Tag Archive: guilt

Do I or don’t I?

My grandmother is in the hospital and on her death-bed, so to speak. She is my fathers’ mother and I’ve not seen her in nearly 15 years. My father only lives 10 minutes away, yet we’ve no relationship at all. I bump into him every so often at Tim Hortons or in the mall, but it usually isn’t much more than a “How are you?”, a little small talk and that’s it. Neither of us visit the other, call or anything else. My parents split when I was 5 and I didn’t see him again till I was around 10 or 11. From there, thanks to the woman he was with – seeing him became a regular thing until they broke up. I was 14. I ended up living with her (and a step-brother and half-brother) for a few years, till I became pregnant at 17.

Since then and it’s been approx 21 years, it’s been nothing but the occasional hello in passing like I’d mentioned above, empty promises to each other of visiting or calling and zero communication with any of his family. Not that I hadn’t thought about it, but because the longer time went on, the more awkward and uncomfortable I imagined seeing them would be. I do have one aunt that I’d always thought a lot of, but I seldom saw her either, again, just hello in passing … the odd cousin the odd hello in passing and so on.

My father has a history of drug and alcohol abuse, and now, he’s sick with cancer and heart disease I believe, as he’s just had a triple bypass … I didn’t learn about this till only recently, though it’s been a few months.

My brother called to tell me on Sunday that my grandmother had a stroke and her whole left side is paralyzed … this woman is 96. Long story short, they’re doing nothing more than keeping her heavily sedated – and waiting for her to pass. I live only minutes from the hospital, where the majority of the family lives in the same area and it’s nearly a half hour away. I’ve gone up the past few nights and my aunt has hinted a bit about no one in the family wanting to stay all night, so feeling a bit put on the spot and guilty for obvious reasons, I offered my phone number should ‘she need anything’. This morning I woke to a message asking if I would spend the night in the hospital tonight.

I’ve not yet answered her.

I do feel love for my father and that family, and I do have good memories of my grandmother when I was younger, but would it be odd for me to stay with her? My mothers mother, the grandmother who had raised me most of my childhood years was in the very same situation only 6 or 7 years ago, and I didn’t spend a lot of time with her in the hospital, I didn’t believe that she was as sick as she was … and when I got the call that she had passed, I was over ridden with guilt and to this day still feel like a selfish, idiot bitch for not opening my eyes to what was happening with her. I sometimes wonder if I was the secret link that would’ve kept her alive somehow, if only I had held her hand, if only I had sat with her longer, if only … if only. I don’t know that I’ll ever get over the death of her and to this day will cry and say aloud “Grammy, please come home.”

I feel obligated to stay with her and strangely want to (the more I think aboutit, the more I don’t to be honest), though I imagine going a little stir crazy. I imagine sitting and talking to her a bit like I am now, she can hear what people say … Gawd, I just don’t know. I fear she’ll pass when I’m with her, that’ll be awkward … fuck sake, awkward isn’t even the word for it really. Is it strange if I do it though after all these years? Is it strange that I’m being asked? It strikes me as a little strange that of all the people in the family that were actually a regular part of her life won’t do it. Is it strange that I hurt after all these years about a woman I hardly know or is only regret and guilt?

God help me

It’s early Monday morning and I’ve waken up much earlier than usual. It’s Christmas vacation, so long and behold, when I know it’s alright to sleep in – something has me up …

Been thinking a lot about my son lately, my oldest son, 21 year old. Some days I can barely think about or look at pictures of him when he was little without becoming teary eyed, sometimes, I even find myself crying uncontrollably. But nothing compares to what I felt this morning when I woke up.

I dream about him a lot, see him when he was 3, 4, 5, 6 years of age, sweet little thing he was, trusting – loving eyes, soft spoken little baby voice, so curious he was, god what I would give to go back to those days. I woke up with my pillow soaked in tears, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Since I’ve been awake, I have to focus on not thinking about him, I can hear his voice as a child in my head and see him smiling, but I cry uncontrollably. Even at the sight of his pictures, I just feel such pain, so emotional – jesus, what the hell is going on with me?

Was his childhood ok? I mean, from his point of view? I plan on asking him, but it’ll have to be in an email – not sure I can do it to his face. I loved him so much, I still do – but feel as though I’d let him down so many times.

