What's in a Name Part 2

I don’t usually write follow up posts but after a recent conversation , I’m making an exception and writing part II to What’s in a Name. If you haven’t read it, it’s where I discuss the similarities between my own Grandma Jones (my dad’s mother) and my mother as a Grandma Jones to her only grandchild. I couldn’t decide if “What’s in a Name Part II” or “Get a Load of this Shit” was a better title but decided to go with a part II since it’s a continuation on the same topic. 

For those interested in the TL; DR version:

It’s been over three years since my mother has seen her only grandchild. 

I don’t see that changing any time soon.

I have tried to help plan and even offered to pay for her travel and she still has reasons to not visit. 

I’m done inviting her and trying to make something happen. 

If it’s important to her she’ll do something about it. 

It’s clear that it’s not important to her. 

It’s clear that neither Joni nor I are important to her. 

Her sisters and nieces and their kids (what I call her Real Family) come first and only. 

No one else matters.

After over 2 years we are starting to get back to “normal” and only now starting to dip our toes back into the world. We have taken every precaution. To some it seemed prudent and responsible and to some it seemed extreme. However you look at it we stayed safe and healthy with an immunocompromised person (me) and and up until recently unvaccinated toddler. 

In the two years we’ve been in Michigan I’ve talked to my mother a few different times about coming to see us and each time there was a reason involving her Real Family why she couldn’t. One reason was she had to do the at-home remote learning for my cousin’s youngest because apparently she is the only functional and literate adult of the bunch. Another time she had to drive the other grown ups around because also apparently no one else can drive. 

We have travel plans for later this summer and early fall so I called her and asked if she wanted to come see us and her only grandchild in October. After the usual excuses I offered to pay for her travel and was still met with “No”. The only reason for her continued refusal to visit us is that she just doesn’t want to or care which is a really shitty feeling. There could be some reason that she is not being honest with me about, which is very possible considering our recent history. 

It’s been three years since she has seen her only grandchild and at this rate it may be kindergarten graduation or later before she does and doesn’t seem to care. When I ask her point blank if she cares or even wants to see me or her only grandchild she tearfully says she does but her actions and inaction say otherwise. 

Previously when I spoke with my mother about visiting us I told her she would need to quarantine before coming because she is not vaccinated nor is anyone in her immediate circle. When I explained what quarantining to visit would entail she admitted she wouldn’t be able to because of her obligations to watch other people’s kids and run errands for others. 

Now that our Tiny Human will be fully vaccinated by the time of the proposed visit I explicitly said she wouldn’t need to quarantine before coming.  I didn’t even bring up her getting vaccinated. I know she won’t because of what some people told her or she heard on cable news about vaccines. She claims she spoke to her doctor but I don’t believe her. Her story on various events has changed and evolved over the last few months regarding things that happened or didn’t happen. 

Every time I talk to my mother I ask if anyone there is or was sick and if everyone is ok. Every time I get the same answer, “yes, everyone is fine” which I now know is bullshit. How do I know this? Let me tell you.

In our last conversation my mother told me that she has covid and she gave it to Middle Sister because they live together in a small house behind Youngest Sister’s house. I asked if anyone else had it and only then did she tell me that my cousin, her husband, and their two kids had it in January and she’s sure she told me. 

She didn’t because I would have remembered that because that was my greatest fear that one of my cousin’s kids would give it to my mother. She claims she got it at the dentist but again considering the evolution of stories and events the last few months I don’t believe her. I don’t know where she got it but I don’t believe it was the dentist. Even in Chucklefuck, Indiana I would imagine a dentist office would have some sort of safety protocols but maybe not. She may forget what version of events she told me and tell me the truth someday. Maybe.

Referring back to the TL; DR section at the beginning of this post, the ball is in her court and if the last three years are any indication we won’t be seeing my mother any time soon and while I can’t speak for the Tiny Human I am past the point of caring. It makes me sad and hurt but it’s also par for the course for our relationship the last several years. 

It’s my mother’s loss because my Tiny Human is amazing and deserves better from her Grandma Jones.

Liberty48

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is a weird thing that happened that I remember some of what happened and it’s weird enough that I wanted to share. I started toying with a basic outline/synopsis and may try to turn this into a short story. Probably something dark and twisted where something awful happens to someone. Or maybe it’ll be a sunshine and rainbows story. But knowing me, it’ll probably go dark.

One day in spring of 1998 I got a card in the mail from someone I never met. I don’t remember their name because it’s not and never was important to me but for some reason I remember the email address she included in her note. Liberty48 at something dot com.

Why do I remember that detail from over 20 year ago but not why I went into the kitchen? I have no idea. 

The contents of the card were baffling and was written like something from a 12-step program. It was awkward and spoke oddly of forgiveness. She claimed to know Gary and went on about how much he loved and missed me. We hadn’t spoken in almost 10 years by this point so unless he was trying to communicate telepathically there were no tangible signs to validate anything she was saying. By the end of the note I figured out that she must be his sponsor in some recovery program or they met at some odd church thing (see Malcolm in the Middle for another third-party communication attempt) or they were some level of friends or lovers. 

I dismissed the note and didn’t think any more about it until I was bored at work one day and thought what the hell, I’ll email her and see what happens. Over the next month we emailed back and forth in what can be best described as reverse catfishing in that my stories were fantastical and wild but not at all true. I don’t remember specifics anymore but I do remember the stories about my career (such as it was at the time) and personal life were completely made up along with what my future plans and goals were. It was a good writing exercise and maybe that approach would help me get some or any of my writing projects moving forward. 

