BED 3... A NOTE ABOUT BED 3...

BED 3...

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

 

 

 

Bed 3... turned into a 'short story' as I started out to write something else. 

 

That's what happens when I begin to write, draw... paint.  What begins 'as one thing'.... turns into another.  :)))

 

Some people thought it was real... it's just 'practice writing' that turned into this story.  :)))

 

Thankfully, 'such things' don't usually happen... or we hope that they... ... don't.



BED 3...

BED 3:
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee



The young woman watched as the young man got out of his car.  He ran quickly to the passenger side of the car... opened the door.  She stood at the glass door that opened into the parking lot.  She peered closer... to see what he was doing... to see what she needed to be ready for.

He reached in, lifted something from the front seat.  He turned around, began walking forward with his load. The car door hung open... forgotten.

The young man began struggling to carry... an older lady he held in his arms.  His knees began buckling under the weight.

The young woman opened the glass door leading into the waiting room.  She worked in the office as an emergency registration clerk.  This was the room everyone waited in for their turn to go into the emergency room to be seen by the doctor.

She always watched out for the emergency waiting room, in case someone was very sick.  She didn't want anyone to die while waiting there, to see the doctor.  The clerk was very responsible... she took her job seriously.  She paid more attention to the people around her, than most people who worked her job.  She cared.

She also, watched on the other side of the locked door she'd walked through to come into the registration area, to enter the door of the waiting room.

She watched, listened for the double doors that would swing open any moment with an emergency patient on a stretcher.  Most of the time, she was alerted by a nurse... or the wail of a siren.  Sometimes, no one would hear a car come up carrying someone who was deathly ill... until the family member came in to get help.

The clerk worked in a small community hospital.  The emergency room was across from the doorway of her office.  It was her job to run between the actual emergency room, and the office to register patients.

She would meet the rescue squad when they came in with a patient.  It was her job to meet family members as they came through the doors with the patient... guide them through the locked door for them to be seated... get their information for the patient.

The waiting room was empty.  She had walked to the door she had to unlock, to enter the registration area... to walk out into the waiting room.  She was listening to the news on the tv mounted on the wall.  She had walked to the glass door to look out into the parking lot, when she saw the fast-moving car drive in, park.

"What's wrong with her"?  The clerk asked while she motioned for him to follow her.  "She's having bad chest pain; she has a history of congestive heart failure"!  The young man could hardly talk, he was breathless from carrying his load.

The clerk led the way through the door she kept locked, closing it behind her.  She saw a wheel chair, pointed at it.  The young man shook his head, meaning to go on!

She led him through the open doorway of the emergency room.  He followed her.  The clerk led him to Bed 3... where she had watched... life and death play out more times than she could count. This 'was' the bed for heart patients, and patients who were deathly ill, patients who were in a bad way.

Her eyes had paid close attention to the woman... she had the feeling 'something was going to happen'.  She felt the woman was very sick.  She knew that it was okay to take the patient directly into the emergency room.

As she passed the nurse, and doctor sitting at the white counter top on stools that rolled them around... she leaned in to tell them the woman was experiencing severe chest pain... she had a history of congestive heart failure.

She hurried on, knowing they would go into action.  This doctor, and nurse were very good... she held the highest respect for both.  They were a 'good combination'... anyone would want to be in their hands... if they were fighting for their life.  Anyone with chest pain would be seen right away!

Sometimes, the 'combination of doctor, nurse' ... wasn't a good one.  This time... they were ... the best.  She felt proud to be working with these two, today.  They were her friends, also.

She pulled the curtain back, pointed at the bed.  The young man put his mother on the bed.  His mother laid back against the pillow. The clerk looked at her, didn't feel good about her.  The elderly woman smiled weakly at her.  The clerk ran out to tell the doctor, nurse to come on... briefly wondering 'why' they weren't already there.  Still... she 'knew' they'd come...

She saw the nurse, doctor still sitting there, engrossed in one another!  She walked quickly to them... apologized for interrupting.  "That woman is having a heart attack"!  How she knew the woman was having a heart attack... she didn't know.  She just 'knew something was getting ready to happen'!

She kept going until she got to her desk, computer.  She put the woman's name into the computer... found her... printed out all the info.  All the son had to do was to sign permission to treat her.  She ran back to the emergency room.

As she entered the door, she heard a commotion... it was at Bed 3.  Get the crash cart, call Code Blue!  The nurse picked up the phone, pressed a couple of buttons on the phone.  She began speaking into the phone... that became an instant intercom.   "Code Blue, Emergency Room!  Code Blue, Emergency Room!"

Medical staff began arriving, each knowing what their task was to save the woman.  The clerk stood back to witness the 'battle between life, death'.  She'd seen it many times.  She prayed this woman would live.

She was told to lead the son out into the emergency room.  She put her hand gently on his shoulder as, he kept turning to look back.  She had to keep her emotions in check... she wanted to scream at the doctor, nurse.  'Why' didn't they come on?

The clerk smiled gently at the young man, patted him on the shoulder as she led him to the door.  She opened it to let him go in, so... he could be seated in the waiting area.  She promised to come back to let him know how his mother was.  She closed the door... it locked automatically.

There wasn't anyone to register... so, the clerk walked back to the emergency room.  She stood watching the hospital staff do CPR on the woman.  They used the paddles....

