Snapshots

Main Entry: snap·shot
Pronunciation: 'snap-"shät
Function: noun
1 : a casual photograph made typically by an amateur with a small handheld camera
2 : an impression or view of something brief or transitory snapshot of life back then


Ever have those moments when a distant memory sneaks up on you out of nowhere? I've been having a lot of them lately.

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“He’s in shock” my grandmother said into the phone receiver cradled in her ear. I stared blankly at the wall while lying on my side with my back facing to Granny. I listened to her to carry on over the phone expressing her grief, remorse and concern.

Granny and I were never really that close. With the unexpected and untimely death of my mother she had taken it upon herself to become my guardian. I knew immediately that it would never work. Her being my guardian that is. I wouldn't let it work. No! Never! Not in a million years. I would never allow that woman to “care” for me. Not after the way she had treated my mother.

You see Granny had favorite children and favorite grandchildren and it affected her interpersonal relationships with all involved parties. Her favored children were never required to give her much of anything - help, gifts, money - while the other children were expected to give their last drop of blood if she deemed it useful and necessary to her survival. Granny never made the other children feel appreciated for their efforts; and that's where the disconnect existed between Granny and my mother. My mother was seeking unconditional love and appreciation from her mother; but Granny never expressed it. At least not in a tangible way that my mother understood. I know they had conversations about it but there were still lingering doubts. My mother died wondering if her mother truly loved her and I hated Granny for it.

"I don't know what I'm going to do. Ethel was the only one that ever did anything for me" Granny said as she sobbed into the phone. Listening to those words infuriated me. I wanted to stand up and scream from the top of my lungs "You got a lot of nerve woman. She died thinking you didn't appreciate anything she tried to do for you and now you want to tell the world she was the only one that did anything for you? I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! How you could do that to my mother?" I had heard enough. I had to get away from her. I grabbed my pillow and my blanket and walked to my cousin's room. I hoped the distance would help drown out the sound of my grandmother's voice.

“He’s not saying much. He’s not saying anything at all!” she said sadly into the phone. I could still hear her through the walls and the sound of her voice was sickening. I couldn’t take much more of it. The wound was much too fresh. Just five hours before I had listened to an ER doctor tell me that my mother had died. What are you supposed to say after you’ve heard something so tragic at the age of 17? Of course I wasn’t saying much.

I laid there in my cousin's room plotting what to do to get rid of Granny. She's got to go I told myself over and over again before slumber took over.