For Now... I Don't Have To Walk Alone

For Now...  I Don't Have To Walk Alone

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/ aka Granny Gee

As I walked the halls in my mind
I looked at memories of all kinds
Some I looked at longer
But, some I can't until I'm stronger

I peeped into a room I saw Tommy's smile
Tommy, my son .... my only child
I walk a little farther down the hall
I turn around, I thought I heard my name called

I walk several doors down
To look all around
'Mama, I love you', I heard a little boy, Tommy... say
As I looked into this room... I wanted to stay

One can't stay in memories forever
They are for looking back, to forget never
Memories, good and bad
So happy....... so sad

I wanted to stay in the memory room of  Tommy
As a little boy, when he used to say 'I want my mommy'
I can only visit my memories now, to see my son
My child, my only one

I peep into another room to see what's there
I see Tommy as a teenager running, the sun shining on his golden hair
I walk to another room to see the memory it holds
I go room to room... to see the memories unfold

In one room I see Tommy as a little boy riding his bike
In another room I see him flying a kite
Both memories he has a big smile
How I miss you my precious child

I really want to look closer, it hurts too bad
The memories I see all make me sad
I will mentally walk out of those memories
I can't stay here for now, they... hurt me

I love you, Tommy, with my heart
I never knew you'd be gone, we would again... be apart
I cry many tears of diamonds, somehow I never drown
I come back out of the hall of memories... as I look around

It's time to begin my day
The grief in my heart is always there, more than my words can say
My precious Son, my only child is gone
Thank-God for Skip, my Pups... for now, I don't have to walk alone

I Held The Bag Close To My Heart... Someone Prayed For Me

I Held The Bag Close To My Heart... Someone Prayed For Me

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

Skip came walking up the driveway... there was two bags in his hand.  Bags like the ones that come from Walmart.  I wondered 'what in the world?' did Skip have.  I didn't think he'd stopped at a store before getting home.

I didn't know that ...those simple little, unassuming bags would hold something most precious.  He told me as he walked into the gate that he had something for me.  'Cindy made something for you, and she made something for me, too'.

I couldn't imagine 'what in the world?' Cindy had made that was so big to fill the bags like that.  Skip's bag was just as big.  We came inside, Skip handed me the bag Cindy told him to give to me.

I held it in my hands marveling that 'Cindy made something ... for 'me'.  I held the bag close to my heart because I never open a gift or present without thinking that 'someone got that... for 'me'.  I'm always awed, amazed that 'someone thought of .... 'me'.  Isn't that just so special?  'Me'....... I smiled because it 'meant the world to me'.... not that I wanted something... but, that I was 'thought of'.  Wow!

I let Skip open his bag first... in it was the most softest, beautiful crocheted piece of work... there was a card attached to it.  We read it as a beautiful scent wafted up to touch our noses.  How nice the scent was!  We read that it was.... I want to open mine!

I opened my bag, the most beautiful scent filled my nostrils... I inhaled deeply to enjoy it.  I saw something so soft, shades of purple inside that bag.  I didn't 'just pull it out of the bag'.... I 'gently took it out' because this was something 'made especially for 'me'... this was special.  I had to treat it that way.

I took it out, it was another softest, beautiful crocheted piece of work.  I held it to my face, I closed my eyes as I appreciated the scent coming from it, the softness.  I savored the moment as long as I could... then, I decided to look at the card also, attached to mine.  At first.... I tried to read it without getting the reading glasses ( :))) )..........

Both cards said:

This prayer shawl was stitched and annointed for you By God's willing worker.  Each stitch contains a prayer for You that God will bless you and those around you.  Each stitch is made up of three strands representing The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.  I will continue To Pray for you as you wrap these prayers around you.  May God bless and keep you.  Joshua 1:9  "Be strong And of good courage, do not be afraid, nor be dismayed For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go".

Below the words is a picture of Jesus.  As I typed the words above, I smell the scent this very moment.  I even hold this shawl to my face to feel the softness, smell the scent more deeply, this is the thought in my mind....

'How so very special... that made me feel so special'.  Thank-you, Cindy.  Love, Gloria

PS...  Skip dearly loved his red, white, blue prayer shawl.  He was smiling so big.  I laid it gently on his desk in his study for him to enjoy, to hold and touch.  It meant the world to him to... that someone thought of him in such a special way.

How many times does someone tell us they say prayers for us?  I know I say them all the time... I had never thought to tell people that I do that.... that I care... I just felt they all 'know'.  :)))  That's the way I feel about all of you, my readers... family... friends.  I just thought I'd tell you in case you didn't know it.

I'm still awed, amazed as I sit here with myself.... someone cared to use their hands to make so many stitches, to pray for me.  It means the world to me.  I will use this shawl for comfort... I will make sure Skip does the same.

When That Door Opened Up... All Hell Broke Loose!

When That Door Opened Up... All Hell Broke Loose!

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/ aka Granny Gee

We sat there, just little girls wishing to be happy.  We had been thrown away .... we were at our Grandma Alma and George's.  They had a grapevine that grew over a trellis in the back yard.  As children we knew where to go find all the little, cosy places to sit, to dream.  Under that grapevine was one of those places.

Linda and I sat there talking, daydreaming about 'how we were going to do this, do that'... when we were old enough.  I wished to be a fashion designer, though I was too young then, to know the name of what I wanted to be.

