My Past Memories Are My … Today’s Stories…
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee
The photo is of Gloria Faye Brown Bates as a little baby… this is the only baby photo I have………………….
I am taking time out to ‘talk’ to you… my readers, followers. I have a lot of new followers on my blogs… and Bubblews.
I wanted to tell you about my writing. I write the colors/stories of my life. I write about grief. I write about what I know best… ‘best means ‘me’. I don’t write for anyone else, or try to write their stories. I write about me, my life… I know it best.
When I write about my childhood… I don’t write about the other children who were there, how they were treated… what they went through. That’s because ‘that’s their story’… they can write it if they want to. I only write my own.
Sometimes, ‘those children’ will reach out… to remind me they were there, too. I never forget you… and the things I saw you… suffer from; how you were treated. Just know that… my heart cares for what you went through, also. I can’t write your stories…
When I write about my childhood… most of it was bad. Yes, it was a bad childhood… I don’t sugar-coat it. I tell it like it was. Not many people were kind to me… I suffered, I was made fun of as a little girl when my mother and her husband broke up… she sent me straight to Hell.
In Hell… I no longer was dressed like a little princess, with beautiful dresses… my long hair was no longer brushed, taken care of; I no longer lived in a very clean house. I no longer had good meals prepared by the lady who came to our home every day to care for me, my little brother. In Hell, it was awful… scary, dirty… there were things that jumped on one….
In fact, I was no longer cared about. I became… nobody. I became a little scapegoat for people to abuse when they were pissed off, angry at someone else. So… were the other children who were thrown away… too.
Hell… was the house I was sent to …. at my Grandma Alma, George‘s. They lived in nothing but, pure ‘hell’. Their house sat over the portal of Hell… guarding it.
No one ever knew any peace there. My Grandma Alma was paralyzed… George, my step-grandfather was blind. They never knew happiness there. My aunt who lived there was the ‘daughter of Satan‘….
Their ‘middle room’ was where my Grandma Alma was ‘trapped’ in her old, upholstered rocking chair… George sat in his old cane-bottomed chair to watch tv (George couldn’t watch tv, he could listen… I would describe to him what I saw as a little girl). This room is where they ‘lived’…
The floor in the ‘middle room’… in my mind, became through time what I named… ‘the Arena’. Because … this was the one place where everyone came ‘to raise hell’. To make sure Grandma Alma, George saw, heard it all… and of course, any child that was living there.
The fights, gnashing of teeth, screaming, cussing…the blood… the hell they raised, was …. ungodly. No one can imagine, unless they lived it.
The Arena was where everything played out that was ‘important’. It was where anyone who wanted to settle something… was there to fight it out, have witnesses to watch… not only that, if they felt like it was a war they wanted to be in… so be it! A lot of hell-raising went on in that Arena. A lot of blood on that old hardwood floor.
All the grandchildren who weren’t wanted… were thrown down there… the mothers would take off, come back whenever they wanted. They never knew the things ‘we children’ went through to survive there. I’ll tell you my stories/colors… just know that I know I wasn’t the only child who suffered. I never forget them.
The purpose of writing this is to let my new followers know… that when I write the ‘bad’… don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t think I grew up tormented by all of the things that happened to me. Don’t think you have to feel sorry for me… because I promise you that I made peace with it all… a long time ago.
My memories of the past… have become my stories of today… I only feel pain when I take them out to ‘feel them, examine them’ as I write about them. When I’m through… I put them back up… just as you would put up your winter clothes in boxes until you needed them again.
I never think about, or hold on to the past… never. One can’t, to have peace of mind. I don’t live in the past.
I will tell you this… I do grieve for my son, Tommy. He was my only child… that pain never goes away… never. Also… I never talk to anyone in person about my grief… it’s too personal. I do write about it… if you are interested in reading… you can choose to come here to read… go your way quietly when you are through.
You don’t even have to comment on it. This is my only outlet for my pain, grief. I write my pain. You can see how it feels as a mother to lose a child… I tell you just like it is. This pain is always there…
I am thankful, and have been for years to have went through such ‘bad’ things as a child, young woman, an adult. I couldn’t have survived all the ‘bad’ things I have been through if I’d had life easy as a child, younger person. I know ‘why’ now. I’ve only become stronger through each experience. That doesn’t mean ‘that I don’t hurt’… it means… I will … survive. Somehow, everything will be alright.
Just know that I don’t write to gain sympathy… I’ve never felt sorry for myself. I never will. I know life is full of twists, turns. You wouldn’t believe the paths I’ve walked in life. Some were very scary paths, indeed. I’m thankful to have gotten off from them before ‘going too far’. I write my memories as stories for ‘today’… I don’t live … in the past.
As a child, the things I lived… I never knew everyone didn’t live like that. I thought it was the way life was supposed to be. I never knew what it was like to feel safe, protected, sheltered, loved. I learned to never take anything for granted… even love.
