Thin Skins of Cocoons

Mom and I hadn't really spoke of Grandpa's abuse in years. Not since I had written her that letter years ago. I've been fine with silence, for the most part. I've always felt when she was ready to talk about it, we would. The discussion wouldn't be for my benefit, because I had already traveled down the road of stages of 'acceptance/forgiveness.' It's a one trip deal mostly, and once you get to your destination, the journey isn't so wonderful you wanna do it again. It's kind of like driving across the state of Nebraska. It's necessary to get to all the good landscapes on the other side, but man it's painful when you realize you're only in the middle.

Digression is my boyfriend.

I called Mom on Thursday from work just to see how Grandpa was doing and to make sure my Aunt S. had made it up from St. Louis to help Mom out with Grandpa. I was thankful to hear my Aunt was able to get FMLA from her job and had 3 months freed up from work to stay and help.

Aunt S. was having a bit more of a difficult time dealing with the deterioration of her Father. Apparently Grandpa, during his 'Sundowns' (I guess when the sun goes down this is when the cloud is thickest around his mind) is very rude to her. He likes to tell her she is getting fat and she has no business helping him because she's not really part of the family. She's adopted. (She's not fat or adopted. Strangely he never comments on the fact her eyebrows are tattooed on. ) Granted, he was a bit famous for saying things like this anyway, but now you can't blame him for it.

Mom said she's been having difficulties reconciling "what he had done" to me. This is how she always refers to the sexual abuse, as "what he's done." This statement tells me a lot by what it does not say. But, I get it. I know why she skirts around the words. The real one's are too descriptive, they reveal to much. She said she wants to be able to forgive him, but she doesn't know if she can.

"You don't have much of a choice, Mom." I said.

"He's my Father and I love him but I just don't know if I can do it."

She will do it. There's no other choice. I told her I would be home for the day on Saturday to see him before it gets too late and he doesn't recognize me.

When I got home from work I told D. about my conversation with Mom. D asked, "Do you really think she has to forgive him before he dies?"

That was a very good question. And it came back to me throughout the day. Can you truly forgive someone after they are dead and gone? I think it's probably possible, however I imagine it would be more difficult. More important to me, regarding this question of forgiveness was...what the hell does "to forgive" mean? I don't think it's an accident it is paired up with "to forget," because I think forgiveness is a precursor to forgetting. And a lot of times, with something horrible, it's the forgetting we are waiting for. It's a fruitless wait...like waiting for Britney to get sober and regrow brain cells. It's best not to hope for this tabula rasa, I've discovered. But there is a magical mechanism connected to the act of forgiveness. It's a powerful release of tethers. Time is a component, and Understanding is key, but remembering the flaws of humanity dwell in each of us was probably the most important for me.

Forgiveness is not an illusory by-product of the souls ability to recoup.

I stopped at my youngest sister L's house. She had just packed a bowl of weed, and asked if I wanted to smoke a little bit before I went over to Mom's. It seemed very ceremonial this passing of a pipe with my Sis while we discussed the state of our family. The weed was swag, so the buzz was very light and non-intrusive. L forewarned me of Grandpa's current mental state, but said Mom seemed to be doing fine. Which didn't surprise me. Mom was there every day to take care of her Mom while Grandma slowly died from emphysema. She had accepted death and it's fingerprints. She doesn't recoil from it's face. Mom truly believes it's a transformation, and is aware of her attachments, and the emotions they manipulate. Not in those words, of course. She's much more down to earth than I.

When I arrived at Mom's house we stayed in the kitchen. My Aunt S had driven to the store to pick up some corn bread mix for the ham and beans cooking in a crock-pot. Mom said they had a rough night.

"He kept calling S. Maudy. (His dead Sister) And that they needed to 'git out there and pick those watermelons before a rot sets in." Mom said, "I was sitting in the living room and I couldn't help laughin' about it. I mean I know it's sad, but it's funny too. Your Aunt said, 'Cat. How can you laugh abut this?' And I told her it's either that or we cry. Later on in the night he kept putting his hand out. Like he was reachin' for someone. S. asked me if I should hold it, and I said, Sure why not? When she did he snapped up and grabbed her arm and said...'I'll CUT you! Scared the shit out her, but we both laughed about it."

Mom said she and Aunt S. have been wondering who he's been talking to when he sits and mumbles. She thinks Grandma is visiting him and his parents and brothers and sisters. She told me they had even got the digital camera to snap some shots of the room and..."There are orbs in there!" They are sort of obsessed with the idea of capturing spirits on film...you know...orbs. I'm not convinced, but I'll keep an open mind.

After about an half hour of chatting with Mom and Aunt S in the kitchen, Aunt S. asked if I wanted to go in and see Grandpa. She went in and woke him up and said, "Dad, we have a surprise for you, TWO surprises...Jason and D. are you here to see you."

D and I walked into the room and it was very much a death bed scene. And that was surprising to me. I had just seen Grandpa about a month ago and he was not this person lying in front of me. Grandpa reached his hand out to me...his arms...his arms were black with bruise; his skin was torn in several places, and came off in flaky patches. He had thin sheets of a plastic substance on the skin to hold it together, and coban and gauze wrapped wrists. There were tiny blood stains on the sheets. I was almost afraid to grip his hand for fear the skin would rip to the bone. He gently squeezed my hand and said, "What are you two doing in this neighborhood?"

"We came to see you, Grandpa."

We talked very little. I asked him if he remembered Roberta coming to see him the previous day. Roberta is his girlfriend whom he'd been with for the past 10 years or so. Roberta is a kooky old lady with a heart of gold and a love for quilting. And it was this love of quilting that kept them together, I think. They made over a hundred quilts together. He said he remembered the visit, and seemed genuinely happy to see her.

We left him to rest and went back into the kitchen to talk to mom for awhile...

When it was Beans and Cornbread time my Aunt S. helped Grandpa into a chair in the living room. She got him all comfy, and fixed a t.v. tray up for him with some beans and cornbread...after she got him all set up she said, "Can I get you anything else dad?"

He looked over at me with a wild look in his eyes and made the universal crazy person motion with his fingers and glared at her and said, "Keep movin'...." "Keep movin'..."

"Dad, now...I just wanted to..."

"Keep movin'...."

We chuckled and told him he was being rude. At that moment I realized while I sat with him in the living room I was afraid to be there. It was an odd fear. I was afraid he would just completely snap, and I would be there to witness the break. I have an irrational fear of madness as a contagion.

It was such an odd moment in time. My grandpa sitting there eating beans and cornbread, mumbling while D and my sister sat on the couch chatting, and my niece C. sprawled out on the floor drawing a picture. The normality of it was bizarre. C. looked over at grandpa and he shot back a glare at her that should have frozen her in fear. It would've me if were her age (4). But she just stuck her tongue out at him. He then started shouting at her, "You apologize to me! You apologize to me!"

My Aunt S. told him to quiet down, "She's just a little girl, Dad. Let it go."

"But she stuck her tongue out at me! She started it..." He then looked at me and sneered, "She's the worst child in all the town...and all the towns around."

C. just kept drawing.

The rest of the afternoon was more of the same. At about 5 we decided we better drive back home to Iowa City. I went into the bedroom to say goodbye to Grandpa. He grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes and said, "You're back on the shopping list."