I loved to draw on every white, blank page I could find in Grandma Alma's books that sat in the bookcase in the 'front' room.  I would constantly draw pretty woman wearing beautiful clothes.

While we sat there talking, we were holding clumps of grapes in our hands.  We were eating them as we talked.  The sunshine was shining brightly, Linda's hair looked so pretty.... she had two plaits in her hair.  I loved my cousin, I felt a closeness to her.

For the time-being we were going to be best friends as well as cousins.  Of course at our young age... we didn't know that in our family ... that wouldn't be possible.  If anyone ever saw a close relationship forming, they were quick to destroy it.  Being children was no exception... we all learned young.

We had good teachers, the older 'adults' in our lives taught us alot.  Maybe not the best things... we learned nevertheless.

I know as that little girl sitting there with my cousin who was a couple of years older than I... I felt proud that she wanted to be my friend.  It lasted for a short time... but, for that time-being it was wonderful.

Through all the years any involvement with 'family' turned out just like this relationship... this was how we were taught to be 'family'... never trust, always break up any two people you see getting close even if it meant saying things that weren't true... don't let anyone be close.

They 'might become real family'.....  there 'might be peace among family members'... no one could stand that.  Someone 'had to be prettier than the other'... someone 'had to have more'... as children we always played 'king of the mountain'... bullying each other off that mountain... we all wanted to have the 'upper hand'.

Linda was taken away from Grandma Alma's to another 'hell on earth'...I stayed in hell there.  Grandma Alma and George's house 'guarded the door to the portal of hell'.  When that door opened up... all 'hell broke loose'.

I cried over Linda... I didn't care that she could draw a prettier girl than I could... I wished for her to come back.  I could only hear rumors of where she was taken, I never saw her again until the early seventies when our Grandmother Alma died.  She and her little baby flew here from New Mexico.

At Grandma Alma and George's ... many children 'came and went'.  Many children 'came to hell'.... I was one of the few that stayed 'too long'.

At my Grandma Alma's ... life was hell.  Sometimes it could be so happy, but... only for a few minutes.  There were so many people coming into their home to shake their life up ....at any time.  Come into their house, they did!

The room Grandma Alma sat in every day of her life (she was paralyzed) was in the 'middle' of the house.  Her upholstered rocking/recliner chair sat beside an old dresser with a mirror.  George's old wooden, bottomed chair sat beside her chair.... always.  They sat 'cata-cornered'.

They sat facing an old tv that sat on a little table in the opposite corner.  In that room, also.... was their white refrigerator.  That white refrigerator that held 'precious milk'.... to this day I don't 'see milk' because there I learned 'not to see or want it'.  It was so costly and Grandma Alma needed it.  She would have given it to us freely...

George looked after Grandma Alma.  He protected the milk for her, her health.  'Someone would sneak that milk and drink lots of it!'  I learned 'who' .....one of the ones who used to do that..... not long ago in my adult life.... Linda!  She told me that she would drink it all the time, and it tasted so good!  :)))  I was blamed for that, sometimes!

On that old brown dresser sat her 'famous' glass of water.  George (he was blind) kept that glass of water filled up for her at all times, even knowing it became 'ammunition used against him' later.  She had other things sitting on her dresser.... her many bottles of .... medicine, her alcohol and Beauty Ray lotion.

Grandma Alma's 'many bottles of medicines' made such an impression on me as a little girl.  I grew up afraid to take any more medicine than I needed, sometimes ... not taking what I need to take.  I never wanted to be dependent on medicines in order to live life... even ones needed.  I don't take pain medicine to this day unless I am completely 'past my breaking point'... crying, and in agony.  Sometimes... I don't take it, then.

Every day faithfully, George would sit beside her and 'rub her up'.  He would rub alcohol on each arm and massage it, then... each leg.  As he rubbed, massaged ... he would do 'range of motion' exercises.  For over twenty years, George did this faithfully, several times a day.  George loved our Grandma Alma.  Looking back, I think he was trying to do everything he could... to help her to walk again.  If Grandma Alma could have... she would have, she was full of fight, determination.

Though George and Grandma Alma loved each other with their hearts, they still 'got into fusses'... which could be quite loud.  As children (we were always somewhere close by).... we would look at each other in alarm that slowly changed to laughter.

We always got tickled at George... he could be LOUD!  He always said the same thing!  It was an ugly word, but, to us it was just absolutely funny.  He would yell loudly 'G___damn it'!  The whole neighborhood could hear it, he was that loud.  That was George's 'famous word... George was truly a good man, he had limitations though... Grandma Alma 'knew' how to 'push his buttons'.  Push them... she would!

Grandma Alma would get 'stirred up'... she always said the same thing!  As children, we 'knew' what they were going to say.... this played out daily... we could sit there and move our lips, say exactly the same words they were going to say.  It was 'their thing'.

Grandma Alma's famous words were 'He-man!  You are a He-man!'  My cousins and I would roll on the ground laughing... Grandma Alma didn't just say those words, she put drama behind them... and made those words sound out so 'long, and full of meaning'.

When she did that... 'the s_____ hit the fan!'  'All hell broke loose'... and anyone who was around would just stop doing what they were doing... to listen, while grinning.  It truly was entertaining.  It never lasted long... it was like a fast thunderstorm coming up in the summer... hard and fast, then, it just rained gently thereafter.

