Photos of Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee Back In ‘Her Beautiful Days‘…
PAIN… PAIN… PAIN
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee
‘I CRY FOR TOMMY’… If I never make a penny from my book, I won’t ever care. You read right. Why? First, most important to me is the fact… my son will never be forgotten.
Tommy will never be forgotten… he was real, he was my beautiful son. I loved him with my heart… he was close to Skip and I. He was our world. I will always write about him… everyone who dies, should be remembered. They lived, experienced so much… felt so much… just to die? To be forgotten? There’s more to life than… just ‘dying’…
Because… this one book was a place I could go to …to write, leave my pain so… I could live with myself. It was so much that I couldn’t hold it all. I’ve never known pain like this in my entire life.
People … strangers who have become my friends whom I treasure with my heart… all this time… have made the difference in my world. Just know that ‘all of you’ who have been here, and to my other blogs, Facebook mean the world to me. (Come be my friend on Facebook.com/grannygee … I would treasure that if you aren’t, already).
I wrote my grief; my pain. Truthfully… I would not be here today… if I hadn’t written it. I never talked in depth to anyone about my grief; I never went to a doctor about it. I had to do it on my own… I’ve done this for as long as I can remember.
For the first time in my life… I am glad I lived in Hell as a child… I am glad I had to fight for survival. Thank-you, Life… you put steel in my backbone… I’m still standing. I am like the Redwood trees in California… I have withstood many storms.
I’m glad I was made fun of by my schoolmates; treated mean by their mothers who were jealous of my own mother… her sisters. I’m glad you all ‘took it out on me’. I’m glad my ‘family’ was mean to me… I’m glad.
I’m glad my family slapped, knocked me around because I dared to look like my father. I’m glad when I lived at my father’s home… that he would step out of the doorway if we chanced to meet, glare at me, make me go through first.
I’m glad my step-sister and half-sister blamed me for things, got me in trouble. I’m glad my stepmother made my father feel he had to mistreat me … with silence. Have you ever lived in the same ‘home’ with ‘family’ who didn’t ever speak to you for almost two years?
It does something to you… especially when it’s your father; especially when he’s afraid it’ll cause World War III… especially, when he never made eye contact with you… if he did… he would look at you with pure hate.
I was always obedient; well-mannered, soft-spoken; respectful of each, every one of them. No matter how they hurt me… I stayed that way. I cried in silence… I spent a lot of time sitting in the bedroom, sitting on the side of the bed studying.
When I did my chores… I did them the best… nothing I did, made any difference. I hoped … to be loved. It never happened; I was resented… I was my mother’s daughter.
I’m glad my step-mother played her step-mother games to keep me in trouble with my father; how she hated my beautiful mother, and the very idea my father loved her through time…. I know this to be true because he sometimes ‘sneaked’ to see her. He came to see me when I was in my twenties.
My step-mother kept me grounded, in trouble constantly. She loved to tell me my father was angry at me… I never knew the difference… I was always ‘grounded’ in my mind. My father was ‘always’ angry at me…. she ‘knew’ how to hurt me … deeper. Her eyes would have that gleam… a bright, smiling, vicious light in them. She ‘fixed my ass’… many times. Each time, she ‘paid my mother back’…
I have to tell a memory here, that really isn’t a nice one. My father and I met for lunch. He drove almost two hours to meet me.
It’s a sad memory… I disrespected my father for the first, only time in ‘a nice way’… this memory always haunted me. I am so sorry I did that; no matter all he did/ didn’t for me.
It was back in my ‘beautiful days’… I wore low-cut blouses, and the tightest of jeans, beautiful dresses; there wasn’t much I couldn’t wear… and look good.
I wasn’t a defiant person; I tried to always be nice… but, that day when I sat with my father for the first time…. since I lived in his house….. all began well. I was so nice to him… ‘why, my father came to see ‘me’….. How special is that?
The last time I saw him… he’d slapped me the first, only time in my life… almost knocking me to the bathroom floor. Then… his wife, my stepmother… began slapping me in my face… blood splattered everywhere in that spotless bathroom.
I remember the contrast… blood on white… I grew up seeing so much blood… in Hell. I never expected to see it… nor my own blood… at my own father’s home.
Anyway… we sat there. I could tell my father thought he had a beautiful daughter. I even sensed pride… everyone was watching us.
For one time… my father smiled at me freely. I think he liked me… for a few minutes he might have been glad I was his oldest daughter… that one time in his life, my life.
I was twenty-eight years old… we had that one ‘close moment’ for … a few moments. Then… it was gone; it never happened again in our life.
I felt proud… I knew I was so pretty… how could my father not be proud? When I walked into any place of business, any store, and room… people stopped talking, began to stare. I always acted as nice… as I looked.
He noticed that… in the restaurant we were in… people knew who I was… but, they didn’t know who ‘he’ was. We sat there, talking light talk when he asked me if I would button my top button on my blouse… I remember looking at him… giving him a polite little smile… looked into his eyes, said ‘no’.
