My eyeballs living is a #1 priority
Looks like my parents are getting a divorce. Mom already worked out a payment plan with the lawyers.
it kind of makes me hate e-mail. I found this out about an hour after I got into work and checked my mail. All I could really do is sit there and digest that. I'm an adult with my own life, and it's still kind of traumatizing. I guess I figured they'd just always be fighting and dysfunctional forever. Like some sort of constant in the universe. And she's talked about it before, but she's always gone back to being complacent and not wanting to change the status quo. When you have like 90 things changing at once, it's like the bulldozer coming in with a big jagged shovel and upheaving your life, then dumping it by the wayside.
My grandfather's also getting surgery on his heart in about 3 weeks, which he has a 90% chance of living though. Which means we're all going back to helping my grandmother full time. It's just too much for my family to do, and my mother's sibilings are really shitty about pitching in. They just figure my mom'll do everything because she has 5 kids, and hey, we dont have ANYTHING else going on in our lives other than watching Nana. Basically, THEIR lives are so much more important than OUR lives. I was hoping once the damned house was gone, we wouldn't have to deal with those assholes any more. Sadly, that this is not to be.
I stop over for half an hour several days a week. As many as I can spair. But I work full time and go to school full time. There arn't enough hours in the day to do all the things I have on my plate, and usually it's school that's been taking the ax as of late. I'm just so overwelmed and they don't care. I know there's a lot going on for everybody, but her family doesn't even try to be considerate of each other. They just try to dump everything on someone else, and usually that ends up being mom.
If they're both still around at Christmas, I'd kind of like nana and grandpap to come over my house. It'd be a challenge to get nana in and out, but we could do it. I know it's going to be weird having dad over if he and mom have called it quits. But this may be my last chance for the rest of my life to have everyone together and pretend like we're a normal fucking family.
I have the red tablecloth nana used to fold over and lay across her buffet table. I remember the fried honey dough balls (with little sprinke dots. That was the secret ingrediant. and love) the homemmade brownies. My grandfather made the brownies one year in that brown cast iron pot they had, and I remember him mixing and mixing by hand because he has to do everything the hard way. And the sour cream. I was so freaked out that he was putting sour cream in it, and I was certain he was ruining it, because grandpap never cooked anything, and he was adding *gasp* sour cream to it.
I remember the chocolate chip cookies we used to mix in a spaghetti pot. There'd be batches and batches and batches... we'd fill tins and plastic bins with them. There'd be chocolate chip cookies for ages. And have a million pies. That's where mom got her pie obsession from. Probably also where nana got her diabetes from. I remember nana's wilted vinigary salad made in the orange/mother of pearl colored bowl that I now have. All the old christmas lights and ornaments, many of which I now have... seeing my cousins...the ham was always dry somehow.
I don't know. I know you can never EVER go back. I just want real happy memories to hold on to. We broke the ape with the bananna bank. Without the money in it (Yeah, aunt linda, I know you took all that cash--you should have given it to grandpap, you know he needs it), it tipped over the first time it was bumped, and the face smashed right on the fire place.
Everything's leaving me. It's not about things, it's about people and memories, and bla bla bla... but those things trigger memories. I guess I just want one last chance to remember my grandparents the way I remember them from when I was a kid. My grandmother was sharp as a tack, and she was always willing to play cards with me, or play with my playdough. My grandfather was always trying to teach me math, writing long lists of numbers on the backs of junk mail. I don't want to remember them with their frailties in body and mind. I don't want to remember them with all the baggage that's built up over the years in regards to my grandfather's anger and stubbornness, or my grandmother's complacency.
I want to remember all the times we sat on her front porch in the summer rain, smelling the musty sidewalks as it came down. I want to remember the time Heather and I decided to start digging in the tar with which they'd just cured a telephone pole, and how my grandfather hadn't even made a big deal when he took us down in the basement and cleaned us up. I was waiting for yelling and screaming, and all I got was a little teasing about being a slob, and "Madem Filth."
It's just that now... those more recent memories are so much more present. It's where they ended up, at the end of their journey. Not all the happy parts, somewhere in the middle, where I came in. That was so long ago, and I'm starting to forget. The stuff helps me remember. One nice holiday would help me remember. But I know I'll just be disappointed when someone marches off from the table, or my granfather starts screaming at someone or belittling my dad.
I just need something to look forward to. Maybe more than I need something to look back on.