Looking back to 'then', I can see that was their only outlet to vent all the pent up feelings they surely carried inside themselves.  What in the world would 'we do'... if it had been us?  I may not have been as good of people as they were with all the odds against them.  They both lived, took care of each other for over twenty years in their own home.

Not only that... the house they lived in, owned... sat over the 'portal of hell', it 'guarded hell'.  When 'that door opened'... that's when ... real hell broke out.  Grandma Alma and George would suffer all the consequences.

The 'middle' room Grandma Alma and George sat in every day (their living room).... was what I came to think of as 'The Arena' through the years.

Every day of their life... drama would unfold in that room in front of Grandma Alma and George... the middle of that floor 'became the stage'... and 'everyone came to act on it'.  That's when 'all hell broke loose'.

This was The Stage'.... one never knew what to expect.  There were daily shows on it... sometimes, several shows.  These shows were 'rated R'... for foul language, fighting, screaming, yelling, shoving.  These were the 'shows that scared, frightened a little girl like me.  Grandma Alma and George 'had the best seats' ..... whether they wanted them or not.  They couldn't go anywhere... they 'had to watch and listen'... they had no choice.

I 'saw bad things' on that stage.  Some of the things I might never can write about ... I can still 'feel' that feeling in my stomach that reaches through time to this moment.

I can still hear flesh against flesh as punches were thrown.  I can still see in my mind... blood splattering everywhere.  My stomach feels sick from these things from my childhood... even at this very moment.  Biting, scratching, pulling hair, screaming... one would be trying 'to kill the other' to dominate, to be 'the one you don't want to mess with'.  Always a 'battle to the end'.....

I would hide in the real living room... at the front of the house.   I would get in the space between the bookcase and couch... with my back against the wall.  I always trembled, always felt so scared.  Sometimes, out of anger someone would strike out at me because I 'might look like my mama, my daddy'... striking me was 'getting back at either of them'.  I was the one who felt the pain... my mama or daddy never knew I took blows meant for them.

As a 'thrown-away' child... at Grandma Alma and George's... I was there with no one to protect me.... I could be treated any way anyone wanted to treat me.  Who was I going to tell? A paralyzed woman and a blind man?  What could they do about it?

People were evil at Grandma's house... they did bad things.  At times they could be good... then, at other times, it was like they were 'possessed'.  I learned to watch, listen, know when it was a good time for them.  I could tell by expressions on their face, their eyes.

Anger... how that house held such anger .... anger that a little girl learned to harbor in her heart until today.  Anger that she constantly battles to keep from hating.... it's always there 'underneath' the smiles.  It's natural, it's a part of a little girl who grew up to be an adult.  She learned it well......

The strange thing about this anger... it isn't toward anyone.. 'everyone is gone' now.  The little girl who is an adult now... still has to carry that inside 'until she's also, gone'.

Hell, blue lightening balls, screaming, cussing, fighting and tearing flesh, pulling hair from one's head, blood splattering in patterns on the floor... if I looked closely I could sometimes see shapes of things like in a work of art.... blood art.

Blood art that would affect me... a little girl standing in shock, feeling faint, heart beating fast, crying inside that someone was hurting bad, stomach feeling those 'scared butterflies'.  Many things at my Grandma Alma and George's affected me as a child ... even to this day.

Sometimes.... I bled.  Sometimes my skin would break open from being beaten with a belt, or big switch.  I knew how it felt to have hair jerked and pulled from my head, how the stinging pain felt from a forceful slap.  I knew how it felt to be pushed onto a hot, burning wood heater... the pain, the blistering that followed.  I 'know' alot of things... how they felt.

I've worn more 'shoes in life' than any Hollywood star has in her closet.... hers are more fun.... mine were 'life lessons' both good, and bad.  The good part is that as the years went by in my life... I am truly a good person.

I could have been .... very bad.  As a young woman, I could have traveled paths I got on to the very end... thank-God, I didn't.... I wouldn't be a good person now.  Thank-God, I had the foresight to come to a screeching halt, turn back around and 'run like hell' to get off those paths.

I remember once my Grandma Alma getting so angry at me.... it broke my heart.  Her eyes looked as if she were possessed as she screamed at me.  Never had I seen or felt her wrath as I did that day...

I was a teenager and had made friends with a girl whom I had to fight when pushed to do so... I won, I meant to win.  I came into Grandma Alma's house from school telling her what happened, that now... I was friends with that girl.  My Grandma Alma 'went ballistic'... her eyes had a light in them that was 'other-worldly'... she was the most angriest I had ever seen her.  I believe if I'd been close enough ...she would have slapped me with her good hand.

She began screaming 'that girl is nothing but, a whore... nothing but, trash!'  She screamed at me to not have anything to do with her... on and on, she screamed.  I never knew 'why' she did that, nor what she knew about the girl.  Strangely enough, 'that girl showed her colors' and that affected me in an awful way.  Grandma Alma... was right!  How did she know?  She couldn't get around to know... how did she know?

At Grandma Alma and George's home... at any moment... 'something dramatic could unfold on 'the stage'... that day I told Grandma Alma, I became one of the characters on it.  Grandma Alma and I... were the only two on it.... my Grandma Alma's anger hurt me deeply... she always loved me.   Strangely enough... she was usually right about something.  At that moment... I didn't know that she was... again.

