My dad fell down the basement stairs, crushing the entire left side of his brain. He was put on life support, but there was no chance of recovery, so the decision was inevitable to have him removed from the machines that were breathing for him. *My book will contain more personal facts.
He was removed from life support on December 16th, 1999. My mom remarried eight months later.
We lost our home not soon after her new husband came to live with us. Our family was split up. Some of us lived with childhood friends, my sister and I went to stay with my grandmother for a few months, until my mom could lock down residency, which seemed impossible due to her bad credit and financial status.
We even stayed in a seedy motel for a couple of months on the bad side of town. The true ghetto of Salt Lake City.
That wasn’t the last time I shared a home with my grandma. A few years later, after my mom had secured a safe place to live, I again went to live with my grandma due to lack of rooming available.
That is where our friendship began. She and I share a lot of things in common, such as both of us being writers, and liking to be physically active. She fed me, clothed me, even put me on her gym membership, which I used more than she did.
We come from completely different backgrounds, which was our only real source of irritation. She would have loved for me to attend church, and asked me to pray with her at meals at least. I agreed to, but announced like a stubborn teenager intent on raising hell whenever possible, that I would not attend against my will, nor buy into the beliefs of the Mormon Church.
I simply didn’t believe in the amount of shaming I feel is attached to any religion, though as an adult I see it a little differently. I think religion and faith can be beautiful, and often life saving things to grasp onto in this whirlwind human experience.
The only real trouble I got into besides skipping school when I lived with my grandma is becoming involved with a young man who led me on a wild goose chase at the University Hospital one night, and ended with the police being called. Apparently he’d skipped his medication. After he had a cab pick me up and given the driver my phone instead of his as collateral for not being able to pay him, I left him a lovely voicemail and never saw him again.
She’d picked me up from the hospital, and never gave me much flack for that catastrophic event, but demanded a brief explanation.
I feel like once in a blue moon there is someone assigned to you to protect you, to care for you, to really fucking love you. They see you and they make every effort to help you become a better person, to guide you, to show you what love is like when it’s not tainted by alcoholism or greed, or selfishness. These people are your Angels, the ones who make it possible in later years for you to thrive, because you know you aren’t alone in this world with them by your side.
My grandma is that person for me in this lifetime, and I think it’s been that way in lifetimes before.
I don’t know where I’d be without her here with me. And I’ll be lost one day when the ride ends, but you can’t change a heart once it’s been touched by an Angel.
I’m carrying your love with me …
There was a lot of ghostly activity in that house! There was a dark and ominous presence of an unwelcoming old man in the basement. I feel as if it had been his garage once, or his tool shed, and he held a grudge about it being turned into a vacuum closet for like, way too long.
I sensed Angelic spirits a lot upstairs, almost recognizable, but unfamiliar enough to identify.
Thanks for reading …