She felt terrible anger, shock while she stood there.  'Why' didn't the nurse, doctor come to help the woman at the very beginning?  That wasn't like them at all.  She would have bet a thousand dollars on both of them to go to a patient, not waste time... to save their lives.  If 'they' couldn't save a patient's life... no one else could.

Yet... only 'she knew' that they didn't do what they should have.  They didn't come for some reason... they were the reason that woman was dying.  The clerk's eyes filled with tears... her heart felt deep anger.  She hated them... God, she hated them!  They did wrong!  Please God, don't let that young man's mother die!

She became aware of Bed 3... the commotion was dying down... she knew the woman had died.  She knew it!  She'd seen this happen over, and over.  Some patients lived... some died.  Bed 3 was like a portal to the other side.

Imagine a door .... if you open it... enter... you have died.  Imagine being at that door... and it didn't open... that means you missed death only by inches.  BED 3 was the portal to ... the other side.

The clerk never spoke to the doctor, nurse that she had always thought highly of, respected with her heart... ever again.  Never had she been so disappointed in someone.

The nurse, doctor came to her several times, after the woman died.  They came to talk to the clerk... she only turned her head away.  She couldn't bear to even look at them, much less talk to them.  She knew that they did wrong... they let a woman die... while they were enjoying each other's company.  She ... hated them.

She never told a soul... how could it help anyone.  They knew they did wrong.  They let that patient die... on Bed 3.

I Didn't Choose To Go This Way At All...

I Never Meant To Be A Fighter... I'll Win This Battle, Too
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

Chadwick, our precious Pup...he's never been sick a day in his whole life until the month of October, 2013.  He is 6 years old...  



For the past two weeks, I haven't been feeling well at all.  Not only that, I have felt so 'down'.  So, many things going on in our life.... when I tell you, I think you'll see... 

I don't wallow in self-pity, and cry 'woe is me!'  I'm a fighter... I'm a winner... I've had to be ... to be living, 'now'.

It's been one of those times that I've had to face something completely new in my life... turn down another path that I've never traveled before.  So, foreign... alien to 'me'.  Who would have thought... just who would have thought?

I've been devastated... but, not so much that it kept me 'on the ground' long.  In a short time, I 'picked my ass up, dusted my pants off'.  Now... I'm facing it ... head-on.  I don't have to tell you ... who's going to win.  But, I will... it's going to be 'me'.  :))) I'm going to win.

It's another thing to experience in my life... I've never known many people to experience quite as many things in their life.  Usually... one or two things is what is in any one's lifetime.  Mine... I can't even begin naming them off... unless I sit, take time to do so.

Even at this moment, when I let myself think about my 'newest' crisis... tears come to my eyes.  Don't worry, my childhood prepared me for all this... believe me... I've been tested.  

I'm most strong... I've been through more than anyone knows... or could even guess.  If I cry... it doesn't mean I'm weak... it means something is causing me... great pain.  Or... I am very angry...

You see... the worst has happened.  Only one thing could happen now, that would equal 'the worst' in my life.  I pray that doesn't happen.  The worst being is... Tommy died.  My only child ... died.

So, whatever happens to me... it no where compares with the death of my child.  It changed me, forever.  

My doctor called me, herself... to tell me that I am diabetic.  'Me'... diabetic!  It still feels alien, foreign to me.  I 'knew deep down inside'... I wasn't well.  

For some time now, I've been laying down during the day time... I just haven't felt well at all.  I could see 'something I couldn't identify' in my face, my eyes.  'Now'... I know.

I have a beautiful doctor... in spirit as well as in person.  I think God led me to her, and Skip to his doctor.  The right time, the right place sort of thing.  We both feel very fortunate to have both.  She was so kind when she talked to me about this.  She 'knew' that I would handle this... she knew I was a positive person.

Truthfully, for a day or two... I wasn't positive at all.  Inside... my mind raged, ranted, screamed... to know that I 'have another battle'.  I began crying about Tommy... I almost lost it.  

If I'd been a wrestler... I'd whipped everyone's ass, and have thrown them out of the ring!  The anger... was so great!  For a brief moment... I felt like giving up... that didn't last long!

I didn't feel sorry for myself at all.  I just got 'pissed off'!  I don't mind telling you.  Like I said... I'm glad I wasn't a wrestler... someone would have had 'a bad day'... :)))

Sometimes, I get damn tired of having to go into battle after battle.  I'm a very weary soul... it doesn't mean I'm weak, though.  I just get so tired of 'fighting to live'... but, fight I will.  :)))

I was just 'damn' mad 'as hell'.  I still feel 'mad'... I don't have 'an ass to kick'... this is another 'invisible thing' that I can't see.  If I could, I promise you... I would get a head-start, and I'd run like hell, and bust it 'wide open'.  

For a couple of days I wasn't positive at all... yet, deep inside... I 'knew' I still was.  I was like a pot water on the stove... I 'boiled over'... until I could be ... calm.

The truth is the truth... I won't sugar-coat this at all... either.  How could it possibly help anyone if I made it all 'sound good'?  

Well, it isn't good... it isn't good at all.  I can make it be okay, though.  I can deal with it, take it in stride... I still don't 'feel like it's a part of me'... and if I can help it... I can forget I have it.  I can take the medicine, eat half-way right... and go on living.  I won't dwell on it, and... I'll do my part to 'help myself'.