We went on with our conversation. Truthfully, I wanted to button my top button… after all, I was with my father. But… I couldn’t do it because ‘he asked me to’. For one time in my life… I could stand up to him, and say ‘no’. It was a battle I ‘won’…. but, it never felt good to win it. It always haunted me through the years. I feel bad about it… this very moment.
No matter how he was to me through the years… I didn’t feel good about that. I saw disappointment in his eyes, but… he went on with the conversation, never mentioning it again.
Love, hate… love, hate… I loved my father; I hated my father… now, I don’t … feel anything. I don’t hold anything against him… nor the stepmother I had. No feelings… at all. The End…
Pain from ‘best friends’ who were jealous of my ‘looks’; one in particular who tried to turn my mother against me. She told me. We’d all meet in a restaurant often… I’d be late sometimes.
I would cause a stir when I came in… always quietly, proudly… with my head high. I always was a lady… back in those days… a ‘beautiful lady’… women hated me just as they did my mother in ‘her beautiful days’… men loved me, just as they did her… only… I never went with them.
Men would smile at me. The strange thing about me as a ‘beautiful person/woman’ was… I had respect for all wives… I would smile at them first. I never flirted with their husbands. I should have… they never gave me that respect through time. I had respect for girlfriends, also.
Sometimes… their husbands would ask me out… those women never knew how much I cared… I wouldn’t go with a married man. One time a married man fooled me… I’ll never forget when his wife and I talked… her eyes.
She understood that I honestly didn’t know; would never do that to another woman. Through the years, that has haunted me… though she forgave. I’m sorry I didn’t know. I caused pain, never meaning to… never wanting to.
Why, you ask? Because… it happened to me as a too-young, inexperienced girl who ran away to get married. I ‘knew how it felt’ to be cheated on. I lived with it for years. I’m glad now… that was more pain I suffered for years. Combined with all the bad things that happened through time in my life… it strengthened me. God knows I needed it, and more… when my only child died.
If Skip, our Pups hadn’t been in my life… I don’t mind anyone knowing this… I would have died from an overdose of that powerful, potent medicine the doctor gave me. I… almost did.
Skip intervened… I had went too far in my grief, pain… to know anything. I was past thinking; I was past living; I was in the darkest of worlds. I didn’t know my way out… I didn’t have any desire left to live. I forgot about life. I didn’t know… or was even aware of ‘me’… anymore. I was… gone.
Only at times, could I ever hear Skip’s voice… or feel a Pup’s tongue lick my hand, my face. It was just like… when I almost died when I became deathly ill with non-Hodgkins lymphoma.
A person goes past a point… they don’t ‘know life is there’ anymore… they aren’t aware they are … just before dying. I’ve been there several times in my life… I ‘know’.
I can only describe it in the words I just typed. I still can’t tell you… it’s more than my words. I can say this truthfully… this is when a person such as me who dearly loves life… can die, not be afraid of death.
You don’t know death is reaching out to take you … in some small way, you ‘are there’… but, I wonder ‘how’? You can still smell, sometimes hear, ‘know’ what’s going on around you… sometimes.
I’m glad my father slapped me that one time … slapped how much he hated me through the years… nearly knocking me down… thank-you, half-sister. I’m glad for so many bad things that happened to me when I tried so hard to grow up; learning everything the hard way. I forgave everything… many years ago. I don’t hate my ‘enemies’… now.
No one was there to tell me a lot… if, when someone did, I’d appreciate it so much. I made many, many, many mistakes. It’s a wonder I don’t sit in a prison somewhere… from the horrible anger, hate I harbored the first part of my life; from the types of people as a young woman, I came in contact with.
I could have went on to be a ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ sort of girl. I hated women… it’s a wonder I didn’t … I like women now; sort of… I have very few women ‘friends’… I grew up with all women figures who taught me anger, hate… inflicted pain on me. Being the best kind of enemy in the disguise of ‘best friend’.
Keep hurting a puppy that’s backed up in a corner… one day it’ll reach its breaking point… I never took any ____ off a woman. And… if it ever appeared that I did…….. give it time, watch. I try to be nice, give benefit of the doubt, go that ‘extra’ mile… three times is my limit in most anything. Then…
Yesterday made three years since Tommy died. I could say ‘passed away’… but, it doesn’t work with me. I have to ‘face things head-on’… in order to cope, deal with them. Tommy died… three years ago on May 29, 2010 on a late Saturday evening. Tommy… died. Now… face it, Gloria… your son died. It still hurts… so bad.
I won’t let things be ‘sugar-coated’… I want all the pain to hurt me until… it can’t hurt anymore. That’s what… I want. The more I meet it head-on; knocks me to the ground… I keep getting up… the stronger I become. The less power it has over me to give me … more pain.
Truthfully, I couldn’t do that with Tommy’s death… it was many, many months before I could meet it head-on. I fell to the ground when he died… I had to have help in getting back up, coming back to Life… to live. I could not have… done it by myself …’that time’.
My child’s death was more than I could bear. I couldn’t cope with it. I hid for the first time in my life in a fog of medication that even now… I don’t know the name of. I don’t take drugs, drink alcohol, smoke… but, I took that medicine. It doesn’t matter what the name of it was now… it protected me.
