drug dealer. He left us alone alot. My grandma used to come around and buy us food, school clothes, shampoo. All of those things people take for granted. She made sure we were safe, but also in her own way enabled my dad to be absent.

Eventually a chance to buy a house on the same street as my grandmas house, which had belonged to my grandpas brother, came around. My grandma bought it and took over ownership. She called it my dads house and let us all move in. Looking back I think it was easier for her to be sure we were safe that close to her home. I know she did late night drive bys and such.

My dad was not good at paying bills and so it was very common for the power, water, phones and so on to be out. My dad being into drugs and such had alot of late night visitors. Some of those visitors were... creepy. One night at like 3AM I got tired of the creepy influx of people and I walked up the street to my grandmas house. I knocked on her door and asked her if I could spend the night. She let me in. I slept in my aunts old room. It still had alot of her things in it.

I never really left. Slowly I gathered my things from my dads house and one night turned into 4 years. After a year or two my grandma came into my room and gave me a key to the house. She never said a word, just handed me the key. There was an understanding in that moment. I was safe.

It was very hard to live with grandma. My dad and brother were so reckless, I was a good kid. Perfect attendance straight A's, no drugs, no alcohol... the most acting out I ever did was to insist on going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which my grandma was convinced made me a lesbian hahahahah. Because I respected her, in my own way, I did what she asked me to do. I never used the phrase "your not my mom" and I asked her permission to hangout with friends. She didn't allow me to hang out more than once a week for a long time. She felt it was excessive to do more. Eventually she trusted me and the people I hung out with enough to let me go.

She took out on me her anxieties about my brother and my dad. And I did the same to her. I said things to her in my teen years that it makes me blush to think about now. But once the rage passed we never spoke about those moments. There was an understanding, again, that I was safe.

My grandma gave me allowance, and even gave my friends rides to school. She was involved with my homework, all those things parents do. I took every moment of it for granted. She and I had sleeping issues. Sometimes we would sit up late at night and talk. She was a story teller. I guess I learned from her.

Then came the summer I turned 16. I moved to Washington state. I moved to my moms house. I called my grandma almost daily. I didn't realize how important she had been until I moved away. When I got to college I started buying silly cards and sending them to her for no reason. Just to say hello. I would imagine her face when she would sift through the pile of bills and find a special little letter from me. That felt important.

The first winter I was dating the man who would become my husband, I got this strange feeling it would be her last Christmas. I flew down and brought him with me. I put up an old fashioned Christmas. I wrapped a bunch of silly things and made cookies and everything. I suprised her with a real tree and a special dinner. She hadnt had a chance to really go Christmas shopping, but I made the holiday about her for once. My grandma opened tons of presents and had a wonderful time. It was nice.

I turned out to be correct about it being her last Christmas.

 One night I woke up at like 3 am and I decided in that moment I needed to move to California. It was an intense and impulsive feeling. A need. I woke my boyfriend and explained we had to go, or he could stay, but I was moving. I called my grandma, who wouldn't have normally been awake, to tell her I was coming down. The phone rang a couple times and she answered. To my surprise she was wide awake. I told her I wanted to come down and she told me she wished I had come down sooner. She had been trying to convince me for a long time to move back and I resisted. I lied about how happy I was to get her to drop the subject. Turns out she was very sick. She had been preparing to go in for a major heart surgery. She had wanted me to come down to help her recover, but had decided not to tell me about it because I seemed so happy and she didn't want to burden me with that sort of news. She told me to stay in school, to stay happy in my life. She also told me I was the light in the family. I was the reason we could all stick together all those years.

We had a long talk and I hung up. Three days later she went in for a triple heart bypass surgery. She never woke up. She fell into a coma that lasted 10 days, then her body gave out.

I drove down for the funeral. I refused to view the body. I remembered my grandma healthy and my last memories of her will always be of that last Christmas next to the fireplace, and of those imagined images of her checking the mail and receiving my cards.

My grandma was beloved by many. But my Aunt lied about when her funeral was. It was a terrible things to do. It caused alot of tension and I left town angry. It has been 10 years and I have only been back twice.

I miss my grandma. Sometimes I feel like I let her down. I never finished college. I dropped out due to depression not too long after she died. But over all I think she would be proud, I didn't turn out like my dad. I have integrity, and manners, and respect. I am who I am because she didn't give up on me. So now I choose not to give up on me either. So here is to a long journey!

(this story took place around 2002)