When the people you need the most are no longer alive where do you go?

On April 6th 1986 I made the biggest mistake of my life I got married, my spouse was from hell the in-laws made the Borges seem like leave it to Beaver and how did I know my spouse was lying? Their lips were moving. We had 200 people at the wedding and the only people I actually wanted there were my grandma and grandpa, grandma was there in the front row but grandpa had a stroke the week before and died a week after, Grandma lived another 6 years.
When I was a kid my molester had me pinned against a broken window trying to push my head through it onto a shard of glass one day when grandpa all five foot five of him rushed in and threw him off me all 6ft 6 inches and 400lbs of him. They swept me up and took me home and all well for a few weeks, they didn’t know he was my molester they just knew I was in danger. My mom hated her mom even though she was in physicality only grandmas clone.
I could talk to grandpa without saying a word, my grandpa was a man of the land a farmer a cattleman a sheep man a master leather craftsman and whip maker. When he was in his later years he and grandma moved to the city, personally I always thought it’s what killed him having to give up the wide brown land he loved, but he still had a work shed out back where I would sit and watch him carve pictures of Galloping brumbys freehand on leather so life like you thought you were clancy droving up on the Lachlan*. He would weave a whip and carve the handle or the saddle for some friend in the bush, his work was legendary and valued by all who were lucky enough to own it.
He would work and I would sit silently and take my heritage in, the only time someone didn’t have pinned down for their perverse pleasure. To watch this small giant stop with one hand and roll a cigarette with one hand while carving with the other was thing to see he, told me he learned in the saddle with one hand on the pummel droving cattle as a young man.
We had a relationship where words were superbflous, unnecessary it was the love in the room and grandma or “mother as he called her, never had a hair out place always had lines in her stockings and a newly ironed apron by 5am and a pot of veggie soup or porridge and scones ready for her man with a tin panikan of tea for him.
The only thing better than being with one was being in the room with them both, they were stern and they were not people who would have understood gay but they would have looked at me and said “we love you because your ours we don’t understand your life but it’s not ours for the understanding just promise us you are the decent human being we raised you to be”. Grandmas hugs were always fresh ironed flowery dresses and perfume and the smell of the kitchen, and grandpa always had a stubble and a grip like a vice and smile that said we always have your back your ours.
I could do with some of their love right now I would swap all I own to sit again at his feet as he weaved a whip or rolled a cigarette while drinking tea. I could tell grandpa that my brother was raping me but he would have walked quietly to the gun locker and take out his 30/30 winchester and put him down like a rabid dog he was, but then that would have brought hate into grandpas and my perfect space. So even if I could have that one more day with him back, I wouldn’t say a word because the shared space is all I ever needed and would never need any monsters in the room.
I hope to all my brothers in the fight with PTSD and living the memories of monsters who wouldn’t stay under the bed that you had a grandpa and grandma, because just their memories just writing about them got through a bad day, hope this helps yours.
*=clancy of the overflow by AB (banjo)patterson

Author: disabledaccessdenied

I am a disabled woman who through no fault of my own has wheels under my ass. I rely on the decency and common sense of local, state and federal goverments, as well as the retail community to abide by the disabled access laws and provide adequate ramps, disabled toilets, and not use them as store rooms or broom closets. This blog exists to find the offenders and out them, inform them, and report them if necessary and shame them into doing the right thing when all else fails.

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