Christmas Eve--My So Called Family
She has decided that, family only runs in the direct-descendent bloodline, making myself and my children no longer 'direct parts of the family'. Even though we all grew up together, my cousins and I--even though I stayed with them as a child when my mother couldn't deal with summer vacations--even though we were close for a very long time--she has cut us out of their every day lives.
We are only 'invited' at Christmas and Easter. The rest of the year it is, 'direct family only'. In other words, nieces and nephews.
She is a Dartmouth grad, and so are most of my cousins that followed in the family footsteps. No one but myself has special needs children. They hate my husband--always have--because he wasn't 'intelligent' enough. The one in the following entry has made remark after remark about, 'HOW SCREWED UP' my family is--meaning Tom and my special needs kids.
We went to her house last Christmas Eve--and it WILL be the last time I ever go as well. Even though this is a lifelong tradition to be there on that day, I am now starting my own tradition. I refuse to let anyone treat my children as sub-humans. You can get the gist of what happened by reading my 'venting letter' to her (I never sent it--it was just to purge my soul) from Christmas.
Warning--you can screw with me but you can't screw with my kids--this is a very 'VENTFUL' entry--those that can't handle 'hood language' should not read. I was truly pissed.
I shouldn't have come there this year. I knew that my instincts were never wrong, and feelings of not belonging were no longer just paranoia. I knew the things you had said about my children, and I knew how ignorant you were to their daily struggles, as well as my own.
I can't explain to you what it is like to live my life every day. Each morning is a new hardship, and a new way of dealing with a troubling situation. I can't tell you how hard it is, or how much I cry alone because I am sometimes overwhelmed because, you don't live here. You never visit, you don't call, and you certainly don't ask questions. You only assume. Assuming is a very ignorant, uneducated thing for a person of your caliber to do.
You had over 30 people in your extravagant house, once a poverty-ridden barren house with only the essentials in it. You had the Midas touch, and took the house that was made with only love, and filled it with items that were made of gold, brass, solid wood, and only the most expensive tile. You may have built a house that is worth more than any other house in the entire city, including a bathroom with a Jacuzzi, television and stereo system built in. The one thing you took out of that house was love. No precious metal or aged wood can ever replace what you stole from that house.
Just as no one can replace all that has been stolen from me.
You have talked about my 'abnormal' children behind my back, but word has always gotten back to me. I have always brushed it off as your being the heartless, lonely bitch that you are. Yes, you have barrels of money, having sat at the bedsides of your dying relatives holding a pen. Aunts that you hated but loved so dearly when it came time for the will to be signed over to you. You heartless bitch, alone with no man to love you, no children to bring your life meaning--you can only criticize me because my children were not born perfect, as were the other children in your 'selfish made new world' of immediate family.
You fucking bitch.
Taylor was being good. Yes, she is Autistic! She was being so sociable, and not acting up at all. She was, for the first time in many months curious. She touched your footstool! How dare someone touch a footstool that isn't 'normal'! The other kids sitting on it before she reached it didn't matter. When she went over to it, I had to move the expensive footstool into the hallway. She couldn’t touch that footstool that carries you lazy-ass, smelling feet on it every night. You fat cow, you.
Oh My Goddess! She touched your precious piano! Gee, I guess pianos in schools must be made differently, since the moment Taylor touched your piano it had to be closed. Children ruin the tuning on the piano, you commented to someone else in the room. I knew the truth, but you were hiding your bitchy ways so that others couldn't see the true you.
It was because my abnormal, freak child touched your piano. It is banned from all, so that she is not singled out in front of an audience. After all, everyone would see you for who you truly are.
A fucking bitch.
You put the playroom downstairs. Colin was being so good and playing with the Legos. You had your precious cards down there that make you tons of money. Now, being logical I would not have left anything that might be valuable in a room where children were allowed to play. Then again, that is me. How would I know that a card, worth 1.25 would be of such value to a rich bitch like you? You yelled at Colin for touching this card, and then told me that I must supervise my children in that playroom. I am the only parent that was told to do this. I guess my child must have been the only one that ever touched anything in that room, right bitch.
You bitch!
Taylor spit 4 pieces of ziti out on your precious tile floor. Let me tell you something, you heartless wench. Tile in a kitchen where the dining room table is, should be expected to have food on it. You never followed any other child at that table around with a napkin. But, because it was Taylor--that abnormal freak of a child that you believe should never have been born--that dropped 4 tiny morsels of ziti on your tile floor. You made us move while you commented about the expensive work you just did on that tile. You stupid bitch. You should have told everyone to stand up and eat out on the deck in the cold! How dare we drop anything on your expensive floor tiles?
Alternatively, is it because it was MY child that, dropped food which made it matter to you? Is that it, self-righteous bitch? Yes, that is it but you will never let that on in public. It would ruin your plastic appearance of being so giving.
Taylor then did the unthinkable. She dropped a piece of pumpkin pie on your kitchen floor. Now, these floors were already trampled by over 60 bodies at this point--but Taylor’s 1 morsel of pumpkin pie fell on the floor that you had tiled. As you scurried your fat legs over to scoop it up, she stepped in it. Oh my goddess! That was just too much for you to bear. You sounded as if she had just gone in and ripped out all of your plumbing, and stuck it up your asshole for an enema!
Yes, I left quickly. You commented about how I came to eat and run. Well, do you know what bitch? This is the very last year I will come there to do anything, let alone eat. I wouldn't grovel over to you if my kids were splitting the last kernel of corn.
You can't bring your money with you. Oh, you will probably impress many by leaving them so many things so that your eulogy sounds so beautiful when you die. I hope they ask me to say something at your funeral. I think I will print this fucker out that day and let them all see you for who you truly are.
You're a judgmental, heartless, and self-righteous bitch. Had you lived in the days of Hitler, my kids would have been gassed. If only you knew what love felt like--true love that didn't hide behind a dollar sign, you could possibly understand. Nevertheless, no, you can only judge from your high horse. Your expensive house and furniture can mean so much.
However, you know what, bitch? You still go to bed, every night alone and you are getting closer to 70 years of age. Your money does not mean anything, for it doesn’t hug you tightly at night. It doesn't wake in the morning and explain how much it loves you. It doesn't smile at you when it realizes just how much you mean to it.
That is because money doesn't have feelings wench. You believe that my children are abnormal. Look into that gold-trimmed mirror of yours. That is abnormal. They are more normal than you can ever hope to be.
The next time I see you, you will be laid out in a casket. Moreover, don't worry--no more tears will be shed from me over you. I will be laughing at all of the others that will be running for the money, long before you are 6 feet into the ground.
I am richer than you will ever be, bitch.