I learned hate of the purest form… I have battled ‘hate’ all my life… I am a good person… probably one of the best people you’ll ever meet. I’m just not perfect at all… not at all. As much as I wish to be perfect, I’m not. I’m big enough to apologize when I am in the wrong… my heart hurts if I’ve done you wrong. I care about ‘everything’. I say prayers for the animals laying on the road… where cars have killed them. My heart ‘feels’ everything. I can’t bear the meanness, how cruel people are to other people, animals.
I just wanted to let my new readers/followers know these things… and to remind the ones that don’t know… when I write my ‘bad’ memories… I don’t do it to gain sympathy. My past memories have become… my stories… today. I write what I know… best.
I know grief, pain… best. It doesn’t mean I walk around crying, wringing my hands like a tormented soul. I don’t at all. I write it like it really was… really is. I see that it touches people in different ways… like when I read others’ writing… things affect me, also. I understand ‘that’s what they write about’…. just as ‘that’s what I write about’.
Don’t ever feel sorry for me… I have never felt sorry for me. I would be uncomfortable knowing you did. I do appreciate your caring words when you express them, though. Don’t feel you have to comment unless you feel you want to…. I don’t ask anything of anyone.
I have to write… I’ll write until the day I take my last breath. I have to ‘leave a part of me here’ when I die… Tommy isn’t here, now. He would have ‘been that part of me I would have left here’… that I knew would be here when I died. He’s gone……. Not only that… this will be the only way… that my grandchildren will ever know me. My words are ‘the part of me that will always be here’….
I have no immediate family left now. I have to write to ‘pass on memories of my son, Tommy… myself. There’s no one else to do it for either of us, now. Any family I have is distant… there aren’t any bonds left… maybe a kind of sad love for the other, knowing it can’t be.
I don’t have grandchildren who will grow up knowing me…. there’s been too much deceit, dishonesty … all because of insurance money not going to whom it should have. One lie has to cover another one… and lies such as those… make it impossible for me to know my grandchildren. I’m not involved in it… but, I will pay the price… I will forever be Granny Gee … ‘in name only’.
I have a message written just for them when they become older. I will place this message here in the future just for them… for now, it’s on my computer. This is to let them know their Granny Gee has always loved them… she never had anything to do with all the money their father left for four people…. each of them, me, and one of the mothers.
One of the mothers had sole control over dividing it………. it should have been divided equally… all of it, plus his 401K. It wasn’t…. I’m afraid it hasn’t been handled right at all. That message will be put on my blog for them to see one day… I know a lot now, that I didn’t know before.
Dishonesty, deceit… lies told to cover up more lies…. it’s so sad. My grandchildren will know I never had contol of their money, never handled their money. I was given ‘my’ part of it… it wasn’t divided as it should have been… I never said anything.
A lot of money was spent on a drunk who had never ‘had brand-name things’… he got brand-name shoes, clothes off ‘Tommy’s insurance money’….. he abused one of my grandchildren while he lived a while on his daddy’s money. I know what Tommy would have done… if he could have.
I write this now… and will put the message on in the near future. I won’t go to my grave having my grandchildren think that I had any part in them… not getting their daddy’s money meant for them. I was told that one mother thinks that I had control over it, by the other mother… to hide what she did. No… I never had control… ever. I never saw any money …only what she decided to give me.
Just a few weeks before Tommy died… he did as I asked him to… I told him he was married and to put his wife’s name on the policy. He updated the policy, put her name there… it was the worst decision I ever made. I worry that the money won’t be there when they should have it. I’m so sorry I ever told him to change the policy. It’s strange… just a few weeks before he died…. it would have been done exactly the way he wanted if he hadn’t updated it… done ‘as I asked’.
This will be the only way my grandchildren will ever know… too many years, lies… now. I have to leave the truth here… where it’ll live ‘forever’. I won’t ever get to see them in this life.
The purpose of this post is to let people know … that when I write my memories of the past… everything is alright. Don’t feel sad for me… years have gone by… the pain of those memories is left in the past when I’m through with them… where they belong.
Only when I ‘take them out to write about them, to ‘feel them’… is there pain’… when I finish with them… I ‘put them back up… the pain, also’. I don’t sit, dwell on the past.
The pain I ‘can’t put up’ is the grief over my son. This pain is completely different… it’s the worse pain ever in my life. Do you see ‘why’ I don’t regret all the ‘bad’ that has happened to me?
I might not could survive this kind of pain… if I hadn’t been so strong. I probably wouldn’t have… if it hadn’t been for Skip. I don’t think I’d be here…. ‘now’ if Skip hadn’t been ‘there’. I was ‘dead’, just as ‘dead as my son’… I wasn’t aware of life… then. Skip is my ‘everything’… and our Pups. They are my world… all I have left.
I hope anytime you want to communicate with me, you’ll feel free. Don’t worry, I’m not a ‘tormented, depressed soul’ who will pull you down. I’m the opposite… I love to smile, even if I’m crying. :)))
Remember… when I write… the pain ‘is in the moment’… I don’t dwell on it after I write a memory. It goes away. When I grieve for Tommy… it’s a different ballgame. I still know everything will be alright…
My past memories are my … today’s stories.