In every message I included a plea to not share any of it with Gary and that it was just between us. This ensured that she would tell him everything out of some noble intent. I was right.

This went on until one evening the phone rang. My mother picked up the phone. It was Gary. The landline number had been the same from 1978 to approximately 2003 so it was not odd that he would still have it somewhere. I saw his call as validation that my plan worked. 

I did not pass go. I did not collect $200. I walked out the door. Got in my car. And drove away. Probably to Barnes & Noble or Borders or someplace like that. 

When I got home my mother was asleep so I didn’t get any details about the call until the next day. It was as expected. He thought everything I had said in my emails was true and I don’t remember what else she told me except that he left his number and really wanted to talk to me. I still had no desire. At this point, and especially today, it would be like calling a random stranger and trying to establish a meaningful relationship. It would be hella awkward. 

The next day at work I sent one last email to whoever Liberty48 is and expressed my disappointment at her betrayal of my trust and informed her that nothing I had written her was true. I think she responded to that message but I deleted it and thus ended my brief career as an amateur catfishing troll .

It’s been over 30 years since I’ve seen Gary and over 20 since I’ve talked to him. Honestly don’t know if he’s still alive or not. Wouldn’t matter either way. At least Gary left before I was old enough to remember him being around at all. It’s hard to make yourself feel something for someone who was never there and you have no relationship with.

A Nearby Playground

This is the story of some random summer Saturday when my dad came to pick me up, late as usual, and had dropped off his second wife and daughter at a nearby playground. When we left and went to pick them up he had dropped them off at my elementary school. He had no idea. He didn’t even know where I went to school. 

That was his level of involvement in my life outside the 24 hours he had to be involved every other weekend and alternating holidays. 

For most of my life my dad lived no closer than four hours away. For about two years he lived in a suburb about an hour away. I don’t remember the exact years but it was somewhere around late elementary school. I remember he moved to Florida in 1989 because the Cubs won the Eastern Division pennant and he called to ask me to buy and mail him a copy of the Chicago Tribune. 

His involvement and interest  in my life were always minimal and rarely went beyond what was required outside the 24 hours he had to be involved every other weekend and alternating holidays. The degree of which only dawned on me as I grew older and was able to process events as I replayed the memories in my head. 

One random summer Saturday he came to pick me up and was late as usual. He had brought his second wife and daughter with him probably because we were going to do something in the city. After the obligatory small talk with my mother we walked to the car. I noticed that there was no one in the car and asked where they were. He said he dropped them off at a playground nearby and we were going to pick them up now. 

He started to drive and we were probably talking or listening to some cassette when we pulled up to the playground at my elementary school and he said this is where he dropped them off. 

I mentioned that this was in fact my school and he said he had no idea. I wasn’t traumatized by going to my school playground on the weekend rather I was a bit hurt, even in the moment, when I realized my dad didn’t know where I went to school. 

The issue was t and isn’t that he didn’t know where my elementary school was it was indicative of his lack of interest in my life outside the day I spent with him every two weeks. 

I don’t remember him ever asking about school or my grades or what I wanted to be when I grew up or anything a “normal” parent would. It was much the same as I mentioned in my last post about my grandparents Jones, he was more like an old friend of my mother’s that I had to hang out with every couple weeks than a parental figure. I haven’t seen him in over 30 years now and don’t know if I’d recognize him if we were standing next to each other. 

As I get older and now that I am a parent myself I am realizing that the best thing I can do in raising my own Tiny Human is the exact opposite of what they did. 

Paying the monthly hosting fees for this site is cheaper than a therapist and I’m finding it incredibly beneficial in working through some things. 

What's In A Name?

I had a Grandma Jones and now my mother is a Grandma Jones. Even though they are not related by blood there must be something about being a grandparent with the surname Jones that causes general disinterest in your own grandchild. 

It’s been over two years since my mother has seen her only grandchild and between her refusal to get vaccinated, lack of willingness to travel, and her real or perceived obligation to her “real family” both I and her only grandchild are left out of the Venn Diagram of people who are worthy of an audience with her. 

Is this a harsh assessment? 

Yes. 

Is it deserved? 

Also yes. 

More than deserved, this harsh assessment has been earned. 

Growing up I saw my grandparents Jones sporadically. Only when my dad was in town for the day and even then only when it was convenient for all parties. I was just a kid so I had no say in the matter. So these people who were technically related to me were more strangers than neighbors or the older people I would see at church on Sundays. Same as with my dad, I haven’t seen them in over 30 years and don’t know if they’re still alive. It should be a weird feeling but the more I think about it, it’s not. It’s hard to feel a connection to people you’ve never spent an appreciable amount of time with because of a technicality. 

I fear the same will and is happening with my mother and her only grandchild. 

When we left New York to move to Michigan early into the pandemic to protect our health, safety, and sanity it was just the three of us. We had no help and I remember talking to my mother a couple times begging for her to come live with us and help. I offered to rent an RV to drive down and pick her up because she said she didn’t feel comfortable making the drive from Indiana, about a 6 hour trip. She refused.

Long story short, she had commitments to her “real family” that were more important to her than helping her own child and grandchild. 

My mother is essentially choosing to Cat’s In The Cradle her only grandchild and if/when she decides that her “real family” choices have cost her, her grandchild won’t care. I can sense that it’s already starting subtly. I don’t know what my mother expects the next time she sees her only grandchild. She will be a stranger to her and not necessarily immediately recognized as someone who is more than a background character. 

It sucks but I am beyond caring or putting in more effort to include my mother more than I already have. 

Choices have consequences. 

She is choosing her “real family” and so am I.