Dedicated to a Loving Woman...My Grandmother

24^th of July 2007

~ Margaret Scott ~

Five years have passed since the last time I saw my Grandmother and while I’ve missed her dearly over those years, I still wonder immensely at her presence in this world. Grandma Scott is my mother’s parent and she lives in Walla Walla Washington. She refused to move away from the area even at a time when I begged her to move down to Atlanta Georgia or with me in Boston Massachusetts. I told her I would pay to move her anywhere she wanted to move that placed her in the same location as any of us, even with an Aunt who lives in Dallas Texas and even though this Aunt is far too much of a Christian to see her racist and bigoted ways about my homosexuality.

Grandma wouldn’t even consider the chance that she might not be laid to rest next to her beloved husband (Herman Scott). I was bothered greatly when this exchange continued over the few years that I pleaded my case for her to be close with a younger family member so we could take better care of her. She was relentless in her zealous nature to remain in the Oregon or Washington area.

I have been unusually close with my Grandmother without ever knowing why that bond was forged or how. I was born in Louisiana while she remained in her home in Pendleton Oregon. We would make trips up the west coast and she would come to visit when she was flexible enough to move about freely. I never understood why my mother paid for so much in my Grandmother’s honor because my mother spoke of and too Grandma with such distain and inflexibility that had an edge of more than just anger to her tone and demeanor. However, my mother always paid for Grandma to visit us or for us to visit her.

I remember visiting my mother’s family when I was just a very young boy (four maybe five years old). Grandma and Grandpa were present with an Uncle living next door to this shack of a place in a wonderfully constructed house with his wife and children. Another uncle was close by and so was my aunt with her husband/boyfriend at the time. From the sounds of it everyone seemed to be a happy family, but none of them were happy at all.

My Grandfather had sexually abused my mother from the earliest ages until my mother’s secret was uncovered and he went to prison for nine years. My mother was in her teen years and had the enormous weight of what her father had been doing to her when their world came crashing down around her by his impending incarceration. The family, including my grandmother, blamed my mother for the loss of their dad and her husband. They crucified my mother daily until her night in shinning armor, my father, appeared. I would love to say that he saved my mother from a miserable life, but the hell he took her from was mild in comparison to the anguish he delivered her too. You might believe that this would excuse any ill behavior my mother might convey towards my grandmother.

I however, never saw the side of my grandmother that would blame her own daughter for seducing her husband. She has always been kind, loving and especially forgiving. The woman I grew up knowing was nothing like the lady that blamed her daughter or might have even known what was happening before other people found the families dirty secret. One might expect that after discovering what really happened to my mother, that a mother would leave her husband and protect her daughters. My grandmother never considered that action and to this day has remained a loyal companion to her once disgusting husband. Even if you don’t agree with her behavior, you must respect her allegiance to the only man she ever loved. That is the one part of this sorted tale I can’t figure out is why this faithful, undying love for a man who shamed and shattered an entire family for his own selfish depravity. How could she excuse and remain the loving, dutiful wife to such a sick and twisted man for killing the innocence of his own daughter? I’ve never received answers to this or any other question pertaining to this portion of the family’s history. As I indicated she has always spoken of forgiveness and love and never once denounced the man who shattered the Scott family so many years ago.

That is the woman I’ve always known and continue to see every time I’m able to visit her. My grandfather left his wife and family when I was eight years old and while I do understand my mother was heart broken when he passed, but relieved at the same time. He would never again ruin the innocence of a child. My mother wears the details of these events like a badge of honor and in many ways I can understand that. The more I discussed my brother molesting me, the less it hurt and the easier it was to forgive him. My mother is not seeking a means to get over these horrid events; she uses them as a means to receive pity and acceptance. Not what I recommend for anyone who wishes to move forward with their life or to ensure a happy today with a better tomorrow.

