My dad, my god

It's interesting to me that a controlling, critical person can make others feel like they have no value and yet we idolize them and put them on a pedestal.  My dad was that person to me.  He was my god.  I longed to be special to him.  

My dad was born in Texas and raised in Oklahoma.  His father worked in the oil fields.  His dad was a drink and womanizer.  The family lived in a tent part of the time.  Daddy had 1 brother and 4 sisters.

After 8th grade my dad stole his dad's Model T, took it for a joy ride and rolled it. His father beat him. My dad took off and rode the rails to California at age 14. My father was a self-made man he would do whatever it took to survive. He worked at dairy farms milking cows, he worked in the fields, he owned a restaurant and was a building contractor building homes in Morgan Hill. He also had a deep pain and anger inside.

I was raised in a "Christian"  church.  If the doors were open we were there.  Sadly, it was a hailfire and brimstone, do and don't church. There was no love preached, ever.  My dad was a deacon.  There was a fight over the type of pews to purchase and daddy lost.  We left the church .  Even at 9-10, I was happy to not go back. 

When I was a freshman my father went to Sacramento to train through the state rehab for a new profession. He had a genetic eye disease and had become legally blind. The summer of my freshman year, my mom and I moved to Sacramento to be with my dad. I started my sophomore year at Sacramento High School.  3 months later we moved to Los Angeles so my dad could have his first cafeteria.

Once we found a place to live my parents and I went to the grocery store. My heart was aching at the loss of my new friends left behind. Moving from Morgan Hill to Sacramento didn't seem to be very hard on me. It seemed exciting. But the move three months later from Sacramento to LA was heart-wrenching.   I was walking through the grocery store with my parents and crying. My father said to me "buck it up"  It was not okay to have feelings in our family. There was no compassion.  That was my first real experience with grief.

My high school years were very challenging for me because my father was able to get a bigger cafeteria every 6 months, he did. I attended seven different high schools. The only saving grace was Drum Corps. There were kids from all different schools that belonged. So no matter what high school I was attending I still was able to be in Drum Corps. I changed schools so often, I stopped trying to make friends.  That's where I met TR.  Then he was called Tommy.  I hated him.  He was a leader and yet a gentle, kind leader. Next thing I knew I was in love. Really,  I just replace my dad god with a kinder boyfriend god. He was 18 and I was fifteen when we met.  Tommy was going to be the one to fill my emptyness.  Or so I thought.

Two, three, two

When I was born Mom had a blood infection and almost died.  My parents were trying to decide who would raise me.  Mom didn't die.  That's a good thing.

Once she got well Mom went to work with our dad who owned a restaurant in downtown Willow Glen.  That left my oldest sister, Darlene, who was 9 to care for me, do the house work and cooking.  There were also my two older sisters she was responsible for. Ages 8 and 6.

Darlene said she loved that baby so much.  Then she became a teenager.  The baby (me) became a very needy 6 year old.    The unfair demand on a young child and abuse that was inflicted on Darlene by our dad caused Darlene to be angry and physical with me.  Darlene, got angry one time and tied me to a walnut tree in our yard.  I stayed there crying until our father came home from work.

When Darlene married and had children I would go along on their family trips.  I loved being with my sister.  She taught me how to drink coffee.  "If you're going to drink coffee, it has to be black",  and so it was.  We would go to the bakery and get chocolate eclares,  or we would have black coffee, toast and her homemade strawberry jam,  I adored Darlene, because she had really been my mom.

Our mom came from a very abusive home.  When she was born her mom's uterus was removed without anesthetic by the midwife. I don't know if this was the reason for it,   hormones or whatever, but our grandmother was insane. Mom was raised by an aunt until she was 5 years old, then she went home to her father and older brother.  She became the housekeeper and cook. Her father would beat her and her brother. Mom would be locked in the cellar when her father got angry with her. Her mother would go between Agnews Mental Hospital and being locked up upstairs in her bedroom screaming. My mom told me once that she wished she could have heard the words from her mother "I love you". That never happened.

Since Mom was abused growing up it felt normal for her to marry a man who was also abusive. Our father fit the bill perfectly.  Between the abuse and having to work full-time with 4 children, our mom was not emotionally or physically available a lot of the time.  So Darlene really was my mother, because she gave me attention.  Even negative attention is better than none.

Because of Jesus and years of taking about it.  There was a deep love and forgiveness in all three of our hearts. 

My 2 mom's died 3 months and 2 days apart. 

Grief Stinks

Grief Stinks.  Just when you least expect it, BAM, it's in your face.   The overwhelming pain envelopes your whole being.  

Since, we have coffee every Tuesday at Safeway all the employees know our family.  Especially,  Mom. 

When Mom was 90 she fell and broke her hip.  We were told she probably wouldn't live through the trauma of the surgery but if she did she would never walk again.  But there was no choice.  Mom not only lived through the surgery.  She was determined to walk, and so she did, with a walker.  When she walked she walked fast, really fast for a 90+ year old

Between Mom's sweet attitude towards life, love for people and practically running through Safeway with her walker  everyone knew and loved Granny.  Everyone, even her daughters, called her Granny.

It didn't take long for the Safeway employees to learn about Granny's death.  They were all so sad.  Two different times after Mom died when I went grocery shopping someone who didn't know would ask if Mom was with me.  Then I would tell them she died.  They would get so sad and tell me something they loved about her.  They either hugged me, cried or both.  I would leave the store crying with the pain of loss.  I told my husband I needed to shop at a different store for awhile.  The pain was unbearable.

Funny Lady

Mom was a funny lady.  She had the type of humor that came naturally in a conversation. She had a quick wit until the end.  2 days before she died the "sisters" went to her resistance home for Granny Coffee Tuesday.

Every Tuesday for the last 12 years or so,  was a day spent with Mom.  There could be anywhere from just mom and I to 20 people, all family.  We would have coffee at Safeway, mom would buy her few groceries, then we would go to lunch where ever mom wanted. The last few months, it was always Margaritas Mexican Restaurant. She loved her pinto beans.

Mom, being the person she was,  didn't want to be a burden to anyone for any reason.  She had made all her own funeral arrangements and prepaid, years before.  Unfortunately,  the local funeral home, were she made all her arrangements had sold and was closed for remodel.

Back to coffee Tuesday.  The four "sisters" were in Mom's room visiting.  Mom had gotten pretty weak and we thought it better to not take her out.

Mom asked Nancy (my sister) if she had gone to another funeral home to have the arrangements transferred to that home.  Nancy said "No Mom,  I haven't had a chance yet" Mom says " It's okay,  I'm not dead yet"   She was funny to the end.

The last day

The day my mom died my sister and I met
 with the hospice nurse to have hospice come to her residence home to take over her care.  The owner of her care home didn't want her to leave to go to a rest home because mom was a "ray of light" here.  But, she needed more care than they could give her.  Mom was funny and happy, unlike the normal grumpy old people.
After meeting with the nurse, we went to mom's room. Mom was having difficulty breathing and we weren't able to understand her when she spoke.  Like she had had a stoke.  She was still in her favorite chair, as usual.  She prefered her chair over her bed.  We stayed awhile.  By this time our brother in law came to visit.  The three of us talked for awhile.  When it was time to go. I kissed mom on the forehead and said "Mom, I love you"  Mom said as clear as a bell.  I love you, I love you.  Have a good day.  Those were the last words my mom said to me.  She died that evening.  What a wonderful gift she gave to me.