Another thing is... I know many people have this medical condition today.  I'm not the only one to be told this.  But... I have been told this... and it's my life that is affected.  I have another battle to win.  Just know that 'I know I'm not the only one'... I am the only one to tell 'my story'...                               

I will... win this battle, too.  You can bet your ass on it!  Yes, I am saying these words.  These are my 'mad words'... they are 'a part of me' when 'I feel angry'... and, 'I will say them'.  

We are going through tough times... we are worried about our Pups, Camie and... Chadwick.  

You all know about Precious Camie (Camo).  She's the little puppy I rescued from death... she isn't well yet... and I worry because she has another medical condition to get well from... also, a very serious one (Erlichia canis).  She can't take medicines for both conditions at the same time... it is too much for her.

The medical condition she has now (demodectic mange)... she's taking antibiotics once again for it.  It's been 4 months... she still isn't well... so, it is concerning.  I'm afraid for her.

Chadwick, our 'blonde/yellow' Pup began having seizures in October (this year, 2013).  I began putting a new flea drops product from the vet....on him.  

I'm not saying the drops are responsible... they are just the only 'new' thing in his life, that's 'different'.  He's never been sick in his whole life.  We have had him since he was a tiny puppy.

He had 5 seizures in October... and yesterday, he had 2 more seizures.  I put the drops on him on November 6th (the first time the drops were put on was October 6, 2013).  I am afraid for him.  He needs lab work... we can't afford that.  

If it wasn't for many people donating to help Camie get her medical care... we couldn't have done it alone.  I'm forever grateful to everyone.  

I will go to an organization to help get donations to help Chadwick, also.  They will take a percentage of each donation for helping with them.  Chadwick is a beautiful Pup, and I love him with my heart... and I will do it.  

We love all three of our Pups, and we will ask for help for them... I never knew I could do that.  I've learned when you love ... you'll do everything you can to 'save the other'.  

If anyone wants to help with either Camie's ... or Chadwick's medical care... I will put the information here.  You can call the vet, donate directly to Dr. Fontenot... tell them who it's for. 

 Dr. David Fontenot
115 N Church St, Louisburg, NC 27549 
919-496-2638
Website:  www.louisburgvet.com

You will know exactly where your money goes... it's not like donating 'blindly', to never know.  I update/post photos on Camie, and Chadwick, Kissy on her Facebook page daily (at night-time).

You can visit, stay in touch with me there to know what goes on in hers, and Chadwick, Kissy's life.  Come be Camie's Facebook Friend... at:  https://www.facebook.com/camocameobates  

You can also, come to:  http://www.facebook.com/grannygee.  That is my Facebook link.  Come be my Friend there, too.

Without going into more things... there's a lot been going on in my life, lately... I will mention this.  People have commented, emailed that they were concerned... this is 'why'.  I had 'to be alone with myself for a time'... before I decided when I wanted to talk about it.  Strange... I can't put 'being diabetic' ... with 'me'...

I felt I needed to tell you... you all have followed me so long... and have cared 'when the worst happened to me... when Tommy died'.  Believe me... what I've written about myself isn't anywhere as bad.  About our Pups... it is most upsetting... they are part of my very world.  Skip and the Pups are my whole world... they are all I have.

I would like to let you all know, also... that when I am writing stories, poems... sometimes, what comes out may once in a while sound 'dark'... to do with dying.  It's only writing... it's like when I go to draw or paint a picture.... I begin drawing, painting one thing.... by the time I'm finished..... it's altogether different.  

Writing is the same way... it isn't always the same thing... especially with me.  You all know... I don't write constantly about 'any one thing'... you never know 'what's on my mind'.  

I think about living, dying... and when the writing mood strikes... 'off I go'.  :))))))))))  So, if I write something 'dark like death'... it doesn't mean anything 'bad'... they are thoughts that I think, and I 'voice' them.  A lot of times when I write... I am 'wondering what, and what if?' My writings are my colors, my feelings, my life stories.  

I promise you... if I knew I was going to die... I would meet it head-on, and write about it... so, you would know what goes on in my mind first-hand.  Just like this 'diabetic-thing'... if things happen, I'll tell you how it feels, how it affects 'me'.  I can't tell you about anyone else... only myself, since I'm the one... who knows best.  :)))

I am looking at this new medical crisis in my life in a good way... it could be a blessing in diguise... I won't know until I'm down the path a little farther.  Sometimes, 'bad things' bring about 'good things'.....

I never knew I'd be groomed as a little girl... to grow up to be a fighter.  As much as I love peace, quiet, privacy, soft-happy things in life... I never meant to grow up as a fighter.  I never meant to be a fighter.

I have just begun another new path in life...  I didn't choose to go this way at all.

Straight To Hell...