Yes, at any time there... when that door to hell opened... all hell would break loose.  One never knew when they'd be caught up in it... what I've written here is only an idea of it... if one knew.  That house guards the portal of hell... even to this day.  Bad things have happened in that house.

I say prayers for the people I see living there.  Time after time again people move there... something bad happens.  At any minute... that door could open and.... all hell break loose!

A Portrait Of Me In Words...

"I'm like the wind that blows gently... just don't corner me up in a room, let me blow on my free and gentle way... I just want to go here and yonder... I'm not interested in stopping to hurt anything... I just want to smile and be happy in life... I love peace and harmony and ...quiet." by Gloria Faye Brown Bates   

Gentle Wind, Gentle Breeze

January 16, 2012

I was trying to think of a way to describe myself... of course, I know... there are many ways to describe 'myself'.

Do you ever think of just sitting down to describe 'you'... by painting a portrait of you 'in words'? I was just doing that earlier this morning when I was thinking of how ... 'in words' I could tell a cousin that I've never known... something about me. :)))

The wind came to my mind. The soft and gentle wind... not a forceful, gale-like wind. The wind that cools your skin in humid weather. Or a gentle breeze that touches one's face gently. The wind that makes the treetops sway gracefully ... back and forth, back and forth in rhythm to the music of the birds singing, the little insects humming and buzzing... everywhere.

One might hear in the distance the slam of a door, or a dog barking, a lawn mower cutting grass, a happy squeal from a child playing, and sometimes, a radio playing in someone's yard while they work on something.

I would be like the wind blowing here and blowing there... bringing relief from the heat, a comforting touch, a welcomed breeze to cool the skin.

As the wind blows... which 'would be me, myself'... I would enjoy hearing my favorite sounds in the distance that I just described... life in motion, beautiful life in motion.

I'm the wind who would blow your way, their way... coming to feel, to touch your life only gently and to smile softly... because I love to watch your life in motion and ... you and they... be happy.

I would blow happiness your way, every way, every... where. You would never know I was there, only feel me for a moment or maybe alittle while... never imposing on your life.  I would look over your shoulder and hope that I would see a happy face, if I didn't ..I would blow happiness your way.

I would be the wind that would dry your tears and make you smile... everyone loves the wind, welcomes the wind... especially when the wind and sunshine join hands and ... smiles.

Imagine the wind gently blowing and the sun smiling... doesn't it feel so heavenly to feel both on your face, your skin... your heart.

I am the wind, I wish I could bring happiness to your heart, so I'll gently keep blowing and being everywhere... you'll feel me and know ... I'm there.

I see you smiling...

A PORTRAIT OF ME IN WORDS...

Remembering Lena... Systervans

Remembering Lena...  Systervans

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/ aka Granny Gee

Yesterday I began thinking about Lena.  As Skip and I talked about many things, I began to talk about Lena.

My systervan, Lena Gunnarsson, who lived in Sweden.  For twelve years she was in my life everyday... by computer many times a day, by mail when we would send each other letters, gifts, photos.

We never got to meet, yet... we were very close, we knew what each other wished for, wanted, what was most important in life to each other.  We knew each other's sons, Tommy and Johan... husbands, Skip and Hakan.

Lena and I even knew each other's families.... our families 'knew' Lena, and they 'knew' Gloria.  Everyday from April 17, 1999 until she died months after Tommy... we meant so much to each other.  Through emails, mail we experienced and 'felt' all we each went through in our lives.

We laughed together when things were funny, cried when things weren't good for the other, hurt when one of us was hurt, cared when each other was sick.  We were like sisters... therefore we  called each other 'systervan'... sister-friend.

Yesterday I was missing Lena very much.  I told Skip that it hurts me very much when I think of her... she was a part of my world just as Tommy, Skip and our Pups were/are.

Every morning I'd wake up to go to my computer to find her emails... all through the day I would check my computer to find her emails.  She did the same there in Sweden.

If we didn't hear from each other when we were a little later writing than usual... both of us would feel 'sick inside with butterflies, and all'... until we heard something.  Then, our worlds would be right again.

For twelve years I wrote to Lena... for twelve years I've been writing and didn't realize it.  Every day of my life I wrote to Lena during those years, just as every day of my life 'now'... I write to you, my readers... friends... family.  I've been writing all along never realizing it.

Since November I've printed out all of my stories here... it's quite a big 'book' already!  Can you imagine writing long emails everyday ...several times a day... for twelve years?  The 'book' would be huge!  I used to print all of her emails, you wouldn't believe!  They burned in the fire that destroyed all of our things.  I do still have my 'Lena Scrapbook' that survived the fire.  How it did, I don't know.

Lena, I miss you with my heart.  You were the sister I always wished for... you were 'there' when I was so ill, you were always there.

I miss you talking excitedly about going to Willy's, hunting for Portabella mushrooms in the forest, Lisa The Beautiful Pig, and .......... I have to stop now, it hurts me so much.  You were as much a part of my world as breathing, just as Tommy was... just as Skip and our Pups are.  You were my family, too.  So was Johan, Sara... and Hakan and Per, Eva and Elin, Eric, Hjordis, Tomas, Emma, Harry and Berit, Roger and Anna-Lena.

I'm always honored when even now, one of Lena's family emails me.  I'm honored when they send photos now.  It means the world to me.

