December 18th 08
I was just bending over the kitchen sink crying. Sobbing. I don’t want to turn on the radio and listen to cheery Christmas music, or go into stores and watch everybody spending money on gifts and stuff for the special foods they make every year. This year, the thought of opening the beautiful decorations I store in a box for 11 months, looking forward to hearing you say how much you like the bubble lights, and watch everyone say things like “Oooh! the surfer girl, Grandpa gave me that one when I was in college,” or “the crystal icicles are my favorite,” or “remember when Grandma Wilkin gave me the one of the graduate in cap and gown?” All of this makes me very very sad. And mad!
I was sad, really sad this morning, reading the newspaper today. I wanted to buy tickets for you for the dance performance of The Velveteen Rabbit, instead of the Nutcracker this year. “Thank you Grandma I can hear you say, I loved the sugar plum fairy and all the ballerinas last year, but that show was soooo long!” I want to be buying a tiny tree you could string popcorn for, and to have you help me cook the turkey dinner. It’s your voice I want to hear asking me to make a favorite recipe of mine, like the pink molded cranberry salad Uncle Ted loved and always helped whip the cream for.
But most of all I was crying because your mother (I want to curse her soul at the moment, but even in this ‘to be said and never sent’ letter, I find myself unable to be too ‘mean.’
But your fucking mother (there: that felt good! at least I got out a nasty word) had the audacity (meaning the balls! the not-good sense), to send me her ‘Family Sending You Holiday Hugs Card,’ with no return address on it! All that was inside the envelope was a picture of the five of you. Five, wow! I see you have a new baby brother or sister. Maybe that’s all your mom wanted to tell me, to show me, but Jesus! What a way to do it!
Your mother doesn’t have a clue what it feels like (!*x#?*!) to be blocked from having the kind of family that actually makes contact with one another, especially at holidays! There are many many traditions that can make special memories in ways only Christmas like no other can, right?
Forgive me, but that woman in all her hormonal breastfeeding miasma must have a really twisted and distorted sense of herself and me to do this! They say what goes around comes around; but I write this in hopes that you my dear Anne have the good sense never to do this to the mother of your children’s children. I don’t want you to even imagine what it would feel like, if someday you or your sister took your own children, her grandchildren, away from her. Took them far far away, leaving no address or way to contact them. And then to send a picture at Christmas time! A picture is supposed to equal a thousand words. Hmmm, I wonder sentences would come out after all this silence and distance! I doubt they would be pretty.
Oh, I do have some things to say about your visible Grandmother from New York. The one you do see a couple of times a year. I’d sure like to tell her and your biological father’s parents, my version of the truth about your mom. They are the grandparents you do see sometimes, who I’m sure have already sent you a bunch of cool presents to be opened under the tree. But I am going to spare you the negative energy by writing these words, but then burning them. Really. I will put them in a bowl outside and light the paper on fire, and watching the words disintegrate and turn into ash and blow away. To be forgotten, I wish!
Merry Christmas. Take a look at this picture of the way Larry and I put the lights on our houseplants. With no children around we’ve stopped decorating a tree.
Fuck! Shit! Piss! This hurts!
Please, please Anne, may you grow up with the good sense to communicate the truth clearly to everyone you deal with, and not get caught up in a bunch of distorted lies.
Your mother says she doesn’t like my intensity, but I think what she’s really afraid of is that I actually do work stuff out with people. When I’m troubled, I get help, and then try to communicate and resolve differences with people, so that hurts don’t remain. It takes time and I usually can forgive people and let go of the bad things they did, and not see them as bad people inside. Which is what I am doing mentally with your mother, but mea culpa it isn’t easy! And it hurts.
Christmases Hurts for me.
May yours be memorably merry!
I love you!
Your invisible grandma. PAT
P.S. Bah. Humbug! Enough of this. Being grateful for where I am and what I do have helps me to forget what I don’t. I’m going to drive to the gym in the 65 degree sunshine this 18th of December, and work out to some rock n’ roll.
I will not wallow in this.
I will not wallow in this.