Sometimes ... Raising Hell Has To Be Done

 

Photos of, owned by Gloria Faye Brown Bates .........

Sometimes ... Raising Hell Has to Be Done ...     May 11, 2024 (Saturday) ... by Gloria Faye Brown Bates

This weekend ... Sunday ... is Mother's Day ... May 12th  💛 Monday, May 13th. .. is Skip Bates Skip's birthday 💛 May 29th is anniversary of my son's, Tommy M Sidden ...death.

I'm no longer a mother to a child ... I am mother to a fur baby ... Miss Camie Leigh. Precious Camo Kissy Fairchild .

The truth is ... I am feeling a lot of sadness in my Heart because of grief ... pain in my body ... our Life, situation. I miss my own  child, my son. I am feeling the grief, loss of my mother, my son, Grandma Alma & George.

Tommy, I miss you. I felt a sharp pang go through my Heart ... no matter how long someone has been gone ... especially a child ... an only child ... the pain never goes away. No matter how I fool you ... fool myself ... the pain, grief for my son never goes away.

I just know how to tuck the pain, grief into its own bed deep within the covers ... until it works itself out again. I begin the process all over again ... sometimes, the pain, grief doesn't want to go back.

I have to buckle down to put it back under the covers as deeply as I can. I don't have the luxury of wallowing in my pain, grief. I have Skip and Camie I have to take care of ... and ME in the process. I don't have time to sit, grieve, hurt.

I have to admit as tough mentally, physically as I think I am ... I have some limitations now. I don't lift as heavy things now ... Skip and Camie are where my strength needs to focus. I sure can't take time to dwell on grief, pain ... I have to move along, go forward.

I think the pain in both of my hands has lasted longer this time than ever. It makes a huge difference when I go to do everything, it affects how I feel  ... I don't ever give in to the pain. That's not how I made it to today ... this very moment in time.

I want to mention something I always promised to my Followers ... I would always honestly tell you how grief, pain really feels. When I do that ... I would like all my newest people who read ME to know ... this is what I write ... real life from a real person ... pain, grief. It's what I know best. When one writes it should be about something they know best.

ALSO ... when I write any painful part of my life ... write about grief ... just know ALL the pain, grief in my life ... has been dealt with, coped with, fought with ... battled to Hell with by ME. I can live with all that Life has thrown at ME to this very moment. I'm still standing.

Don't. .. ever feel pity, sorry for ME. I sure don't need, nor appreciate it. Empathy is okay, caring is okay. That's how I feel for others who go through their own grief, pain ... any Hell on earth. Empathy ... caring.

I can't in no way write all that has affected my life to deeply hurt ME. I do write what comes to my mind to make ME sad ... now.

You WON'T ever see ME wallowing on the ground ... begging for pity, someone to feel sorry for ME.

When I write MY pain ... you can know because I am here this very moment because ... I have somehow found the strength to go on ... when thrown to the ground, getting myself up ... knocking the dust from my ass ( I said that! Yes, I did!) ... holding my ground.

Mentally, physically I've been strong even in my weakest moments. That's my Grandma Alma's legacy to ME. Her and George (she was paralyzed,  he was blind) lived in Hell ... I was thrown there to live with them as a little girl.

I learned to fight physically, mentally never giving up when sometimes, appearing to do so. They are my people I respect most in life ... they never had anything going for them. They lived life to the hardest.

I learned by watching ... feeling ... sensing Grandma Alma and George. Cry, raise Hell they did ... to survive a life they were given here on this earth. A life so harsh they rarely had any happiness BUT ... they could still smile, care ... love.

Raising Hell was their tool to survive all Life dealt them ... raising Hell to just get through each thing thrown at them ... was like when ... you go to the gas station ⛽ to fill your gas tank up so, you can drive, go forward on your car.

Raising Hell is that fuel ... that gas to propel ME forward. It isn't pretty by any means but ... it is my survival tool ... my Grandma Alma and George's legacy to ME to make it through my life.

It's amazing to look back in Life ... and 'see why' ... certain things happen. Things happen for a reason ... one day in Life ... later down the road we see, realize those pieces in our Life's puzzle are already in place. It's up to us on how we use them to live ... survive.

Grandma Alma was the strongest woman I ever knew ... and she was paralyzed,  depending on George to care for her.

George was the strongest man I ever knew ... he was blind. He was the only grandfather I ever knew in my life.

They played such a huge role in my life. This little girl watched, learned ... never aware she was being trained to live, cope with her own life.

I watched Grandma Alma and George raise ... tee-total Hell all the time. Oh my, they could raise some Hell. They knew how because their house was one of the portals to Hell. They lived in pure, raw Hell. So ... did I ... and any other children the mothers threw there to live while they went off to do their thing.

It scarred all of us ... some more than others. They have to write their own stories. .. I write mine. If ... they affected my life in some way ... I can write that.

Yes ... sometimes ... when I'm up against something I can't fix, repair ... do ... or when Life is throwing something my way, placing obstacles in my path ... I raise Hell ... pure tee-total Hell until ... I get through. Get through I do ... though it isn't ever easy.

Raising Hell is my tool to survival whether I raise it silently ... loudly. Grandma Alma was my mother as well as grandmother. Thank you, Grandma Alma ... and George. I know raising Hell isn't pretty but, sometimes it has to be done.