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Justice for Nancy: Quiet, Broken Thoughts

It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted on this, and honestly, because I think my brain and body are broken. The last time I went to Waynedale to get rid of the last pieces of her furniture that remained in the garage was a few weeks ago. I didn’t have a key to go in the house, and that really didn’t bother me. The outside is more familiar than the inside now, and my memories were running all around. My memories scatter all over Avalon, up and down many of the streets there. A lot of bad memories, stupid choices, and broken hearts happened there. But it also had its fair share of best friends, take-to-the-grave memories and jokes, and some really monumental moments of growth. But, it’s just not that place anymore.

Last year, I watched my Grandma die. It happened slowly over a 10 month period, finally ceasing on Halloween of 2013. She was my best friend, and watching her demise was slow torture. On myself. On my kids. On everyone. When my Grandma Nancy was beaten earlier this year, I could feel the negative outcome happening. I couldn’t find the good. I could see the “bad” in the situations around us, and watched everyone struggle in their own ways. My way was venting via words, blogging, and keeping my mind moving, not stagnant on the topics. You all know by now that I hate Zachery Doan, his entire family, including the trash that continues to live next door to what was my Grandma’s house, for over 50 years. What you might not know is that I’m struggling with it all.

I lost my breath last night when I signed into Facebook and saw the picture that my mom posted of my Grandma. I couldn’t stop the tears, and my heart broke all over again. I haven’t been to see my Grandma in weeks, and the kids in even longer. I don’t want them to have their last memories of her, being her not even knowing who they are. I can’t make myself visit right now, and although it kills me, it’s the only way I can keep going. I don’t know if I can watch this happen again, knowing that someone took this from her. Knowing that this was again caused by someone’s bad choices. I can’t do the long demise and still carry the heavy load that life has shit upon my shoulders currently. It’s just too much.

I looked at my Grandma’s old pictures, and I’m instantly a little kid again, helping her make the deer meat in the kitchen. We’re singing “meres eat oats” and “show me the way to go home,” and we’re both horrid singers. We’re at Durnell’s, sharing an order of mozzarella sticks and soup. We’re out on the boat with Pappy, catching dinner. We’re in bed, watching Love Connection. She’s carrying me frantically through the winter air, and I’m begging her to stop to let the cool numb my massive burns. We’re eating her spaghetti recipe together, watching Herbie tan in the driveway. I’m lying on their couch, watching the Christmas tree topper spin slowly, and she sits at my feet smiling widely at the lights.

I looked again at the picture that my mom took yesterday, and the lump in my throat returns, tears prick my eyes, and I’m left with my last visit with her…because the lady in the picture just shouldn’t look this way. In her one moment of clarity that day, she again told me how thankful she was for me, and that I was the best gift ever. I told her I loved her, hugged her, kissed her, and sang “show me the way to go home” to her. She didn’t ever say anything again that day, and I haven’t been there since.

I’ve thought about sending some mail to my favorite criminal felon, just to let him and the family know how much fun life is right now thanks to his choices, for all of us. And for Grandma. Just to make sure he’s doing ok, and see about how his girlfriend, or boyfriend(s), are doing. Just to remind him that I’m still here, and here I’ll stay, rambling on about how much he sucks, and how guilty he is, and how much Nancy did not EVER deserve any of this.

While I can’t be there physically next to her to hug her, she’s in my heart, and in my head constantly. Justice for Nancy. Always.