i'm very lucky to have my grandma. She is my maternal grandmother, and we talk on the phone every two weeks. I call her when I go for a walk because I like her company. I ask her questions about her life, she is exactly 60 years and 12 days older than me. We are both Geminis with emerald birth stones, and when she passes her favorite emerald ring will go to me.
My grandmother is a very intelligent woman. She was married at 19 and had two kids within a few years. She has been widowed since I was five years old, and is a testament to the resilience of women. I don't remember my grandfather well, but she speaks of him so fondly, and he seemed to match her intellect so well. I only hope to find something like that some day.
While walking the other day, the subject turned (as it does often) to my dad (her son-in-law), and how I wish that he would heal from his trauma and let go of grudges. We talk about this often, because no on else in my family will listen when it comes to the issues my dad has.
Eventually, my grandmother says "it always astounded me how you could find a way to be out of the way whenever we needed you to be". She recalled the time my brother and I were rough housing and he fell onto our our chair in the living room, one with an old large nail sticking out, and cut his leg. My brother is autistic, and this was the first time he was going to need stitches, so my grandma took us to the emergency room and called my parents. She says I walked right over to the little coloring table full of kids and colored quietly in the corner.
Before my grandpa passed, he had had a stroke about 7 years prior, and so he struggled with mobility. Well one day he fell and it was pretty serious, but my grandma had to pick me up from daycare, and when we met the nurse back at her house, I walked to the kitchen, sat down, and started coloring.
She said "you were always so mature for your age". "you always knew, at a scarily young age, how to make things easier for other people".
In case you were wondering, I'm in graduate school to be a therapist.
"You were always a fixer", my dad explained to me weeks ago on a phone call when talking about me in high school.
Both of these phone calls make me sad. Because for years I was like that, and I think it made me angry and upset. I think my brother struggled with autism, and while he needed the attention and rightfully so, I felt like I had to be perfect just to make things easier for my parents. I don't want them to worry about me, because I had to go it alone for a majority of the life.
This was true when three close family members died within three years. This was true when my dad and his niece were not on speaking terms due to conditions of my paternal grandmother's will. This was true when I was depressed and had no friends.
I kept to myself because I didn't want to be the reason to cause any problems.
This was also true when I started having suicidal ideation. This was also true when I started cutting myself with a little shard of glass in seventh grade that I kept hidden in my window after a picture frame fell off my bookshelf.
My parents have no idea that these things were occurring. As far as they were concerned, I did well in school, I got good grades, I was a really good athlete, and I didn't get in trouble (unless you count refusing to eat my vegetables).
Finally in eighth grade, the mental illness was taking a toll on 13 year old me's body, and I was tired all the time. "Lethargy" they called it. I couldn't run for long periods of time, and my gym teachers noted that I struggled to have the energy to complete the daily warmups, which was strange for me since I was an athlete and played multiple sports at the time.
So, my parents took me to the doctor, and they ran a blood test. They suspected low iron, and that was unfounded. There was no issues with my thyroid despite the expansive family history of women who struggle with hypothyroidism. There was no explanation for my lethargy. So it stopped there.
No one asked how I was doing mentally (hint: not fine).
No one asked how I was handling the deaths of my aunt, then my beloved grandmother's dog, then both of my paternal grandparents (hint: also not fine).
No one asked me how my family was doing. With my dad's rage and both of my older brother's seclusion (hint: really not fine).
It's hard now as an adult to look over that and think "why did no one look out for me". "why did nobody think that I was worthy of attention and checking-in on?".
No wonder I became a fixer.
No wonder I'm a therapist.
janainaart
stormborns
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
jbbartram-illu
