View From ThE Apple House

The summer has come and gone without my barely writing a word.  If it weren’t for the newspaper articles I write, there wouldn’t have been anything at all.   My creative spirit is paralyzed as the result of an action by another.   It is somewhat of a release to put this down on paper, although I know it won’t change anything.

Every family has drama, although I thought it would never touch mine.  Turns out, I am not immune to the misinterpreted gestures, false accusations, withholding of affection and cruelty often seen or heard about in other families.

Its been nearly a year, save for one brief interaction in a supermarket, since I have seen one of my children and grandchildren.  The only one that lives in close proximity, he is a virtual prisoner held captive by a spouse who is delusional and in serious need of mental health treatment, but refuses any type of therapy.  To keep the peace, he is ‘forbidden’ to see me, as are the grandkids, for in her worldview, I am evil incarnate.

I’ve borne this person’s resentment long enough; I have stayed silent for far too long, tried to see the side seen, played over and over in my mind the cause for this enormous rift in our family.   I see none on my part and I am mad as hell.  For whatever reason it has become a mantra of hate and discord towards me, the root of all problems and the reason for ‘protecting’ the children from me, their grandma.    To a deluded mind, I don’t look like a grandmother, I don’t act like a grandmother, and so I should not be permitted to have access to anyone.  I’ve missed holidays, birthdays, school events and award ceremonies.  I cannot even conceive of doing this to someone.

I understand a husband’s decision to support their spouse against all outside intruders, but I am not an intruder.  I am his mother.  I am at a loss for words and I die a little inside everyday.   I’ve prayed on it, got counseling for it, and tried to look at it from every angle possible.    The bottom line is this is her world view and I will not be able to do anything to alter it.   You can’t change someone’s perspective, as it is their reality.  But when reality is so shattered and put back together haphazardly, there is nothing to do except hope the pieces will eventually meld together to form something coherent.  I can’t imagine what life is like for my son.

So I wait.  I will continue to wait.  I’m not happy about it.  I’m not getting any younger and they are growing older every passing day.   Opportunities are fleeting and memories are few.  But I’m not going anywhere.    I am here.

Waiting.

I am a Loveman.

We don’t give up.