Satan’s Spawn

Yesterday I took my mother over to her mothers house for a visit.  My momma doesn’t drive, so when she asked, of course, I didn’t mind.

I spent a few years, off and on, living in my grandparents house; sometimes with my momma and sometimes not.  There are many memories made in that house, some good, some bad, sad and funny, but not once in my 39 years did I ever think that just by walking in one day, I would never want to go back.  

My grandparents house is dark, and I’m not talking about a lighting issue, I’m talking about dark as in, depressing.  It has been darkness for many, many years and I have avoided it like the plague. Who in their right mind wants darkness in their life?  Not me, jack.. I’m all about sunshine and Skittles… I wanna taste the rainbow. Knowutimean?

Anyway, I took my mom over and I went in so I didn’t come across as rude, standoffish or acting like I was better than anyone else. It’s sad that I felt obligated to go in for a visit. Obligated. Who feels obligated to visit their grandparents?  That’s just sad. Grand-kids should WANT to visit their grandparents. Not me, I did it only because I didn’t anyone in the house to run their mouth about me behind my back and call me the names that I listed at the beginning of this paragraph.  That’s how that household is.

I am the first of 12 grand-kids. My kids are the first great-grand-kids, and my daughter has the first great-great grand-kid. Having 5 generations in a family use to be kinda of rare. I would think we would all want to spend time together. Nope.  The love stopped with me, when I was 8 years old. My kids and their kids no very little to nothing about my grandparents, and they never will.

My grandmother is sour. That’s the only way I can explain it. Sour to the core. She lives cooped up in a house of darkness, neglect, lies and other sour people.  I blame her and no one else.  If she wanted out, as she claims, she would have left the darkness a long time ago, before I was even born.  No way in hell would I ever live as a prisoner in my own home. Nope. 

Many of you who read this will judge me and label me as cruel or insensitive. I say, screw you, get off my page if you don’t like it. Unfollow me, block me.. watch my tears not fall. I opened this blog because I have a lot to say- if you don’t want to hear, please move on.

Want to know what started my absolute disgust for my grandmother?  Yesterday’s visit.   I was sitting there at the kitchen table with my momma and my grandmother. My grandmother acted as though it was paining her to have to sit there and talk to us. Knowing that she would rather be in bed, I wasn’t rude, I just kept trying to make small talk and spark some kind of interest in her eyes where I was concerned. Nope. She had zero interest in anything I had to say about my life or my kids.  Changing the topic I told her that I had planned to visit W. VA this summer so I could spend time with my cousins whom I hadn’t seen in 20 years.  I thought his would make her happy. Nope.  Instead she was so hateful and mean.

You see, about 24 years ago her son was killed in the house next door to her. I do not know or care to know the details of the tragedy, but what I do know is that either by accident or on purpose, his wife pulled the trigger.  She was not found guilty in a court of law.  Again, accident or premeditated, not my concern when her peers found her not guilty.  You know?  As a Christian, I am not permitted to judge anyway.  As far as my grandmother is concerned, I’m sure that no matter why her son was shot, his death crushed her heart. That was her son, I get it and that’s why I let her hateful remarks go- for awhile.  I just kept telling myself to keep my mouth shut, that she was just old and bitter about her grand-kids in W VA not visiting her.  The straw that broke the camels back was when my grandmother said she had written a letter and locked it away in a safety deposit box for her great-grandchildren to read after she passed away.  Sounds sweet doesn’t it; A great-grandmother reaching out from beyond the grave to share good things about her life with her distant great-grandchildren whom she hadn’t spent much time with?!   Yeah, I’d like to believe that too but then we’d both be fools.

Can you believe that my sour-ass grandmother (that’s not judging, that is the truth!) wrote a letter filled with hateful, hurtful things.  Things about the death of a grandfather none of those kids ever knew.  Hell, my four cousins lost their dad before they even had a chance to really know him themselves, and now this evil woman wants to open old wounds, an pour salt in from the grave?  Sick. She is a sick, evil woman and I will never understand her or her reasons for wanting to hurt people. Wanting to hurt people. Who does that?

No more, I’m done. I will never go to her house again.

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