Most people may not be able to figure out how or why their lives seem to get so screwed up. I myself can trace the beginnings of dysfunction all the way back to Great Grampa Birdsie, who lived out the last years of his life in what was termed at the time, a “nut house.” In recent years, it has been suspected, but never actually proven, that Great Grampa Birdsie might not have been crazy after all. Some family members believe now that he suffered from hypoglycemia. Low blood sugar can wreak havoc on a person’s nerves, mental state, and stability. It’s possible he wouldn’t have been bundled off and locked up if he had only had a proper diet. The pattern, however, was set. Bundled off he was, locked up he remained. And for whatever reason, none of Birdsies offspring, or offspring of offspring, has led completely happy, healthy, normal lives either.
My grandmother is one example, Birdsie’s daughter, Gram-Pearl. That’s her name, all together like that, as if she were never a real person until she became our grandmother. Gram-Pearl never drew a happy breath in her life. I am convinced it was her goal to make sure no one else did either. Everyone was afraid of Gram-Pearl’s wrath. Not that she inspired a fear for our physical safety. She barely skimmed five feet tall, and she had bad feet. We all knew we could outrun her. But her ability to test your patience and sanity was unparalled in this universe or the next. She could be a rotten old bat sometimes, and we dreaded to see her coming.
But, for all of her unwavering rants and predictable rages, we did love her. We tried to appease and accommodate her. She was uneducated, almost childlike in her outlook on life. But she had an uncanny ability to sum up almost any given situation with a few words. As was the case when she pointed out to my sister, who was struggling to raise four young kids in an unhappy marriage, “Well Debbie, I guess you like ’em all right, now that they’re here, but you ought not to have had so many kids hangin’ on ya!”
If one were to really think about that statement, you would eventually come to the conclusion that Gram-Pearl had encompassed the entire situation in about 3.2 seconds. I don’t think there is a parent in the world who hasn’t at one point or another contemplated what life would be like if they hadn’t decided to bring kids along for the ride. The feeling usually passes, and you realize you do “like ’em alright!” She was too much!
Looking back now, several years after her death, I realize that Gram-Pearl suffered for most of her life. She suffered as a young girl, a victim of unrelenting poverty. Proper food, decent clothing, a nice home, education, shoes, were all things that other people had. Sweets were an almost unheard of treat, and a toy doll consisted of a rag wrapped around a stick. With a younger sister dying of TB, losing her beloved mother to the same disease, and an infant son dying in her arms when she was only seventeen, it was no wonder she acted as she did. It’s a small miracle she wasn’t worse. After two more children, her husband left her to raise them alone in a time when such things were not done.
For years, Gram-Pearl coped with what would most likely today be termed as anxiety, panic disorder, and OCD. During her early years, no one had ever heard of them, nor had any remedies to help. Unless you want to call electric shock treatments at the local psych ward a remedy. Gram-Pearl was forced to endure this indignity twice when my mother was young. The worth of these treatments could only be called, well, questionable, at best.
There were many manifestations of Gram-Pearl’s illness. The woman was sick, but no one knew how to help her. It seemed harmless enough at the time. As an example, we all remember her standing at her old fashioned kitchen sink for hours sometimes. Turning the faucet on, and back off really quick, then trying to catch the single drip with the same hand. We didn’t know why she kept doing this, and I don’t know if she ever succeeded, but it was an obsession. She couldn’t stay away from it, and once she started she couldn’t stop. We all just accepted it, that’s the way she was.
I learned a very valuable lesson when Gram-Pearl died.