Straight To Hell...
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

She sat in the cold, hard, vinyl geriatric chair
A nurse's aid had come in to get her up from bed
She threw a cold, sterile sheet over the elderly woman

Sit there, shut your mouth... you better be good
The elderly woman knew better than to say a word
All she had to do was to look at her arms to see bruises

Bruises left there by thoughtless, cold, cruel people
Who were disguised in all white, with smiles of caring angels
When family left, so did the smiles... out came the claws

Shut up, shut up... I said!  I'll slap you if you make a noise
I don't need none of your mess tonight, I'm tired... sleepy
I didn't come to work to be bothered by the likes of ... you

The cold, heartless b____ never saw, felt a thing
As she slammed the wooden door to the room behind her
To go to another room to ...do her job

She left behind her a frail, frightened elderly woman
A lady who always smiled... now, she always had tears
In her eyes of green... eyes that were frightened as well

She could walk, even dance if she wanted to
She hid her abilities, played weak
One day she was going to kick an ass, or two... just watch and see

With no one in the room to watch her, she rose from the chair
Threw the cold, white sheet on the floor
Stretched her arms, stretched her legs

It's a good night to take care of business, I'm the one to do it
She walked quickly to the door, quietly opened it, went into the hall
She could hear the b___'s voice verbally abusing another patient

Didn't I tell you to shut your mouth, I'm too tired to mess with you
You aren't going to give me any problems, mess up my night
Lay there in your s___, I'm not changing you!

The nurse's aid came out of the room, slamming the door
Looked up, saw the frail, elderly woman out in the hall
As she stood there, one hand on the wall to steady herself

What the f___!  I told you I wasn't messing with you tonight
Get your ass back in your room... get in that bed!
Get, you hear?  Get in that bed, and don't you dare get up!

When the elderly woman didn't move, the nurse's aid grew angrier
Her eyes had an evil look... her lips pulled back in a cruel smile
She loved to slap around, bang up her patients

She began to walk toward the fragile, elderly woman
For a moment, she thought she saw a little smile on her face
A gleam in her eye... she knew that wasn't possible

Until... the elderly lady spoke in a strong, calm voice
Told her... yes, told her!  that she'd better not come closer
Because her ass... yes, 'her' ass was going to be kicked

The nurse's aide was ready to beat the old woman down now
She reached out with both hands, she'd break her body into
No sooner than she thought these things, all became a blur

Pain, flashes of colors in her eyes, she felt her body being attacked
She'd done messed with the wrong patient, this one got her ass!
When all was said and done... the elderly woman stepped back

She spoke in strong, calm voice... you get up off the floor, now!
You are going to work your ass off, tend your patients as you should
If you hurt another soul here tonight... I'm going to send your ass...

Straight to Hell...

Let's Don't ... Tucumcari

Let's Don't...  Tucumcari
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/Granny Gee

Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee... When I drove big truck with Skip!  Anthony, Texas...........


The radio was blaring wide open.  I was in the passenger seat of the big truck.  I was dancing in my seat, and I was 'getting down'.  Hands in the air, moving back, forwards in beat to the music... head bobbing side to side... curls bouncing!

R-E-S-P-E-C-T was playing... it had a good beat, it made me feel happy.  I loved to dance... I loved music.

Skip was driving.  It was his turn... Skip is a little more reserved than I... he didn't dance to the music.  What he did do (and I love it!), was begin 'playing drums' with his fingers. Skip can play drums.  He played in a band as a young man.  They used to play at dances.

We had just left Love's Truck Stop in Oklahoma... we were into the music, just enjoying riding... keeping that beat.  Ever so often, I felt this little feeling of 'something not quite right'.

I began paying attention to the signs as we traveled Interstate 40... then, I'd forget ... the music was in my body.  'I had to get down'... I had to dance.  :)))

Mmmm-mmm, something's not right.  I went on to forget, thinking about how glad I would be when we got to North Carolina.  I was ready to be home for a few days.  I loved driving a big truck... it was wonderful.  I learned to drive on the highest mountains out west... without getting the brakes hot.  I was very careful, and proud that I, as a woman, could get the opportunity to do it.

The inside of our big truck was like a motor home... beautiful.  I had all very nice.  Beautiful bed with nice sheets, comforter and matching pillow cases, shams.  The upholstery on the walls was nice.  I loved how nice I could make it look with my own touches.

I bought a nice tv, that was white.... it sat on its own shelf.  It had a radio on it, plus weather radio.  I loved it... it picked stations up good.  We had our cellphones, and of course, back then... CB radios.  Today's time... not a lot of people use their CBs.  They listen to satellite radio, and talk on their cellphones.

We'd driven almost 50-60 miles... "Hey Skip, I don't think you are going the right way!"  Skip looked at me... alarm in his eyes.  "What makes you think I'm going the wrong way?"

"Well, that sign said ... Tucumcari, that's why.  Didn't we come through Tucumcari, New Mexico to get to Love's Truck Stop in Oklahoma?"  Skip told me to quit joking... 'he knew' we were going the right way!  I thought to myself, "you are going to see!"

Sure enough, we saw another sign that got Skip's attention... he hated that he'd made a mistake in front of me.  Of course, I sat there with 'that little smug smile' we all get... when we are right.  I didn't often get a chance to say.... 'I told you so!'

He turned that big rig around... to go in the right direction... Interstate 40 East.  Homeward bound!  We'd driven about 60 miles in the 'wrong direction'!  We wanted to get home... that wasn't a good thing.

Now... in today's time... we make reference to Tucumcari in a good way.  If one of us feels down... we say we need to go forward, not backwards the same way we've already come... it just takes longer to get to that point in time... again.  Time that is wasted.

So, now instead of 'Tucumcaring'... we try our best to go forward, instead of ... backwards.  One of us will say, let's don't 'Tucumcari', now.

