three generations
you hear shouting, so you want to know what's up. you walk down the hallway, slowly...kinda like when you open up a present. you rip open the flaps first, then you undo the tape in the middle, and in some cases you've at last found that morsel of delight. sometimes it's an ugly knitted sweater from your great aunt that you never learned to appreciate. the delight, or in this case the dismay, is finding out what the shouting's about. but you never expect the shouting to be your mom yelling at your grandmother after she's slipped on her thoughts of attempting suicide.
i quickly turned on my heels and grabbed my little cousin with me. ten minutes later, i walk slowly back into the room to find my grandmother sitting on the couch watching home made videos that star a much younger version of herself along with my deceased grandfather, her husband. i see her eyes start to fill with tears, but she never allows one to drop. she doesn't say a word. i follow suit and keep my saline emotions to myself.
my mom tells me that my grandmother never was one for words. she once sat in a room with my father for forty five minutes without saying a single word. if i were my dad, i would have been pretty intimidated. but i guess that's just how she is. she'll keep quiet for hours upon hours and then hit you below the belt with a single sentence. i don't know what's worse. living with a mom that throws little slaps here and there, or one that knocks you out every once in a while.
i quickly turned on my heels and grabbed my little cousin with me. ten minutes later, i walk slowly back into the room to find my grandmother sitting on the couch watching home made videos that star a much younger version of herself along with my deceased grandfather, her husband. i see her eyes start to fill with tears, but she never allows one to drop. she doesn't say a word. i follow suit and keep my saline emotions to myself.
my mom tells me that my grandmother never was one for words. she once sat in a room with my father for forty five minutes without saying a single word. if i were my dad, i would have been pretty intimidated. but i guess that's just how she is. she'll keep quiet for hours upon hours and then hit you below the belt with a single sentence. i don't know what's worse. living with a mom that throws little slaps here and there, or one that knocks you out every once in a while.