July 25, 1929

On this day in 1929, my maternal grandmother was born. It’s weird, these past five years on this day. There are positive and negative feelings involved there. Growing up, this grandmother was like my other mother to me. I was with them a lot, very close to them. I loved working in the garden with my Popow, and helping him harvest the fruits and vegetables. The muscadines were the best! We always ended our work day in the yard with a Little Debbie Oatmeal Pie, or something Little Debbie. Sometimes, we’d have two or three different ones. I always liked a variety, and so did he. We loved most of them. I can close my eyes and go there to that time of my life. ❤️

I always baked in the kitchen with my Memow, especially cakes. She had a natural talent at things like that, and cooking. I also loved washing dishes for her. She would stand me up in the kitchen chair facing backwards to the sink, and I would wash dishes while we talked and cooked. I can close my eyes and go there too. ❤️

In 2011, I found out shocking news about her as it relates to sexual abuse and me. I cut ties with her then. July 25th, these past five years have been weird. It isn’t anything that holds me back in life. It’s just weird that someone that close to you is all of the sudden gone from your life. Forever. That’s a weird feeling. She died August 3, 2015.

Happy Birthday to my Memow. She was a very troubled woman. A severe alcoholic until I was 14 years old. They both were. They both quit drinking then, but my grandmother replaced it with pills. She always had addiction issues. She also had deep mental health issues. She was once even shocked medically trying to help her with her mental health issues. As an adult almost finished with my bachelor’s degree in psychology, I understand who she was. I do not know where it originated, but based on her behaviors, someone abused her. I feel sure of it based on her behaviors, and what I now know about psychology as it relates to human development and behaviors, and what motivates behavior. 

I do not remember my grandmother’s father, but everyone who knew him always said, if there was anyone they ever thought would go to hell, it would have been her dad, my great grandfather. 

I knew my grandmother’s mother well, my great grandmother, on in to my early 20’s. She died then. Her mother, my great great grandmother, was a full blooded Sioux Indian. Other than my great grandmother  smoking marijuana with her grandsons, which is horrible to me!, I don’t recall hearing bad things about her. 

This was my grandmother in 2012, not long after I disconnected from her. This is the last picture I have of her, sent to me by someone with her on that day. 


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