I felt sad thinking about Lena getting sick so quickly, dying... not long after that, Hakan died. I feel my heart squeeze up with that painful, familiar tug... grief.

Lena... I can't ever forget you my systervan.  I can see you smiling now, happy that I wrote about you, not forgetting you.  You and Tommy are 'why' I began writing here.  I'm not ever forgetting you either, Lena.

When I began writing November 02, 2011 on my blog... I began with little silly things never thinking I would go on to write here.  All of my years writing to Lena just as I write here, I found I couldn't stop........ all of a sudden 'I took off' writing.  I want to write forever.

Thank-you, Lena, for always being there for me at my sickest, happiest, good or bad moments.  It meant the world to me.

This is to ... remember Lena, my systervan.  I loved you as my sister.

Setting Animals On Fire..... For Fun!

Setting Animals On Fire For Fun.................

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/ aka Granny Gee

I have been listening to CNN.  I just learned something awful that's been happening... people are setting animals, pets on fire ... for fun.

I just looked at a photo where some of 'the worse' was blurred out.  Just what I saw broke my heart, made me physically sick, angry... that someone could be so cruel as to hurt an innocent animal.  Sick, sick... sick.

I may sound cruel when I say this... I don't apologize, I mean every word I say.  I really feel when someone intentionally means to hurt, harm an innocent animal, pet, person... they should get a taste of their medicine.

I can't describe the anguish I felt in my heart seeing the photo of a little dog that had terrible burns over its innocent body.  I realize that we walk shoulder to shoulder with 'bad' people as well as 'good' people.

Lots of times, the 'bad' people 'look like good people'.  I've learned this through all my years of living.  It's a good diguise.  They can get away with lots of 'bad' things.  Who would believe it?

Children, animals, helpless elderly people, homeless people are victims of such cruel people.  What is different about their brains, minds... that they could inflict such pain, grief to another living being?  What makes them different from me... I can't bear to hurt animals or people.  My heart hurts at what I know, have seen... experienced.

This is what has been on my mind... I wanted to share it.  I wonder how many people are aware of this?  I know I sure wasn't... and I thought I kept up with so much on the world news.  This goes on in 'our back yard'....

I can only say that Granny Gee hopes every person experiences exactly how it feels on their bodies, the grief... the pain... the horrendous things they inflict on other living beings.  I don't apologize for thinking like this.  I am a people-lover, animal lover.  Knowing this causes more grief in my heart...

Setting animals on fire ... for fun.  Do you 'feel' what I feel inside when I read those words.......... 'setting animals on fire... for fun'?

Can You See The Weight I Carry On My Shoulders?

Can You See The Weight I Carry On My Shoulders?

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/ aka Granny Gee

Yesterday morning I got up thinking I'm going to feel good.  I fed our Pups, and went to my wonderful shower ...you all know my love for warm, soapy water!  Bubbles from my perfumed soaps, the beautiful scents....

I took my shower using the bar of Dial soap my husband gave to me over a week ago.  For some reason I've been using that bar of soap every day since he gave it to me.  Normally, I would use my perfumed soaps.  I keep trying to hold onto a memory from my childhood... 'why'?  I just don't really know.

Once the Dial soap is wet, the scent instantly takes me back to when I was a little girl.  It takes me always to the home of my cousins who lived next door to my Grandma Alma and George's.

The big, sparkling white bathroom... lots of little kids running around squealing with happiness.  Some of them getting into that big porcelain bathtub of nice, warm water to take their baths... some of them getting out.  There were alot of soapy washcloths hanging on the side of the tub, in the tub.

I can see little drops of water dripping from washcloths onto the sparkling, white tile floor.  The window was open, a breeze blowing the curtain...  I can see the sun shining... all of these things making that moment a wonderful memory in my mind.

How as a little girl I wished to be in that wonderful, warm tub of soapy water... before I was thrown to hell... I knew how it felt to play in my own tub with warm, soapy water.

Remember ... I couldn't take nice baths like that once I had to come to Grandma Alma and George's to live.  I would go into the bathroom on their back porch in fear of something jumping on me, something getting on me.  It was scary.

I would stand at their white porcelain tub, and wish to bathe in warm, soapy water.  I would turn the handle to make the water come on... I never understood 'why' it was always cold.  Not knowing any better, I would try sometimes to get into the cold water to take a warm bath... always coming out of it, freezing to death.

As a little girl, I just didn't know how to make that water warm.  I didn't know that Grandma Alma and George only had cold water.  If I had known that, I still wouldn't have known 'why', I was too young to understand.

My whole world changed to a life I didn't know, wasn't used to.  No longer was there someone to cook, clean the home I lived in, to care for me, dress me.  I was having to do this for myself at the age of nine.

George, who was blind, would tell me what to do.... Grandma Alma would tell me to come to her, she would take her one good hand to try and help me to dress each day.  As time went by there, all of my beautiful school dresses, shoes changed to clothes I wasn't used to wearing.  I know I must have looked like a little orphan back then... I was an orphan,

I was a thrown-away child.  Sometimes, I was wanted only to be thrown away again.  My mother couldn't maintain a stable life for herself, much less having a child to care for.

Grandma Alma and George didn't have money to buy me things, much less to buy their food, pay their bills, and pay the milkman (how well I remember the milk there... that's 'why' I don't 'see' milk today).........

