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Jennifer E. Thomas
...... .:::.:.:

It's almost like there are these periods where our relationship is smooth and steady, and then there are times when it's like standing on the edge of this gorgeous, wonderful waterfall and just letting yourself drop, knowing that there's a safe pool of water ready to catch you at bottom. You take the plunge and you're in wayyyy over your head, but oh man, it's exhilarating, it's breathtaking, it's just incredible and you feel better than you ever have before and the water is cool and refreshing and exactly what you needed.

Sam is my waterfall.

- LJ entry from 8/2005


Every Human Has Rights

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December 2017
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Jennifer E. Thomas [userpic]

My cousin Joe called me today to update me on Grammy, and also called my sister, because, you know, it's the cousin's job to notify family members, not the mother. One terse email to my sister from that hatefilled woman, and no further information whatsoever. Here's hoping she's an anomoly as far as the long lived genes in the family go. One less hateful, spiteful, incapable of loving anybody -
even herself - person in the world would be a good thing.

Anyways, Joe tells me that Grammy went in because she was unable to walk. She's been discharged to a nursing/rehab facility, where Joe tells me the plan is to get her walking again. I'm doubtful as to how successful this will be - she's 91 years old.

Joe went in the ambulance with Grammy to the nursing facility, and he said she's still a howl. She was cracking jokes about checking the patient roster the minute she arrived in order to see if any of her old boyfriends are there.

But Joe also said she seemed scared, and he was glad that he decided to skip out on work and be with her for the move. He said that whenever she lost sight of him during the transportation process, she would call out "Jody, are you still there?" in a nervous voice.

I am so not used to the idea of that amazing, confident, brash woman being nervous and frightened.

Oh Grammy. I wish I could be there for you.

Tags: ,
Borderline symptom of the day: anxiousanxious

Holding Grammy in my thoughts...

Your family stays in my prayers.

The worst of this is what's dredging up here. Somebody's climbing the slippery ladder of inference and I'm inclined to say that it's Mom. She was the one who informed me that Grammy was in the hospital, not J or S. And I had forwarded the email to you because I had noted that your address wasn't on it. I got to the hospital before her, yes. But I bumped into Auntie Sue in the lobby and she was the one who filled me in on the information about Grammy, not the staff, and certainly not Gram. In fact, Mom had traveled in with Sue, so clearly Mom had been informed before me, and yet hadn't forwarded any info at all. Drama much?

I can't take this anymore and I'm thinking of dismantling my journal and taking it elsewhere where I can post furniture and design stuff without having to look over my shoulders wondering if something might be taken out of context.

It's unfortunate that Mom needs to find problems with us in order to fuel her justification of creating drama. She's always been like this. Remember the Thanksgiving she just showed up at the door, demanding to take us with her? No warning, no phone call beforehand. She pops up on a holiday, yelling, you running into the bedroom, saying that you didn't want to go, and me...leaving with her to keep the peace. It didn't have to be that way, but she created the situation. And for what it's worth, she goes on and on about Deb keeping us from her? Your childhood therapist was the one to suggest that you not see Mom because you'd get all crazy about visits, either going to, or returning from. Mom either doesn't remember, or has conveniently edited that from the story. Why? Because it makes a better problem than having you child's therapist telling the father to keep the child from seeing the mother while the child was in treatment. I'm not defending the Putnam Center for their treatment plan, but when presented with the situation, as well as the input from the professionals, Dad made the decision to go with them. Only he buckled a bit. Deb was the only one who stayed the course.

I don't like dredging this stuff up because I think it's best to move forward, get on with our lives and work with what we have. My entire childhood was spent watching what other people were doing in this situation. The entire focus was always on you, your troubles, and what might happen to you when you grew up. Everything that was done for you at that point was done out of concern for you, not in effort to ruin you, or deny you a healthy life. I was jealous, and hated how people doted on you, how you got to be the one who could swear, act out, and allowed to misbehave. But looking back on it, it was probably better for me in the long run. Being "overlooked" probably allowed me to end up where I am today.

Please, you've got to divest yourself of this. You can't change Mom, but you can change the impact she has on your life. Don't give her anymore fuel or material for that stupid "hate file" she's started (okay, I'm guilty. I went to her journal today). But as she's filling her pages with empty rhetoric, she might want to reflect on this: you were the one to maintain contact with her over the years. You were the one to initiate contact after Dad passed away, a time when I had absolutely no desire to be in the same room with her, after her not helping you and not coming to the hospital (oddly, when she describes the bothers with your relationship, she never, ever mentions that tiny elephant in the room). So if we're talking about forgiving and who's the one who can truly love, I would say that would have to be you. Think on it: if someone in your life, circle of friends, or family member, crushed you as badly as that, you'd probably strike them out of your heart and mind, wouldn't you?

I don't remember the Thanksgiving.

I do remember the Christmas that I was eleven, when I came home from her house (that was the year I lived with her), and went downstairs on Christmas morning and all of my belongings were on the porch.

And I remember, and still have, the letter she wrote to Dad about how insane I was and how she feared for her, Paul, and Kurt's lives while I lived with them.

And how she used to call me, regularly, during that year, a "Bad Seed", referencing the film of that name, about a little homicidal girl. And she wasn't joking. She called me that every time she started raving.

I remember a lot, and I can't understand why the hell I kept in touch with her for so many years.

I can't do it any more. She's never loved her kids, except possibly Kurt, although she fell down on the job with him, too, but she's got him effectively whipped enough that he can't see it, I guess. It's hard to love anybody else when you are so busy hating yourself, though.

My issues with Debbie notwithstanding, yes, she was the one who stood strong about the Putnam Center's treatment plan.

And Janice would do well to remember that my time at the Putnam Center began BEFORE Debbie. With Mama Anne. Janice keeps blaming Debbie for everything wrong between us and her, but I needed a psychologist at least a year before there was a Debbie on the horizon.

To all intents and purposes, I am truly an orphan, now. So be it.

Edited at 2008-02-24 08:18 pm (UTC)