I Won't Be Here... I'll Be There

I Won't Be Here... I'll Be There
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates

If I die, would you notice if I were gone
Would you see the empty space I left behind
Before things shuffled, filling it in


Would you miss the sound of my voice
The brightness of my smile
Could you possibly... miss 'me'


I only mean something to one person
One person in this world
Everyone is gone, even my only child


Sometimes, I wonder when I already know
That some people would really care
Some would shed a tear or two


When I die, it will be a private affair
No one will need to come to see my body
I don't let anyone come to watch me sleep


Sleeping is a personal thing
Dying is personal, too
I don't want anyone to come stare at me


No one needs to know when I'm gone
No one needed to know when I was here
Let me rest in peace


Cremate my body, free my soul
Let the fire change my body to ashes
Be placed in a beautiful chest with painted roses


Maybe one day my ashes will be scattered in the wind
To swirl, dance, play in the air
My ashes will become dust in the wind


I will be ashes to ashes, dust to dust
I will be until I'm no more
I won't be here... but, I will be there


If I die, don't come looking for me
You didn't find me when I lived
I won't be here... I'll be there

Someone Else's Son...

Someone Else's Son...
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

My Precious Son, Tommy... Born November 20, 1969... Died May 29, 2010

We walked toward the big box store
People were standing in a group to collect
Money to repair a church roof
My eyes were suddenly drawn to one person

Tommy!  Oh, Skip, look!
That guy looks so much like... Tommy!
My eyes followed the guy as he talked,
Moved, smiled... my heart began to hurt

I couldn't take my eyes from him
So engrossed I was ... I ran into a barrier
In front of the store

The pain in my stomach wasn't anywhere as near
As the pain in my heart as I tried
To tear my eyes away from someone else's son

Sick to my very soul, I followed Skip inside
Skip!  Did you see how much he looked like Tommy?
Did you see... he had glasses, his kind of haircut, too

Tommy, for a few moments I watched 'you' move
I watched you smile, talk
Today... in someone else's son

.........                   .........                .........             .........             .........           .........            ..........

Author's Note:

Grief is a terrible thing... it strikes like a rattlesnake hidden in the grass.  No matter how beautiful the day, how wonderful all is... it strikes with a vengeance... the pain can bring one to their knees.

It can't be predicted... no more than when lightening will strike something from the sky.  You can't imagine how bad it hurts to lose your only child... how bad it feels, knowing you have nothing to look forward to in later life... no son, no grandchildren.

The only protection is being strong, determined... looking forward, not backwards.  I do this every day, minute... I have to.  It's like walking a tightrope... I always have to be balanced, so... I ... don't fall. Sometimes, I fall very hard when... I least expect it.  I tell you because when it happens, I promised to.

Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

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I Can't ...'See'... Milk

I Can't ...'See'... Milk
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

My beautiful mother... and my Grandma Alma.  Two of the most special women in my life.

Get back up to Grandma, and George's!  Fatty, fatty... two by four, can't get through the bathroom door! Get the f___ back up to Grandma's.  You ain't wanted down here!

I held my head down, crying.  No matter where I went, I wasn't wanted.  Everyone had a home, but... me.  I just 'stayed there'.  I stayed with my Grandma Alma, George's.  My paralyzed grandmother, and blind step-grandfather.  I loved them with my heart... but, I'd never known that kind of living.

Go on!  Didn't I tell you to get your ass up to Grandma's!  One of my cousins was being mean to me.  When they were in a good mood, they would play with me.  When anyone was ill... I was the one it was taken out on.  Fatty-fatty... two by four, can't get through the bathroom door!  Get your ass on up there!  Don't you ever come back down here, no more!

I walked the path back up to Grandma Alma, George's.  I sat down on the porch.  My feet were on the top step, my chin rested on my hands... my elbows were propped up on my knees.  I moved my face, pressing it against my hands.... my cheeks against my teeth.  I felt myself making faces... ugly faces.

I was maybe ten years old... I wasn't wanted anywhere.  Even my mama threw me away; though sometimes, she did come back to find me.  My mama would leave me for weeks, months at a time.  If I died, she'd be sorry.  She'd wish she hadn't left me.

She threw me into 'Hell'... the house I had to stay at was guarding the portal of Hell.  Everyone raised hell all the time, there.  They were some very evil people when angry.  Fighting, cursing, screaming, gnashing of teeth..... it was no place for a little child.

I watched my cousins play out in the front yard.  They were playing ball, something I loved to play.  They usually wanted me to play with them... not today.  They were ill-asses, today.  Just the sight of me made them hate me... I was so unwanted.

I got up, entered the front screen door.  The door opened into the living room ...'front room'... of the house.   I stood there.  I could hear Grandma Alma, George 'raising hell'.  It was loud, too.  George was helping her get to bed... to take her nap.  He'd lay on his bed, once he helped her.  I had to be quiet... George would get me, if I didn't.

Where could I go?  What could I do?  I looked to the doorway to the right.  I thought about sneaking into my aunt's bedroom (she was a hateful-ass teenager).  I changed my mind... she did something bad to me the last time.

She beat me badly, leaving blood on my legs, arms.  As she beat me, she cussed, raised hell.  Her face was contorted into a 'monster' face.  I didn't recognize her anymore.  She'd become a demon.  I hated her.

She had picked up a piece of wood from the stacked up wood....  it was for the wood-burning heater.  She used that piece of wood until she was exhausted.

I screamed to her that I was going to tell my mama when she came back, and that I hated her, wished she'd die.  I hated her with a passion.  My mama was going to kill her!  I wanted her to!  I was going to kick her if I got the chance!  Damn b____!

