New Year and Forgiveness?

It's 2011. Yaay.

Note my enthusiasm (which you can't really gauge online, but imagine Daria saying it and you've got it). I haven't written on this blog in a while because well, I didn't have anything I wanted to talk about. I'm getting back into a sharing mood now. I also have a lot of things going on, and there are more blogs and sites to come. I know, you would think I would just keep writing in this one, but I kind of like to keep my subjects separate when they're very, very different. This is my general, ranty, whatever-y blog, and I'd like to keep it that way. I've got a poetry blog and another blog I've yet to reveal, but I probably will soon (mostly because I'm not good with hiding information when I don't want to...but in this case its kind of not something I was ready to share yet).

I REALLY need to work on forgiving, well one main particular person in my life. I won't EVER forget what happened, but I'm supposed to be able to forgive, and that's been hard for me. She pulled some of the most ultimate bullshit a person can pull in my opinion...let's see what you think:

My mom found out she was really, really sick. At first, she was really strong and positive about it, and I'll forever admire and love her for that. She encouraged me to be strong too, and I had no choice but to be because that's all she was giving out at the time. She was convinced that whatever was wrong with her was in God's hands and she would get better. She told me she'd dance at my wedding. No matter what bullshit, happy times, upsets, angers, loves, or whatever I'd ever been through with that woman, she was my mother, and she was once again proving to be amazing. You've possibly seen some pretty not cool things on here about her before, but as I always maintained, I loved her. To her death and beyond.

Anyway, a little after we found out she was sick, I was chilling with mom at her place and we were just talking and watching tv. She decided to tell me something that may not have been a good idea to tell me, but we were like that. Imagine a black Lorelai and Rory Gilmore with a 27 year age difference instead of a 16 year one (which somehow didn't matter) and that was us. Well, with a poorer Emily Gilmore as well. Anyway, she told me that Grandma (her mother is Grandma to me and my dad's mom is Granny) was like "Can I have your bed?"

o_O

I remember saying something like Wow or really, or a combo of the two, and then, mom hit me with the kicker.
Mom: "Yeah, you can have it, but you know I'm gonna be around. I'll buy you one."
Grandma: "Well, I just wanted you to tell so she'll know."

O_O


>_<

Um.

What. The. Fuck.

Whatever. 

At the hospice (we had her taken to hospice care because we had NO IDEA what to do to help her anymore...she wasn't eating, sleeping well, and was just in pain) I was there one day and Grandma decided to inform me that mom asked her if she could take the bed. Grandma weaved this tale of how she asked my mom well what about me and mom told her I didn't have room and then she claimed she also didn't have room but she would figure it out. 

Yeah. 

After she passed, it started. I could see if someone wanted something of sentimental value. For instance, mom had a blanket that I know one of her friends really, really liked, and I'm still thinking about giving that to her. Another friend of hers asked me for something, but he said "Just give me something that meant something to her." My dad wanted a photo of the two of them she had on her bedroom wall (and some hangers), and I gave it to him with a "Hendrix" dvd for Christmas (haven't figured out the best way to send the hangers yet). What did Grandma hound me for? Her bedroom set. Her car. Her laptop (well, she only asked for this once). Then she damn near demanded that I sell or give away the rest of her stuff. Like I had no want or need for it. My favorite line: "What's the use of keeping all that stuff in storage if no one's coming back to it?"

GTFOHWTBS.

I grew up around some of that stuff. I WANTED IT. I may not have a house now, but I will one day. And I want to put that stuff in my house. You can't buy some of that stuff anymore. She had a dining room table set made out of bamboo.  Where am I going to find that, as well made, and in as good a condition? Why should I turn down instant (really good) house furniture when I can afford to pay for storage? I wont spend in storage what any of that stuff is worth, so I'm keeping it there until I have somewhere to put it (which will hopefully be in June). 

So, we got in a yelling match. Shit happens. I apologized. No one else did. Not to me at least.

The day of mom's interment at the National Cemetery, guess who was there? Me. My boyfriend. Mom's ashes in urn. The people who work at the cemetery. 

Grandma didn't show up. My mother's mother didn't show up to see where her daughter was buried. To see the very simple, very beautiful ceremony the United States Government provided for her. That day was the warmest day it had been in while. And she didn't show up. Not because she didn't know. Not because she didn't have a ride there. She decided to get her hair done.

Someone explain to me how I'm supposed to forgive that?