His father and I broke up when he was only 2 and I had just turned19 at that time. I remember leaving him with sitters a lot on the weekends so I could run to the fucking bars. I father tried hard ‘to get me back’ for nearly a year it was, I spent many afternoons and evenings crying over him, but never took him back. Instead, went through a series of short-term relationships with idiots. I’ve always loved his father, even to this day I hold a special place for him in my heart.

I’d gradually meet the younger boys dad, he was and forgive me for saying this … fuck sakes, I don’t know how to say it. Let’s just say that when he was straight, he was gentle, loving and caring, but when he was under the influence of anything, he turned nasty and vile. That was the first abusive relationship I’d been in, and though he never treated my son badly, my son still saw things that happened between us. He died 6 years ago of a drug overdose, neither of the boys got to know him very well. They saw him occasionally in town perhaps, where he’d hand them a few bucks from a large wad of money he’d have rolled up inside of his pocket, but that was the extent of it.

After the relationship with him, I moved onto my ‘marriage’. That was a wonderful relationship for the longest time, he was wonderful with myself and the kids, excepted them as his own even … but gradually, it just fell apart. Partly poor communication, part him working away and always being gone. I would eventually find out he had cheated and only months after we’d bought a new house.

I eventually sold the house and almost lost it to the bank in the process. While I was just scraping by at making the payments, etc, it was just too much and instead of having him around to ‘fix’ something, etc, I couldn’t afford the upkeep/maintenance. That was difficult. When we’d moved into the house, i promised the kids that was it – never again would we move. Right. No more promises do I make. 😦

Over the course of the years, I think it’s safe to say that my oldest has seen me as ‘unstable’ emotionally, what has that done to him I wonder?

I wish I would’ve waited and had the same kids LATER, so that I could’ve enjoyed him all to myself longer, I just can’t get the image of him as a little boy out of my head, I hear his voice, see his smile … isn’t it suppose to be a good feeling, those memories? Even now I can’t control the tears, so I’ve gotta stop and turn it all OFF.

Letting Go

I don’t know if I should be writing about this or not, but it often consumes me and on a daily basis and I know there just has to be a way to move on without falling any deeper into a dark place than I already have. I’m scared that I won’t, scared that I never will. I just wish somebody would fix me sometimes or tell me what to do, how to do it …

I’m gonna try to keep it brief, but to the point. I’m as desperate to be understood as I am forgiven for my stupidity.

Please know that I’m not doing this for pity, as it’s embarrassing, humiliating and I’m desperate to put it behind me, I’m hoping that sharing it will help me – hopefully I’ll not regret it and delete this blog afterwards or in the days to come as I’ve huge plans for myself, my kids and our well-being.

Here goes.

My last relationship was an unhealthy one.

When I met ‘S’, he was charming, sexy and said all the right things. People warned me of his sexual history, his reputation for betraying friends in one way or the other and how some of his family ‘had no use for him’. But to me, it was all gossip and this being a small town, there’s always rumours about any given person for a number of reasons. He treated me wonderfully, so I decided to continue with the relationship and let things fall where they may.

The first several months were fine, we laughed, entertained our children together, started making future plans, etc. Felt like we were a ‘family’. He had 3 children as well, and his only son, his oldest, lived with him … and within a year they moved into our house.

The first few months were great, nothing seemed to change and I was happy, I thought we all were. I came home one day from shopping and showed him a shirt I’d purchased, a pretty pink blouse that showed a wee bit of cleavage, he became irritated, threw the shirt onto the floor and told me I wasn’t wearing it. From there things started to escalate … he started to control what I wore, where I went, who I talked to, screened my calls, checking my cell phone, etc. It really felt as though we went from happy to hell over night, I often ask myself how I let it get to the point it did.

At the time I was working security and would often be posted at a local hotel where they had a club and camping grounds. At random, he would text me and ask me what I was doing, who I was talking to and I’d often reply with the usual ‘just hotel guests’, or brush it off and try to change the subject, it was a little difficult to answer, I mean, I was at work. Imagine being a waitress and trying to answer that very question. Sometimes, they’d have somebody else working with me, a man naturally, as I was the only girl working for them at the time.

His text messages started to become non stop some nights, I’d barely have enough time to answer one before getting another, but they were getting more and more odd. You know when you have a conversation with someone and sometimes they’ll tap your forearm or whatever with their fingertips kinda thing? His text messages would say things like “since when are co-workers allowed to touch each other” or “when you make your rounds around the camping grounds, are you really walking or are you going off to fuck/blow him”, etc. Just started getting crazier and crazier, I of course, would say “nobody is touching anybody” and he’d come back with the most obnoxious accusations. Come to find out, he was sitting in the parking lot, all those hours, all those nights watching me.