I had learned a lot of cuss words living at Grandma Alma's... I knew how to use them, too!  I never thought what they meant... I just knew when I was mad... it felt good to say them.  I would say them good!

The strange thing was... I loved my aunt very much when I wasn't mad.  A child doesn't understand 'why' they do things.... they just do them.  It's only when someone teaches them... that they learn.  No one was teaching me anything but.... hate, anger, unhappiness... how to fight to survive... and cuss words.

A little good girl 'gone bad'.... I think if you mistreated a cuddly, sweet, little puppy... it would 'bite you', too.  I was a sweet little girl, responded to love when it was given to me.  I wished for love... there never seemed to be enough to come to ... me.

It was the worst time I'd been beaten as a child.  My aunt knew it, too.  She was almost breathless, when she began trying to bribe me not to tell my mom.  She was scared... I could see it.

No, I wasn't going in her room.  She might kill me if I do.  She was mean, an evil...  witch.  She screamed, cussed all the time.  I loved her, anyway.  Sometimes, she was so kind to me.  Even sometimes, she would say, "I love you".

I wanted something to drink.  I was thirsty.  I tiptoed into the house, so... as not to wake Grandma Alma, and George.  They took naps every day.  George would holler very loud if I woke him up.  Grandma Alma would wake up, and holler at him.  No, I didn't want to wake them up.

I walked in a straight line across the floor from the screen door ... I entered the 'middle room'... this was the 'arena'.  This was the arena everyone came to 'raise hell ... to fight until someone was laying on the floor... in blood. Bleeding, crying... strange thing... always females.  I don't recall any males fighting there.

Flesh upon flesh... slapping, punching, kicking each other.  Scratching, ripping flesh.  The arena was where it all took place.  Men would have loved watching all the pretty women fight... they put on a spectacular show.

Grandma Alma had an old, faded pink, upholstered rocking chair sitting beside an old dresser in the middle room.  On it, sat all her bottles of medicine... her dingy glass of ice water.  Behind that, sat her bottle of Beauty Ray lotion, and bottle of alcohol.

George used the lotion and alcohol faithfully 3 times a day, to 'rub her up'.  I later found out when I was older... he gave her 'range of motion' exercises 3 times a day.  

You have to love someone dearly to do what he did, for twenty-some years... and be blind.  He devoted his life to her.

They fought like hell... when they fussed.  The older I got, the more I understood... what else did they have to do... they couldn't go anywhere; they didn't have anything to make them happy.  Their frustrations came out in their fusses... like a kettle on a stove... when it boils... it releases steam.  The more it built up pressure... the more it steamed.

If I were blind like George... or paralyzed like Grandma Alma was... I'm sure I'd cry, raise hell... scream, too.  Then... again, most likely I wouldn't... but, I'm sure I would ever once in a while... I'd be the meanest b____ around... at least for a little while.

Don't you know they felt anger sometimes, for the position life put them in?  For the hell in their life?  Never having any comforts in life?  No money, yet... they went on... they had a lot of love.

Maybe that's why their house was sitting over the portal to hell... maybe that's why they gnashed their teeth.  They lived in hell, over hell, and everyone reflected it... their life was... hell.

That house today... has been remodeled.  Yet... not so long ago, Skip and I went there... it took several days to get past the sick feeling I had inside my stomach.  I stood on the porch, in the doorway... looking inside.  I became physically sick....

Bad things have happened in that house through the years... it sits there.... looking pretty, innocent.  It's a 'bad' house.  I don't remember any happy things happening there through the years.  I don't think Grandma Alma, George ever got a break from the constant stress they lived under, until the day they died.

People have come, gone through time.  No one ever seemed to want to live there very long.  Bad things happened...

The last 'bad' thing I heard happening there was a young mother who hung herself.....

I'm sure the devil came up to visit my aunt.  I would like to know if the very door to 'Hell' was in her bedroom.  She sure could be mean.

Maybe ... he was the 'blue ball lightening' I used to see... it seemed to always 'look for me'.  I would always be under a quilt on Grandma Alma and George's old, red vinyl couch... peeping, watching it... my breath held until I felt faint.

That blue ball lightening would roll out of my aunt's room... looking back into the past... maybe he was her boyfriend... she could be an evil b____!

She had a reputation for being evil as she grew into a young woman... older woman.  She was one of the most evil women I ever knew.  Yet... I still loved her.

She hurt me many times through the years before she died... not only that... she got a lot of other people, too.  She was just 'mean'... and hid it with a sweet smile, and under the pretense of loving, liking someone until she found someone's weakness.

Once she did that... she'd strike... doing awful damage to families, different people.  She didn't have a heart.  I never saw that woman cry... I always saw a 'gleam' in her eye.  Yeah... I'm sure she and the devil 'had a thing going' ...back then.

The blue ball lightening would roll out of her bedroom door slowly.... toward me; it would stop, sit there.... stare at me.  I 'knew' it could see me... I 'knew' as a little girl, it 'knew' I was very afraid.  It never came any closer.

Every time a storm came up... I 'knew' that blue ball lightening as big as a basketball was going to look for me.

Everyone dumped their children on Grandma Alma, and George's, knowing they weren't able to care for them.  They cared for them the best they could; they loved their grandchildren.

George loved my Grandma Alma with his very heart.  She loved him in return.  No matter they had some 'hellacious' fusses... they loved each other.

