So as you can see from my prior stories, we got some shit. Man who am I kidding we had a lot of shit. The cycle of mental health and addiction was in full force at our place. Both of my parents had a parent that struggled with addiction of some sort. My moms biological dad was an alcoholic, charming, charismatic and mean as fuck, with some serious issues that I can only presume were past down from his own childhood home. My moms mom was brilliant, talented, creative and stuck in a time where you didn’t leave your partner, children were to be seen and not heard, and I can only imagine full of fear. She, Grandma, had such an admiration for her father, fond memories and hero imagine that I find it crazy that she ended up with such an ass for her first husband. (though it isn’t that much different than the stories passed down, not much different that my own. different scenario but some of the same.) One of my favorite photos of my grandma reminiscing about her dad was on he cover of readers digest, its an image of her holding his booklet or photo, I will have to go find it. However what I find striking or stands out the most, in the photo, is her look, the depth of her sorrow, her pain, you can see it in the picture and it wasn’t one she showed the family often. She was curt and straight to the point. lol Hello Lorri. Guess it got passed down along with the dysfunction. Anyways, she was unapologetic for her behavior, I struggled with it when I was younger however appreciated it when I was older. When I was able to see past the front and realize she was protecting herself and dealing with her unhealed wounds, regrets and sorrows. I didn’t get to know my moms biological father well, a few moments here and there however with all the damage he did to my mother I was able to put together the troubled soul he must have been. I never spend much time with the man, and every so often I will find myself doing some of his mannerisms. one in particular is how he sat on the couch, I know you think everyone sits on the couch the same way. Untrue, we sit forward, with our elbows on our knees. I have a picture of him and every time I find myself sitting in the position, I think of it and I shift. Like somehow if I sit like him it might make me like him.. crazy thoughts, however, I gather a true fear, I think it is interesting that I would rather be compared to my grandmother than my grandfather ( bio), yet both had qualities the were less desirable , though we painted my grandfathers with a darker shade of grey. Not because we knew him, because of what we were told. We didn’t give him an opportunity to show any change in his behavior or allow him to prove he was a better man, we never took the time to listen to his story, horror or glory. We accepted what we were told and let him die that way. One of the many dysfunctional traits we were taught, this one being conditional love.
My fathers parents were not much different, they had lots of children, spoke French and when they moved here they didn’t speak English, so they drank. I believe it was my grandma that started the drinking, and my grandpa joined her. He worked so he had different interactions, she was alone and with the kids so I think drinking became her companion. I didn’t get to spend a ton of time with them though I do have some really great memories of times I had with my grandma. I do not remember many times with my grandpa before he had his strokes and ended up in hospital care till he passed. She was spicy my grandma, she was cheeky, saucy and had a hard bite. She could be silver tonged and extremely curt/cruel with her words. That may have gotten passed down in generations to follow. My grandpa was quiet, he didn’t have much to say. what I do know is that he loved my grandma and she him. Seemed it was them against the world. I can’t imagine what it must have been like, having one alcoholic parent is tough, having two? I imagine unbearable. From the stories that get passed down it sounds like it must have been. I have heard stories of one hiding under the bed for a few days while the fighting was happening, the embarrassment of social gatherings, the shame of dealing with unruly behavior. I heard some pretty funny and sweet ones as well though they seemed far between. My dad was the 4th born and the first male. He was a pretty good combination of the two of them, he doesn’t have much to say unless he does and then man depending on what mode it is in it can either be direct cruel and silver tonged or it can be saucy and cheeky. He is a quiet man, keeps to himself, has strong opinions and beliefs, has tackled the world with extreme caution. More generational pass down of family disfunction, emotional and financial neglect, basic needs not being met.
Either way my parents had mental health and addiction, family dysfunction that they had to deal with. The gifts their parents passed down to them and in return they passed down to us. Thanks guys, thanks a lot… 😉 Which brings me, again to me.