My biological Grandmother has passed away. I’ve often wondered how I would feel when someone from my other family left this world. The verdict is still out because the opportunity to grieve her death properly was stolen from not only myself, but the rest of her family.

Mary was the first person I met from my biological dads side of the tree. I was around 21 years old if my memory serves me correctly. She lived in a big civil war home in Jonesville, Va that was equally as intriguing as she was.

My sister from my mothers side of the tree introduced us one evening. My exsistance didn’t surprise her. After looking me up and down a few times she invited me in her home and began to explain to me how I was wanted and she’d fought for me to the best of her ability at the time. But in those days there was little to be done when the birth certicate identified no father. We exchanged addresses, phone numbers, and some photos and stayed in contact like clockwork for several years.

Mary was a little tiny hot headed blonde with no filter who enjoyed her alcohol. I connected to her from the moment we met. She had no filter. If she thought it, she said it. This was much different from the Granny I had growing up.

This was a time in my life that was very difficult. I’d met this brand new family. Soon after I went through a divorce, and then another. I had children and then more children. As time passed we spoke very little. I take responsibility for that. I should have done better. But I made excuses that if she wanted to speak to me she would have. Looking back now I realize that it was equally as much my responsibility. 

When her health began to decline there was no one to receive updates on her from. And I blame that on her son. Yes, my biological father. He wasn’t exactly Daddy material. Not to me, or my siblings that he actually raised. And I use the word “raised” loosely.  He wasn’t a spectacular son either. He made decisions that certainly were not In her best interest, and there was nothing we could do. 

So yesterday, I discovered she passed. Last April. Alone. No service to speak of. No family at her bedside. Not knowing how much she meant to any of her family. And that is what I’m struggling with. 

I can’t wrap my mind around why her son would intentionally hide her death from everyone. Not just me.  

So this entry is for my little hot headed Nana. I blame my Hazard, Ky  actions that seep out on occasion on her and I pray she’s resting peacefully because I know her last years were not what she deserved here on Earth. 

I ran away from home when I was 17 years old. Or maybe I was 16. I can’t remember now. It was cold outside. I had $50.00 to my name and a boyfriend more mentally disturbed then I was. We were like the blind leading the blind.

I can’t explain what I was running from. School. Rules. People. Up until recently I suffered with severe anxiety and my cure for everything was to self destruct and run. It wasn’t drugs related or alcohol related. I just needed away. immediately. So one night I was out with my far worse off then me fella and I just drove. And drove. And drove. I wanted to be an adult. I wanted to be in my own place away from all the things, people and places that I thought was my problem. I know now the problem was me and the people I chose to surround myself with. I was drawn to people who needed my help when in reality I was doing a piss poor job of helping myself. 

We slept in my car with no definite plan of where we were going or how we were going to survive. By night two on the run I called home collect and was back home hours later.

I was expecting the wrath of God to come forth from my parents when I walked back through the door but instead Momma just hugged me and cried. She asked me if I was cold, or hungry or tired. At times as a mother myself I have come to understand why she didn’t have it in her her to lecture me and drop punishment immediately. 

The State Police were looking for me. The church was praying for me. My Friends were being questioned. I had my small community in a total panic because I thought life was hard. 

It wasn’t until my late 30’s that I healed mentally and emotionally. It could have came a lot quicker had I just recognized that I needed to stop surrounding myself with people who needed my help and start putting my efforts into people who just wanted my friendship. That is a hard lesson to learn because all the sweet memes on Pinterest will tell you how rewarding it is to help others and build others up. Just remember, it’s necessary that we have people who do that for us as well.