When something happened good to them... it happened 'far and between'.  Usually what someone brought to them... was more worry, and 'extra' hell-raising, and a good fight in the 'arena'... located in the middle of the floor.  The arena was situated right in front of Grandma Alma's rocking chair... George had a wooden cane chair sitting beside hers.

  Their seats were 'front row' seats.  They saw many shows, and fights.  They never had to pay a thing... only pay attention.  Grandma Alma would cry, or begin screaming... George would cry out for them to stop.  No one ever heard a word they said... never.  The 'show' lasted until someone was disabled, bloody on the floor.

It was awful... a child should never see, hear...  feel such ugliness, hatred, violence... never.  It affects them deeply.  The arena was the place to come to be as ugly as a human being could be... without actually murdering someone.

I hated it... I hated whoever chose to come to it to fight... I hated it when someone came to it... and my mother was involved.  I would run up to the fight on the floor, and slap whoever was hurting my mom... slap them very hard in the face.

If I could, I would slap as many times as I could, and scream, "leave my mama alone, leave my mama alone".  Sometimes, I'd be sent flying through the air... my mama would 'really kick ass', then.  She might throw me away, but... she'd fight for me... I'm sure she loved me ... at least a little.

I was thirsty... I tiptoed to the refrigerator.  I was going to sneak a taste of milk!  I had had milk until I came to Grandma Alma's... when I came there, I didn't drink it anymore.  George would holler, raise hell about children drinking the milk up from Grandma Alma.  She needed it... she was sick.  I just wanted a taste... that was all... just a taste of it.

I used both my little hands to open the refrigerator door quietly... I thought I had.  Just as I reached for that carton of milk, I heard him.

"You better not be getting into that milk!  It cost too damn much to keep buying it for everybody to drink it up"!  My little hand came back down, I closed the door quietly, and tiptoed out of the room quickly!

This is how I learned 'not to drink milk'.  That's 'why' today... I don't see milk when it's in front of me.

This has amazed Skip all these years.  He can't believe how I never see, or think about milk... as much as I ... love milk.  He has to remind me to drink milk sometimes... if he doesn't drink it... it'll sit there... 'forever'.

I can open the refrigerator door, and see everything but... milk.  I love milk... but, I don't see it.

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There Was More To The Eye... Hiding In Plain View

There Was More To The Eye...Hiding In Plain View
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates

Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

The young man spun around once again, kicking the woman in her stomach. She turned white, fell to the floor silently in a dead faint. The young man watched her for any sign of life...she seemed to be completely out. Die, you old b....h, he thought as he quickly turned around.

The older man stood there, unseeing. He appeared to be blind. The young man didn't sense any threat there. He spoke to the older man, telling him to move. The man turned his head slightly as if he heard a sound. The young man knew then, that the older man couldn't hear well.

He took the older man by the arm, pulled him to the chair close by, pushed him down into it. The older man sat there, never showing any resistance. He sat there as if he were pushed into a chair all the time.
.
The young man forgot about the older man, and woman. They weren't a threat. He just wanted the money from the cash register sitting on the counter... where the older man had stood moments ago.

He walked to the cash register; tried to open it. He pressed keys, hoping to make the drawer open. He turned to look at the older man...older woman. The older man sat where he'd been pushed earlier. He sat there talking to himself... he had a slight smile on his face.

The young man looked to where the older woman still lay on the floor. He wondered briefly if he'd killed her ... he had kicked the s...t out of her. He wasn't going to get any help from them.

He ought to shoot both of them. They weren't any good to anybody. He became aware of the shop he was in. It smelled good in there. The younger man's stomach growled. Damn, if he wasn't hungry.

He walked over to the display case. There were doughnuts of every kind. All were arranged beautifully. He wanted to taste every one of them. He'd taste a few of them... then, get back to business. The young man became engrossed in the wonderful, sweet doughnuts. They had to be the most delicious doughnuts he'd ever eaten.

Everytime, he thought about getting back to business... the next piece of doughnut was better than the last. He saw one thing the old woman was good for. He ate on...tasting this, tasting that. He closed his eyes as he savored the sweetness... unaware he was being watched.

The woman began coming to... she began to move. She looked around as she struggled to sit up. Sharp, stabbing pain almost made her cry out. She heard noises... paper crinkling... she saw the young man with his back to her. To her amazement, he was totally engrossed in eating the doughnuts in front of him.

Her eyes moved to the cash register,to the shelf beneath it. She had a pistol under there... hidden beneath the white towel... in plain view. Her eyes noticed a slight movement... there in the chair sat her husband. He was 'hiding in plain view'.

She grinned at him... she knew what was coming. The young man had made a grave mistake... you never judge a book by its cover. She looked into her husband's eyes... they were communicating. They had planned this many years ago... this was the first time ever to put it into action.

No longer did her husband look like a feeble old man... nor she like an ordinary ... old woman. The transformation took place silently.  Her husband was a black belt in karate, he also, was in Special Forces in the military... no, that young guy didn't know who he messed with.  He, also.... wasn't blind... and could 'hear a gnat fart'.

The young man belched loudly... he was just before throwing up. The woman couldn't wait to give him some of his medicine back. Her stomach, body hurt as she stood up. She was going for the gun once her husband went into action.

He moved quickly toward the young man as she sprang forward to grab the pistol. The white towel fell to the floor as she grabbed the pistol, swung around with it. Her husband had grabbed the young man.