My Grandma Alma and George... I can't tell you how much I loved them.  I loved seeing their smiles, hearing them laugh.  I can see in my mind's eye... George sitting there with a light in his sightless eyes, his round belly shaking as he laughed... sometimes he'd slap his knee when he was really tickled.

My Grandma Alma's smile was something else... it made one feel so 'loved'.  Her eyes would soften when she looked at me, or at any of her grandchildren.  She was like a fierce lioness where her grandchildren were concerned... even paralyzed she'd 'fight' from that chair that held her hostage for over twenty years... to protect her grandchildren.  She threw 'many a glass of water' from that chair... it was her 'ammunition'.

How sad... how funny it was to a little, frightened girl who would be crouched behind Grandma Alma's rocking recliner chair... Grandma Alma would dare someone 'to touch that child'... if they even made an advance to come closer... my beautiful Grandma Alma would throw that water in their face!  My Grandma Alma loved me with her heart.

The sunshine would shine in that 'house that was the portal to hell' when my Grandma Alma and George would smile.  It just never lasted long enough.... it was as if that house wouldn't let happiness dwell there long.  Hell-raising would break out constantly there... life was pure hell there.  For a little innocent child that was 'thrown to the lions', it was truly a nightmare.

I learned that 'I didn't smell good anymore' from some of my classmates.  How does a child know these things?  I learned the hard way so much in my life.  How so innocent I was... how 'so unknowing I was as a little girl'.  I still feel 'embarassed' in today's time as an older woman...

Grandma Alma and George did the very best they could... she was paralyzed, he was blind.

The positive about all the negative, painful life I had was/is that once I learned, I never forgot.  Think of getting a powerful shock from high voltage everytime you learn something... the life lessons I learned almost ...always hurt 'that bad'.  If you don't want to feel pain... don't do it again.

You better learn as fast as you can because 'it's going to hurt, hurt bad'... if you don't!  I really always tried to learn 'once I became aware of 'what it was' that I needed to learn.  I hurt... alot.

For a moment I stop to think, try to 'see a little closer' into that time... I wonder 'who' brushed my hair, or if it was brushed, then?

I have to step back in my mind... it really hurts when I try to 'go close', my stomach gets a strange feeling.  Many things in my life make me feel like that... I have alot that 'I can't remember' for the pain it causes me.

Once I begin thinking 'beyond' the wonderful memory of my cousins bathing in the Dial soap 'back then'... I begin to feel that sick sensation inside.  I just wanted to remember the memory of the 'happy' time.

I showered, dressed and left to go to Walmart to pick up chews for Mr. Kissy, and Chadwick.  Kissy has to have his chew every night so, he can relax and settle down to sleep.  A chew is his pacifier. He is a big, spoiled Rottie puppy.

I went to a place I usually go every day, to be around people, to help my aching body.  Some days are very hard for me, today seemed to be one of them.  Not only did my body hurt... my 'mind' hurt, too.

As the morning progressed, the more 'weight' I felt sitting on my shoulders.  I began to feel disoriented, so weak from carrying such a load. I really didn't feel like talking, smiling... I was proud that I did, though.

That's how I can fool people into thinking I am just fine... that way no one will look closely at me... I can go on my way until I make it home to... just 'simply be'.

I just wanted to get home, out of sight from everyone before they noticed that I wasn't walking tall... my shoulders were being pressed down by the weight on them.

I laid down on the bed, Kissy and Chadwick jumped up to lay beside me.  They knew it was unusual for me to lay down, I don't usually give up so easily.  They loved the opportunity to be lay close to me, and sleep.  How they comfort me, I let my hand, my foot touch both of them as I slept to get away from the pain in my mind, body.

I wonder 'if' anyone can ever 'see' the huge, heavy weight I carry?  For a moment, I will find humor here... not the extra weight that I am working at losing... :)))

I'm talking about the invisible weight that sometimes threatens to crush me into the ground... I'm very strong because I carry it each day.  Some days it isn't as 'heavy'.  Yesterday, it was almost more than I could carry.

Grief... that's what the weight is... pure, pure grief.  Sometimes it can get the best of me.  Sometimes I think I can talk about Tommy and think how well I did... when I get alone, something happens inside me.

It did this morning.  I was happy I could speak about Tommy, it was one of those times I didn't feel like I would cry.  I talked to two ladies, Donna and Barbara, about Tommy.

I told them a little of his 'last' trip to the ocean, how I worried about him and his family getting there safely that Memorial Day weekend, how they got there safely...... how I relaxed and was so glad.  How... I got 'that phone call' from a stranger......... after that I stopped, I couldn't talk about it anymore.

How nice they were, they both hugged me not knowing how that touched my heart, how that meant alot to me at that moment.  I told them that I write, that normally I don't talk about things and 'why I chose to at that moment'... I just didn't know.

When I left there, the weight I felt pressing on my shoulders became 'heavier'.... I felt my heart begin to hurt, the tears begin to make my eyes burn, the pain in my throat began... all I wanted to do was to get home.

Grief, something so invisible, something you can't hold in your hand, has the power to cause such physical pain.  No one can see you being hurt by it, being attacked by it.... they stand there not knowing you are 'being torn apart, devoured by it'.

