My Grannie was the type of woman you instantly fell in love with. She had this smile, that was contagious, as soon as she looked at you, you couldn’t help but smile. She was so sweet, genuine, a free spirit, and was overly generous. She raised me, raised my brothers and sisters, even raised my father. She was loved by everyone. Yet, there was 13 people at her funeral and wake. My god damn father didn’t even go, and he owes her his fucking life. My Grannies daughter didn’t even cry. To be exactly only three of us did cry, Liz, Ashley, I being the third. It was devastating to know all that she has done for the family, friends, neighbors, the church. No one even made a collage of pictures for her.
Disappointment, even disgust, doesn’t come close to how I feel with the lack of love, and respect that have for Grannie.
Yesterday after the funeral, Liz and I shared the idea of rolling past Grannies house on our way home, knowing its in bad condition, but still wanting to see where we spent half our lives.
We pulled up to the house, and my heart dropped to the ground. The windows down stairs were boarded up, the window to the attic was busted out, the drive way looked as if it has been through a tornado. I got out of the car and strolled down the drive way to see the catastrophe that was waiting in the back yard. Once I reached the back yard, it was much worse then I had expected. Trees growing that were never there, trash everywhere. You couldn’t even tell there was a two car garage, or see the cellar doors. I turned around to leave, and saw the back door, the screen door was gone. So I walked straight into the mud room, looked around, coming to the back door and noticed there wasn’t a door handle. Right open I kicked that door, into a house….I had never been in. What was left of my Grannies furniture was over turned, or thrown aside. Pictures, her clothes, nik naks, dishes, all of her stuff broken, everywhere. Trash, and bugs, a stench ill never forget. Rotting flesh, It smelled like rotting flesh….
I ran up stairs into the attic to see if any of my grandfathers things remained, and nothing I stood for a minutes to take it all all in, it dawned on me the attic had a back closet where most of the things were kept. I walked to the door, opened it, went to walk in, and to my surprise, to the left of me were two people sleeping on what seemed to me a mattress at some point in its life. As soon as the guy popped up, I slammed the door shut, ran down the stairs, grabbed anything, pictures, nik naks, anything I could get my hands on that meant something, and wasn’t ruined, grabbed Liz and ran out.
We attempted to call my Grandma Roberta, so we could call the cops, get the people out, and we would take over the house and clean it up. She flipped shit, and told us to stay away. I never expected her to act that way.
Dakota wants attention, and I have to tend to her wounds, as shes trying to tend to mine.