I know what you’re thinking, enough is enough and I should’ve put him the hell out, but it was already to the point of shoving, and him placing a knee on my chest to hold me down – not letting me leave the room when we argued or telling me he wasn’t leaving and if I tried forcing him out, he’d do this that or the other thing. I knew by the time what he was capable of doing, so yes, I was afraid of him. He was loud, big and intimidating, I’m 5 2″ and at the time, may have weighed 120lbs.

He cheated, he lied, he kept his old apartment and met young girls there on his lunch breaks. He stole money and other possessions from his family and friends, the list goes on and on. I didn’t learn of some of these things till very late in the relationship, that, or the wool was simply pulled over my naive fucking eyes and I didn’t wanna believe what I was seeing.

I guess he’d gradually had enough himself … I was at work one afternoon and my youngest son called me, he had just gotten gome from school. He told me that ‘S’ was gone, and the house was empty. I panicked, left work and when I got home – I thought I was going to DIE. He’d taken everything, groceries, furniture and all the kids clothes (told a mutual friend, he didn’t  know if the clothes belonged to my sons’ or his).

I was devastated, happy he was gone I think, but shocked and hurt just the same. I remember going for a drive, with the music cranked loud, windows down low and just screaming and crying thinking OMG what the fuck has happened, how did I get here?

Over the next few days I learned a lot about him (as stated above), I’d had a young girl come to me, claiming she was 4 months pregnant, and his father came to me ‘warning’ me of various other things and telling me he didn’t want to see me ‘lose’ anything else, etc.

Gawd, this is so long – I don’t blame anyone for not reading it.

The 3rd day after we’d broken up, I was out with a girlfriend talking, crying, doing the usual stuff we do when a relationship ends badly. I arrived home approx 1am. He was in the driveway. I got out of the car and he said to me, get into the van. I walked past him and didn’t say anything. He told me again to get into the van and that he only wanted to talk. Again, I ignored him. He yelled at me and said I’ll give you two choices, you can either get into the van or I’m going to put you into the fucking van. So, I got in.

He pulled out of the driveway, headed for the highway and once on the highway, started yelling at me asking ‘who were you with’. Dumbfounded, I said nothing at first … then quietly said, no one. He pulled into a very dark area off the highway, short little dirt road, more like a driveway, only it was dark, with lots of trees which kept it well hidden from anyone passing by.

He continued to yell at me, and started to say things like ‘I was going to know what it felt like to have 2 cocks in me in one night’ … spit flying when he yelled, grabbing my arms, not letting me speak, I was crying and afraid of him. He knelt in front of me, shimmied my pants down and actually smelled me, still accusing me of ‘being’ with someone. He started getting rough with his hands and wouldn’t stop screaming in my face, telling me he outta fuck me for spite, etc, etc. I told him to stop being so fucking crazy, get off of me and he hit me in the face, I could taste the blood on my tongue. With one hand around my throat and the other one ‘guiding’ himself, he managed to force himself into me as I cried and said to him, why are you doing this over and over …

I thought I was going to die that night, he could’ve killed me and no one would’ve been able to do a damn thing about it till it was too late.

I remember afterwards, he sat in the back seat and cried and cried, telling me how much he loved me and that he was ‘sorry’. I don’t remember feeling anything at that very moment, I don’t even think I was crying anymore. He then asked if I had an extra 20 bucks.

I eventually reported this, gave a video statement and went through the entire process of going through a trial. Only to be called in by the senior district attorney (I believe that’s what SHE called herself) and was told that it wouldn’t really result in anything more that me being the one being drug through the mud, etc. Basically she was telling me it wasn’t worth going through with. I couldn’t speak, hung my head in shame, fought back the tears and left. I was given a $2000 bursary from victim services for counselling, but it has since run out. I did speak with one woman, I explained it all, relived it in my mind when I told her about it – only for her to call me the next day and say that she didn’t think she was the right fit. So I didn’t bother pursuing anyone else.

I fear hitting the ‘publish’ button on here, fear being judged, but thankfully – if I regret writing about this I can simply disappear. That’s the reason I tried to keep the details to a minimum, though it’s still long I know, but …

This replays in my head often, every single day, every single detail. I don’t think I hate him, maybe I should, but in any event – one thing I’m very certain of, is that I wish nothing but misery in his life.