'If all of a sudden' they could see 'grief' as it really was, they would see a person being shred to pieces in front of their eyes.  But.. they can't see the gaping wounds, scars left from each time ... grief strikes.

The strange thing is that a person, 'me'... can stand there and smile... no one the wiser... as I'm being 'cut to pieces, shredded' by the grief that follows my every step.

Picture in your mind standing still while wild animals were ripping your flesh... to keep anyone from knowing the pain you were experiencing... you just smile, pretend everything is alright... while you are 'bleeding to death'.... and the pain... oh my God, the pain.

When I finally got home, came inside... I walked to the bedroom, debated with myself about 'giving up' and just going to bed.  This time... I had to give up, I fluffed my pillows to lay my head on... as I laid down on the comforter I was pulling the quilt up to my chin to 'comfort me'... like my mama used to do to me each night as a little girl.... before 'I went to hell'.

I was so thankful to be to myself, where no one could see me as I laid down beneath the weight of my ... grief.  Pure, pure grief.  I felt I could no longer hold it up... I had to lay down to rest from it.

I felt tears on my eyelashes as I closed my eyes... tears of relief that I could finally just be in the darkness for a little while... the kind of darkness that was comforting to me now.... sleep.

It's strange ... when we see something heavy trying to crush a person... everyone runs to rescue them.  It's strange because when something heavy is crushing someone that can't be seen... how can anyone run to rescue them?  The weight is just as great.

Grief.... the weight one carries inside, on their shoulders that can't be seen.  I suffer in silence as it hurts me, crushes me... with a smile on my face while I let you know that I am fine, all is well, my tears and red eyes are from allergies I suffer... I stand there with such a heavy weight on my shoulders, no one can help me... they can't see it.

I have tried once again to 'put grief into words'... you can't see how heavy it is, you may sometimes see my shoulders looking stooped from the weight.  I try to hold them high, straight... if I'm not careful, the weight will pull them down again.

Tommy... I just miss my son.  I miss his sunshine smile, the sound of his voice, his laughing eyes, his funny jokes, hearing his cowardly lion laugh, even when he liked to take his big hand (he was so much taller than I)... and put it on top of my head and mess my hair up!  He would say 'mama, you have hair all over your head'!  I didn't like him to mess my hair up... but, I'd be so glad for him to mess it up now.

This is 'why' I carry that invisible weight on my shoulders, that pain.  Only I am aware of it, because I 'feel' it... I can't see it, either.  But, it's there... always there.  Can you see the weight I carry on my shoulders?

If I Won A Lottery...

If I Won A Lottery...

by Gloria Faye Brown Bates/ aka Granny Gee

Skip and I were talking today about winning a huge amount of money on a lottery ticket.... :)))  Anything is possible, people do it all the time.  Truthfully, the most I ever won was forty dollars.

Skip told me that I would have lots of friends if I were to win alot of money.  I told him that the friends I have now, at this time, are my only friends.  It made me dream for a few minutes... everyone needs to dream sometimes, see in one's mind the things they would do, love to do, actually see themselves doing them, 'feel' themselves doing them.  That's how things can 'magically' happen.  I believe in miracles.

Back to dreaming... I would remove myself and make me unavailable if I won alot of money.  I might would do like 'Undercover Boss'... get in disguise and mingle around different places listening, observing.

I would be looking for people who wish for something special, need something important... I would never let them know I could be one who could help a wish, or several wishes... come true.

I don't have to walk in alot of people's shoes because... I already 'know how alot of different shoes feel like'.  I would know what to look for, where to go to make good things happen.

Of course, I would take care of mine and Skip's dreams, wishes at the same time.  We and our Pups... would move to a bigger home, upgrade our vehicles.  We would still be the same people.  We would pay off bills we keep putting off to pay others...that would bring us peace of mind.

I would put aside four sizeable amounts of money for Taban and his mother, for McKenzie and her mother.  Each would have their own money from us.

I have two special friends I would put aside sizeable amounts of money for, Ms Nancy and Tori.

I would also, do the same for several cousins whom I've come alittle closer to in the past months.

I would not forget my two brothers Wm Ernest and David, my nephews and my sister, Teresa.  I would do the same for them.

There are people I care for, like.  I would do something special for each of them.

One special thing I would want to do just for 'me'... have a huge white art studio with lots and lots of windows, sliding glass doors.  I would love for all the walls to be white with beautiful mirrors all around.... with white cabinets, countertops, drawers, shelves and beautiful double sinks.

In the middle of the room I would like a big island with white countertops to work at on art projects.  I would want my floor to be white, sparkling like diamonds... have a inside waterfall sing to me water songs all the time.  I would also, love to have a huge aquarium with happy-colored fish swimming with joy.  My fish would be happy fish...

I would love to have thousands of happy colors in paints, pastels, oils and acryllics, inks, markers and coloring pencils.  I would love to have every kind of paint brush, lots of canvases, card stock, and art supplies.  I would love to have the most special easel and stool to carry to sit and paint clouds.  I would take 'millions' of art lessons to help me improve on all that I've learned to do through the years.

These are some of the things I would do if I won a lottery.  I would make 'happy colors' everywhere I go, and put them in alot of people's lives.  I would see how many smiles I could create to... match mine... 'if' I won a lottery.

