Jaded & Bittersweet

So, I had a mini-meltdown in church today. Had to go to the bathroom because I didn't have any tissues in my purse and then refrain from bringing out a roll of toilet paper with me to wipe my snot and tears.
This flood of emotions hit me from my blind spot like a mac truck on the interstate, but I can tell you now how it found me..... (this is your 'get a tissue' warning)
I know families are not supposed to have favorites. We are supposed to love all our kin equally, right? That's a lie. We are human and we are flawed and selfish with our own likes and dislikes. Some people we get along with and some we don't. Well, I've always considered myself to be more like my mother's side of the family than my dad's. They were/are sweet, kind, generous, loving, non-judgemental..... all the things families are supposed to be. And I was one of them, a Bearss/Bennett. Directly. By blood. The other side was fun when I was little, with the fishing trips and yard sales. But as I got older, I started to see the manipulation, guilt trips and favoritism creep in to my world. One of the other grandkids was always better at something than you were. You never came to visit enough like they did. If you didn't eat something that Grandma had made, you were intentionally trying to hurt her feelings. You get the idea...... And when I was old enough to be able to decide for myself when I would visit, the visits became fewer and far between.
But now that my dad's parents are living in my parents' house, I have been forced to spend more time with them and have come to notice things about them and myself that I hadn't before. Or maybe that I hadn't wanted to see before.
Like how Grandma and I eat our breakfast exactly the same: crumble the bacon over the grits and the eggs and eat them all together. How Grandma and I both have to clean the crumbs off the table around us after we are done eating. Lots of little nuances and quirks that are the same but aren't glaringly obvious until you spend a lot of time with that person.
So, I have been forced to see that despite how hard I have denied being a Hampton/Almond in the past, I AM one of them too. Directly. By blood. And you can't run away from that.
(Yes, I know that this self-denial falls into the judgemental and favoritism categories that I was denouncing before, and I do catch the irony of it, so don't rub it in. This is where the mini-meltdown part of my day comes in.)
This weekend I got to see a whole new side of my Papa. The mean, hurtful, bully side. And while at first I was just seriously pissed off that he had emotionally tortured my mother, I later started wondering..... is he just getting crazy in his old age (90), or is this who he really is? Has he been putting on a show for all these years and has just now gotten where he doesn't care to hide any more?? Is this one of those personality traits that has been passed on to me and so far I have been successful in keeping it locked up inside me? This was the thought that scared me the most. That one day I would become like him, how he was this weekend.
I was sitting in church during worship with all these thoughts swirling around in my head when the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face and I had to go outside because I could feel the sobs coming. And as I stood outside staring at the pastures across the street from our church, trying to pull myself together so I could go back inside, I heard the Lord say to me: You are not their child. You are Mine. You will become who I am if you will trust Me and follow Me. You don't have to give in to your DNA, because I have adopted you and made you My own. Of course this made the tears flow even more, but also gave me a peace that I hadn't felt for some time.
So, now I have to choose to love the parts of my grandfather that are like my heavenly father and forgive the parts that are not. (crap.)
But doing this will make me more like the God who saved me from myself. And that's the person I want to be. The person He sees. Not the person I think I am or am afraid I will become.

Rose Colored Glasses

aaaahhhh youth. The bliss that comes from ignorance. No stress. No worries. (Other than who's your favorite New Kid on the Block, and what color scrunchy am I going to wear in my hair?) Growing up means more independence and more responsibility, which are welcomed; but it also comes with the loss of your innocence as knowledge is gained. You have to put your rose-colored glasses on the shelf and see the world in living color.
As children, most of us preferred to see our parents and grandparents as indestructible and all-knowing. They were living encyclopedias and history books, and no matter what, they could and would do anything for us. Time, however, marches on and takes with it the youthful energy of our parents and gives us the ability to see that they are mere mortals who will eventually succumb to the same fate as the rest of humanity. They will grow old. They will get sick. And, eventually, you will be the one changing their diapers and cooking their three meals a day.

Last week I spent my mornings helping my dad. His new full-time job is caretaker, nurse, pharmacists, cook, janitor, accountant, chauffeur, and general "do boy" for his parents. They are 90 and 89 years old and have had to move into my childhood home with my parents after additions and remodeling to make it handicap accessible. My mother was looking forward to retiring soon, but now...... And I have had to watch my parents age faster than they should while shouldering the burden of caring for the frail and dying, the blind and lame, the stubborn and memory impaired.
My sister and I have also been the open ear on which our parents can vent their frustrations, fears, anxieties, and hurts over the past several months. And with this new responsibility we have been introduced to the other side. The side that knows how manipulative, selfish and vindictive some family members are.... The side that is thankful we never had to borrow money from them..... The side that has to try to balance the wishes of both parents although they contradict one another...... The side that is being driven mad by the once-loved quirks of a family member.... The side of life that gives you gray hair and migraines, ulcers and murderous thoughts.
Despite the stress and often raw nerves that come with this type of role reversal, we are treasuring the time we get to spend with my grandparents..... hearing stories that had not been told.... seeing them enjoy my children.... knowing my children are learning valuable lessons about how families take care of each other..... getting a "head's up" on how my dad could possibly turn out.....
I didn't understand until now how people could feel relief after the death of a family member. But after having to take care of my grandparents for only a few hours a day, and being witness to and a victim of the black-hole that is now consuming the lives of my parents, I know our family will feel a huge weight lift after my grandparents pass. We will miss them. We love them. But we will cry "Freedom!" when they go to be with the Father. And that time can be a joyous time because we know we will see them again. There is hardly a day that goes by when I don't think of 'what Grandmother would say' or 'Granddaddy would love to see my kids do that' or 'Aunt Deloris would be so proud of my daughter'..... but I know they see us and are eagerly waiting for us. And I will soon add Grandma and Papa to that group of people who "I wish were here to witness this...." but in the interim we will keep on making coffee, washing soiled linens, wiping bums, and dolling out meds while laughing at funny stories and how many times I can have the same conversation with Grandma:
"Is Russel at work?"
"Yes, Grandma. It's summertime, and the camp is full."
"Ooooh, I bet you love eating down there. The food is so good. And you don't have to cook or clean......"
"Yes, mam. I am spoiled."
(I lean over, look at my mother and mouth "That's one.")

a little more on that subject....

So, I was thinking again about dialect and accents.....

I met a friend of my sister-in-law, and as we were standing around talking, she asked me where I was from. I told her that I have been in Covington since I was three, but had always lived in Georgia. She has lived all over the US and in Cuba, so she has heard all kinds of accents. She said she just couldn't figure out where I was from because I didn't sound like I had lived here all my life. That there was "something else in there."

Now, if you have ever met my mother-in-law, you know she is Southern. She is one of the few people who can make her name have more syllables that Webster would. And my sister even types "y'all" in her emails. (don't deny it, you know you do) But that just doesn't come naturally to me. I have to deliberately type that or ta-alk slow-ly.

For fun I took one of those quizzes on Facebook to find out what accent you have, and it said I have a Northern American accent. My response should be, "but I am Southern born and bred y'all. And, bless their hearts, I just don't understand how they came up with that." But honestly you guys, I just don't talk like that.

So, who knows!? Are there Northern roots coming out, or is it just my stubborn streak that makes me want to be different? Couldn't tell ya.