Only… when it came time to ‘face all head-on’… I had to start all over… the pain; oh my God… the pain. There needs to be another word for that ‘kind of pain’… the very word ‘pain’ doesn’t do it justice.
When Skip and our Pups wouldn’t let me be… they kept on, and on… trying to get me to ‘come back’… I began trying to ‘come back’. I’d been in darkness so long… the light was almost unbearable.
The pain… oh, my God. How can I describe such pain to you? I can’t… you have to know it, feel this kind of pain to ever know what it is like. You have to have your own child die…. die, to feel and know the journey I’ve been on.
I pray with my heart you never experience your … child’s death. Parents are supposed to outlive their children. I can only tell you to sit for a few minutes, look at your precious child (especially if it is the only child you have)… sit there, make yourself feel how it feels ‘to even think of losing him/her’.
Can you see what I mean? You can’t do it. Why? Because you begin panicking inside, feel scared; you have to quit thinking like that because… you become afraid ‘something could happen to him/her’… if you think about it very long.
Pain… pain… pain, and more pain. I’ve known many kinds of pain through ‘my time’. There are things no one can ever know that caused me pain… there are many things I’ll write about.
This is ‘why’ I don’t like to cause pain in someone else’s life… ‘when you know how bad pain hurts… you don’t want to inflict it on others’. You don’t even want to wish it on others… because it will come back to bite you in the ass… I know. :)))
I have family who have experienced so much grief, pain in their lives… in the same way, in different ways. I can only say this from my heart… I will never be a family member to cause pain, grief… even if you don’t like me… or, I don’t like you. Respect…just ‘pure’ caring; a good heart.
I know how it feels… not only that… I’m old enough now, to know it does ‘for-real’ come back to one. One has to be careful what they wish for… sometimes, it backfires. I know that, too.
Pain… PAIN… no, I can’t even think of anything to describe pain anymore; I only know one way to even touch how big, bad it is… that’s just to write the word larger…. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN…
P.S. The photos above are from ‘my beautiful days’… my family had very beautiful women… I grew up to be, also… back then. Today, when I see ‘family’… I see that most of the girls, women… are just as beautiful. What amazes me is… how we all loved to ‘pose’, be ‘sexy, beautiful’ all through the years… generation after generation… I’ve seen it in my photos, their photos… our mothers’ photos. I think it was taught to us… we felt it inside… we each, was ‘most beautiful’….
Now… it’s all I can do to look at least… nice. :))) Now… I just continuously ‘chase myself in the mirrors’ (you have to read back in my blog to understand if you are new)… just to ‘get a glimpse of me’… I try to ‘photograph me’… when I find ‘me’… capture myself in a photograph. It’s rare now… when I do. I’ve been through so much in life, combined with trying hard to grow older gracefully… I’m lucky ‘I see this much of me’… I’m not complaining. I’m thankful.
Life isn’t all about being sexy, most beautiful… though, when we are younger… it seems it is. I’m at the age now, that I know … appreciate my Life’s lessons. I know what it’s about now. I look back at my younger days… I am proud that I was pretty; I’m proud of my photos. I’m glad I was one of the ‘beautiful women’ at one time… I used to want to be as beautiful as my mother was, when I was little. I never knew I could be. I was made to feel worthless as a little child… These photos…. all survived a fire in an old suitcase…. amazing. I’m thankful I had them to ‘show you’… as I wrote my story.
In my ‘Gloria Opinion’… the secret to life is simply caring, loving… being good as possible. I could have been just as bad, as I try to be just as good. Good is best… it’s peace of mind. Loving, not hating… feels best. When younger… I hated with a white-hot fire burning in me from the time I could remember… the anger I carried in my heart was deep… then.
Thankfully… through time, I don’t harbor those feelings… but, I meet some people now…. if they mistreat someone I love… I can ‘feel the old hate, anger’ try to come back. I told you… I’m not perfect. That’s why I’m writing my scary books with my main character… Victoria Fairchild. She does things sometimes, we wish we had heroes to do for us… that’s to teach some people a lesson they won’t forget… an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth…
Update on book two: The Saga Of Victoria Fairchild (Book one is an introductory to Victoria Fairchild…. When She’s Good… She’s Good)………….. Victoria has entered her homeless world once more to find the serial killer. Her cousin, Lind Lou, has left for business elsewhere. Caroline, Stevie are living the life of luxury now, after almost dying from the serial killer’s attack on both of them.
Victoria’s friends, Buckaroo and Kenneth, are helping her. They stay in the background watching her… as she meanders through the homeless world she loves, wants to protect. She means to find the serial killer, knows now… only one can walk out.
- Bubbles Of Life… Colors Of My Life (grannyscolorful.wordpress.com)
- No Matter How Bad It Hurts ‘Now’… Everything’s Going To Be All Right (grannyscolorful.wordpress.com)
- ‘I Fought Like Hell To Survive’… (grannyscolorful.wordpress.com)
- This Grieving Mother… It’s Been Three Years Now (grannyscolorful.wordpress.com)
- How Becoming a Mother Helped Me Forgive My Father | Babble (babble.com)