SON

Son

BY GLORIA FAYE BROWN BATES/aka GRANNY GEE

I sat on the porch in the dark this morning
I looked up to the sky, saw a orange moon
I thought of you, Son
My child, my baby... my only one

I thought about you being there watching me
Wishing to communicate with me, maybe you can't
I placed my hand out as if on a window pane out in the air
I closed my eyes, gently moved my hand to see if you were there

I opened my eyes to study the air hoping to see something
I didn't see, nor did I feel anything with my hand
I continued to sit there thinking about you, Son
My child, my baby... my only one

I WANT TO WRITE A STORY ABOUT YOU... AS A GRIEVING MOTHER...

I WANT TO WRITE A STORY ABOUT YOU... AS A GRIEVING MOTHER.......

NOTE:  This is the email I sent back to _____, who wants to write a short story about me as a grieving mother, about my son, Tommy.  If it's real... it's a good thing... if not... it's still a good thing.

BY GLORIA FAYE BROWN BATES/aka GRANNY GEE

Hi ........................
I am going to always be up front, honest with you if you continue to write.  You deserve that, so that you never misunderstand anything I say... I would appreciate if you will be the same with me.

I added you back because I would like to believe you are being honest about wanting to know the things you ask of me as a 'grieving mother'.

I would like to believe you are very sincere, and don't cause me extra grief that I don't need in my life now.

I would, of course, like everyone else if someone told them that they'd write a story about someone they loved most dearly in their life... to believe in you.

Who wouldn't want their loved one to be written about... when they write themselves to never forget them?  I'm no different from everyone else.

When a nice young man comes along who could very well be one's child, too... and says the things you have... a grieving mother wants to believe in you.

........................, I want to believe in you.  If you are sincere, you mean the world to me.  I will always be friends with you if you are real.

If you aren't sincere... just leave me alone, don't write to me anymore.

Don't cause me more pain, you don't know what I have been through to be able to go on living.  I almost didn't make it, I am only at this late date finally beginning to feel some happiness in life.

Please don't touch my life and... hurt it with promises of writing a story about my son.  I write, I don't need you to write for me.  I am friends with alot of people who write books, they are always emailing me, we are always talking.

There are others who will write for me if I want them to.... my life has alot in it that is interesting... but, I don't share that with anyone.  I will write about it when the time comes.

Only Skip knows what I've been through... and he won't sit back to let me be hurt.  If you want money to finance your writing... we don't have it, we can't help.  We are like everyone else... we are just us, we aren't rich.

I didn't have to write back to you to tell you any of this.  You said something that is very true... I have respect for everyone.

I never reach out to someone's life ...to hurt them.  I am a good person... but... I am very strong, I am not weak.  I'm kind, but... it'd be a mistake to think I'm 'weak'... people who have ever done that find that out.

Another thing, and I will be very honest here.... in the USA, it is known that when anyone who contacts you from Nigeria.... it is a scam.

Some years ago, my husband was being scammed by a person from your country.  We learned from the FBI that this happens quite frequently, we were told not to fall for scams .... that on the internet... people are ruthless, they will do anything for money.

We would go to the FBI here in our country 'if' we thought, felt this was happening.  They would immediately begin to investigate.

If you aren't real, ............, stop writing now.  I have had only good feelings toward you so far... I wouldn't want to know that you weren't what you say you are.  I already cared, and felt good feelings toward you.

If you 'knew me'... you would be just as honored as I was when you first wrote.

If you are telling the truth, sincere in all you say... you won't be offended by all I've written.  If you are offended... simply don't touch my life again... simply don't write me again... leave me alone.  I have suffered enough through my grief... I won't let you hurt me.

You are a stranger... we are taught here not to trust strangers, especially ones on the internet.  If it's too good to be true.... it isn't real.

You asked the question:  "Let me ask you, Gloria do you feel free and at peace communicating with me.

................, I don't know you... how am I supposed to give you a straight 'yes' or 'no'... I don't know if I do ... or if I don't.  I would like to believe you are a good person... at this point in time I feel you are a good person... 'for the moment I am comfortable communicating with you.

You don't have to flatter me with 'pretty words'...  I don't need them.  I am not 'old', neither am I 'young'... I know what I am, I like me, I'm comfortable ...with myself.  I don't have to be told flattering things.

I ask for honesty in any relationship I have in life... as you can see, .................. you ARE going to get honesty from me.  I don't have to tell lies to get what I want in life.

Depending on the 'real person' you are... either my email will warn you not to touch my life anymore if you are dishonest.... or it will let you know that if you ask me something... I'll either tell you... if I want to tell you... I won't tell you if I don't want you to know.

I've been a very private person all my life... I won't 'open myself' up to you, or anyone at this time in my life.... my private life ...is mine.

Like I told you before... I don't see how I can help you at all... you are in another country.  I am 'nobody famous or rich'..... but, always remember this about 'Granny Gee/Gloria'.... I AM SOMEBODY.

If you choose to write back ... let it be because you are very honest, and you aren't afraid to answer the same questions you ask me.... expect such from me.

If you choose not to write back... I wish you well, ..................., in all that you do.

I won't feel bad feelings toward you if you stop at this time reaching out to touch my life... and are dishonest.

Leave me alone now... if you aren't honest and mean every word you write.

Just know that 'every word' I wrote... I mean them... every one of them.

Don't touch my life anymore unless you are
a good person.......

Sincerely,
Granny Gee/Gloria