Over the years I have seen and heard absolutely cruel words with the force of venom behind them exit my mother’s lips towards my grandmother over the tiniest of things. I’ve said in horror as I’ve encountered these horrifying acts wondering why my mother hates her mother with such fervor, yet why does she goes out of her way to do so much for the woman at the same time. My mother lives in Atlanta Georgia and received a phone call from my grandmother one day many years ago. My mother is over fifteen hundred miles away, listening to my grandmother cry and scream because my Uncle David sold her house and land from under her and never had the courage to tell her. The people who purchased the property showed up to move in and my grandmother didn’t know anything about it. My uncle didn’t tell her nor did he explain his actions to my mother or my Aunt knowing they were the only three who could take care of my grandmother. My mother called her sister who could not leave her job for such an emergency, so it was left to my mother as the sole child to take care of her mother who was so far away. These circumstances don’t speak highly of my family, but it does speak volumes for the heart that beats within the chest of my mother.

My uncle sold the property and blew the money with little concern for what might happen to his own mother knowing that my mother would come to her rescue. My mother flew up to take care of finding an assisted living apartment that would take my grandmother immediately. My grandmother has always praised my mother for her quick and decisive actions in getting her the apartment, boxing up the entire house and moving her all within a weekend.

Because grandma refused to leave Oregon then as she did when I was taking care of her, my mother had no other alternative but to find her residency in Oregon. A number of years later and after many heart attacks suffered by my grandmother, she was in the hospital when my absolutely wonderful uncle struck yet again. He was suppose to pick grandma up at the hospital and take care of her for a short while at his house until she could care for herself and moves back to her own apartment; but he refused to pick her up at the designated time. The nurses called after my grandmother waited over two hours for my uncle to show up. They called him many times until he finally grew a backbone and answered the phone only to tell the nurses he would not pick his own mother up at the hospital and they do with her what wanted too. He could care less for his own mother and yet again the only person my grandmother could call upon to take care her was my mother.

Again my mother rushes up to Washington to rescue my grandmother from the defenseless actions of her son. My mother secured a place at an elderly care facility for my grandmother with her own private room and a nursing staff that would check on her daily. Shortly after this demeaning display from her own son and seeing the pain my mother suffered with each encounter, I started picking up the bills for my grandmother. I would visit every year on the forth of July which happens to be grandma’s birthday. My visits were to spend time with the lady I had learned to love and respect while ensuring she had everything she needed. The burden that was lifted from my mother didn’t seem to lift her increasingly insipid treatment of my grandmother. With each passing year her anger became more apparent and her tongue more vicious. Her actions seemed to be matched by her anger and outward emotions with a complete loss of patience for an elderly woman. My attempts to intervene did little to appease my mother, but did wonders to build my relationship that seemed more kindred between my grandmother and me.

I continued to see love and trust and forgiveness exude from my grandmother to all surrounding her and with the empathy only she could convey. I grew more and more perplexed with my mother’s movement in the opposite direction. As the years pressed forward I kept track of my mother’s inability settle her anger over the actions of a man who had long been dead. In the midst of many questions and long talks my mother and I had over these issues, I was able to put together that she knew her mother had known what was happening to the little girl the entire time it was occurring. The family knew the hell she was enduring and they did nothing to save her and then they blamed her when Grandpa was sent to prison. The only thing that didn’t inflame the issue greater was silence. My mother’s inability to release this anger has eaten her up over the years, but is a burden she and only she can resolve. As much as I would like to take away her pain, I can only be a support when ever she needs it.

As for my Grandma, she continues to exude forgiveness, love, honor and respect for all surrounding her. I can thank her daily for an enlightened path that I call my own now. It tears me up when I walk in to her room now and see that when my presence is not known, she stares into the corner wall as if it is a long lost friend. It is as if she is in a vegetative state and my heart completely skips a beat when I think of her like that. I would give anything to take away her pain and suffering allowing her to move on. I refuse to make this a loving memorial when the woman is still alive and love emanates from her existence. This is a living dedication to a rare and wonderful woman who has impacted my life wonderfully.

With love – your grandson,

Todd