My Shirt and Tie

I don't wear them often. But when I do it is never a good time.

I buried my Grandma yesterday.

Before you all go, “Oh, I am so sorry.” I don’t wanna hear it, we weren’t close, and she's been dying for 20 years. I am kind of happy the suffering is over. She was a tough lady. Not like hit you in the head with a wooden spoon tough, I mean tough as in she went to the doctor and was told she had some insane blood pressure, like 180/120 sitting, and the doctor asked her if she had headaches, and she said not really. All day, I watched her walk around squinting like she had blurred vision. She always had a headache, she just toughed it out.

She had cancer like 10 times. I swear to god it must have been ten times. Since the 2000s, it has been chemo, hair falling out, radiation, kidneys, colon, breast, bones, and skin. Just insanity over and over. She fell and broke her hip. She was sick for a while.

The thing is, though, she and I were never close. My grandfather and I were okayish. She was an odd bird to me. She married a knock-around guy. A man who, if the family needed something, would provide it. It would often fall off a truck, but he made sure she had stuff.

Her daughter married an HVAC guy who was born to a construction/farmer/football coach/monster. My father purchased a small piece of land and put a camper on it, and out I popped. I was born on a mountain chasing chickens to learn to walk, and shitting in an outhouse being potty trained. I was born as an Appalachian.

My grandmother was a cosmopolitan. I often told her that if she couldn’t afford to stay in her place, she should move to the country, it’s beautiful. She would retort with “I can’t live without shopping.” I could never square this circle.

I had kids when I got older. My sister had 2 herself. We were the only grandkids. My grandfather got sick back in the 1990s, and when I was old enough to drive, I started taking care of him. I never spent much time with him or her as a child, so this was a welcome window into who my grandpa was. I got a chance to speak with him and spend time with him. He was a knock-around guy and had been to prison a few times. He never had a real job outside of cooking in a restaurant. This was never something I looked at with shame. I always looked forward to his meals, especially Thanksgiving. Once he passed, I found out my grandmother couldn’t cook. We all stopped going over for the holidays.

I still took care of her yard when I was asked to, or handled small things like when the transmission shop tried to rip her off, and I dragged the guy over the counter. I never received gifts from her, cards, or phone calls.

I was more focused on my mother being the world’s worst human than thinking of her.

I got busy with marriage and working 80 hours a week. I just never heard from her. My sons barely knew her. Hell, my children have never met my mother. My grandmother knew I had more children; I had told her many times. She never asked to meet them. I was gonna take them over last weekend. It was going to be the first time they met her.

I am not sure if it is a loss for them not to have met her.

I am not sure if I was as bad a child as I am told. I know I wasn’t a good one. I mean, I always did what I could for my grandmother or anyone. If I were asked to perform a task, I would do it. I moved stuff, changed water filters, and shoveled coal. I did yard work and ran errands. I am me and am loud and abrasive. Did it warrant me not being on the walls or my children not being pictured around the rest of the family?

It has been 24 years since I was a child. Well, honestly, more like 30 or 35 at this point. I have a job and a family, and others who rely on me. I write for y’all. I guide men into better positions in life. But I find myself at a loss in these moments. I want to understand. I want to know what I did.

I never harmed her or my family. I wasn’t the best person when I was young. My disappearance left a lot of rumors to swirl, I suppose. I never felt the need to defend myself from the cackling of hens.

My mother… She has always been my worst enemy. She is like Nero’s mother. I am not sure what she wanted from me. I always assumed she hated her father. Or just hated men as a whole. I am 42 years old with daughters and sons. I have been through 2 marriages, and the person in my life who is the most dangerous has always been my mother. Her ability to twist me into being the worst person who has ever lived in the eyes of those I love is legendary. She speaks of me as if I were Hannibal Lecter. I was an angry kid with a wild temper who had his life ripped apart. It was once said, “Tom would rather break a hole in the wall with his head rather than use the door that is wide open if he can’t do it his way.”

I have learned to just avoid the door completely at this point. I still refuse to walk through it.

I tried to get past the bad times in life. Dwelling on the past seems like a sure-fire way to remain angry when you need to have a positive mindset moving forward.

I don’t want to dump too much here or complain about the wrongs in my life.

I think the fear of what cannot be conquered may become too much. I call myself the Appalachian Gorilla because I am a strong man. I have lost my temper a few times and left people harmed in my wake. Never my family, but they have seen the remnants. That fear becomes danger and becomes resentment at some point, I guess. My iron will and determination have kept my head above the water when others would have probably eaten a bullet.

I was talking to my kids' mother yesterday, and she reminded me of who I am. She said, “I haven’t moved on because I am scared of what you might do.” You remember Eddie before he killed himself? You lifted him 3 feet off the ground and slammed him into the pavement for just looking at you wrong.”

Hmm. Would I want a man like me in my life? I have men like me in my life. I love them.

I don’t know, I'm gonna miss my grandmother. I am just not sure if she ever missed me. I think that’s really it. I don’t know if they ever missed me. I missed them. Every holiday for 24 years, I have missed my family. I cried alone into my turkey. When I was in juvey, I cried into my turkey and my ham a month later, and my chicken on easter. It was their memory that got me through. Was it ever the memory of me that got them through?

Thanksgiving is in 2 days. No one will be getting together again. My little sister is coming to my house. I have missed her. I want to feed my family. I don’t know, I will see what my uncle Jason and Steve are doing. This will be the first time Steve has ever been alone.

I guess i’ll put on my shirt and tie. Pick my family up out of the mud.