The young man didn't understand what was happening. He knew the old man couldn't see... he wasn't worried about him. He slung himself away from the older man... then, he walked toward the blind man. The young man had his gun ready... he was going to bust that old f.........'s head in.

As he got close to the old, blind man, he raised the gun high in the air. Just as he brought the gun down, something whipped out, grabbed his wrist... bending it until the young man began screaming. There was a loud pop... the older man let go, knowing the young guy wasn't any longer a threat to either of them.

The young guy fell to his knees screaming, "Oh God!  Oh God!"  The older woman walked over to him, stood looking at him.  The pain in her stomach, body hurt like hell.  She felt compassion for the young man... but, when a stabbing pain flashed through her stomach again, she felt 'pure, white, hot anger'.

Before she knew it, she had kicked the young man in his stomach.  The young man instantly began vomiting all the doughnuts up.  He tried to raise his hand to his face... it was obvious his wrist was broken.

He waited for her to kick him again.  She stood there looking at him... with a little, sweet smile on her face... and... a little glint in her eyes.  She never said a word.  The young man was afraid... very afraid.  This was no ordinary 'older' woman... he'd made a bad mistake.

They could hear her husband calling the sheriff's department... ask for an officer to come out, pick up the young man.  He hung up his cellphone, walked over to the young man.

"Have you ever robbed anybody else?  Have you ever hurt anyone else physically?"  The young man began to cry, saying he'd never hurt anyone in his life.  He'd never robbed anyone in his life.  He'd been with friends when some of them bragged about targeting 'old people' who ran businesses... robbing them to get money.

As he talked, tears streamed down his face.  His shoulders began shaking violently.  I'm so sorry!  I am so very sorry!  He looked at the older woman standing before him... his heart began breaking for hurting her.  She looked like she could be his grandmother.  Oh God, why did I do this?

The pain in his heart was greater than the pain in his wrist.  The woman's smile began to go away, if one looked .... they would have seen compassion come into her eyes.  She listened closely to the young man... he touched her heart.  Where it had been cold earlier... warmth had filled it.  She never said a word... she stood there looking down at him.

The young man grew quiet as he sat on the floor.  He held his wrist in his good hand.  He couldn't look up for the shame he felt.  He didn't know if he could ever look anyone in the eye, ever again.

He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder, looked up... into the older woman's face.  He saw tears in her eyes... tears mixed with kindness.  She said, "come on, son... let me help you up".  She was surprised at herself... she didn't know that she would do what she just did.  It was as if something was making decisions for her.

The young man slowly got to his feet.  She pulled him to her chest, hugged him tightly.  She told him, "everything is going to be alright".  He hugged her back, so thankful she didn't hate him.  He had made a stupid mistake.  He had listened to his friends, wanted to do something to impress them.  Instead, he had shamed himself.  He shook his head.  "Oh, God, I'm so sorry".

The door opened, and a bell rung letting them know someone had walked into the shop.  A tall, muscular sheriff's deputy walked in.  The woman's husband began to speak in a quiet voice... she walked over to him, placed her hand on his arm.

"This young man came into our shop... as he went to leave, the door closed on his hand.  We didn't know how to handle it, and wanted an officer present".  The officer walked over to the young man... the woman saw him begin shaking his head.  He was going to tell the officer what really happened.

The woman walked over to him, hugged the young man.  "I'm so sorry you hurt your hand.  We need to see that it gets fixed".  She looked into his eyes as he began to speak once more... she intensified her expression, communicated 'don't say another word'!

"Officer, thank-you for coming out.  We will take him to the emergency room to get his hand taken care of."  The deputy looked at her, trying to make sure everything was okay.  He looked at her husband... saw on his face that everything really was okay.  He told them if they needed him, to call.  He turned, left.

When the officer left, the young man broke down crying.  He told them he was so sorry, he would make it up to them.  The older woman stood looking at him... with a smile on her face... no glint in her eyes.  She began patting his shoulder, saying "everything is going to be alright".

The young man looked at both the older man, woman.  He knew they were special... he knew this was meant to be.  He knew somehow, he'd just become a positive part of their life... they, his.  He vowed to himself that he'd prove to them ... he wasn't a bad person.  He'd listened to the wrong crowd.  He was going to spend his life making up to them what he'd done.

He was thinking, also... how the older man had been in front of him... hiding his real self.  He was like a book... maybe a little 'old, worn' on the outside, not especially interesting.  The young man thought about how the man handled himself... who would have thought.

He was a strong older man... he could kick ass!  His wife... she could hold her own, too.  Yet... they both 'didn't look like it'.  They appeared just normal, everyday people... maybe like 'easy prey' if someone wanted to rob them...

Who would have thought 'there was more to the eye... sitting there... hiding in plain view'?


Note:  This story is from my imagination as I practiced writing.... the only thing true, not changed.... are the doughnuts.  :)))

The Invisible Weight I Carry On My Shoulders...

The Invisible 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... no one was allowed to drink the milk... it was for my Grandma Alma.  She was paralyzed, sick... needed it.  I learned to never see it in the refrigerator.  I 'can't see' milk today in our refrigerator.

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.

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 spoke to two people I knew, about Tommy.

I told them a little about his 'last' trip to the ocean, how I worried about him and his family getting there safely that Memorial Day weekend...... 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?