I think that a lot of people have a relative or special person in their life that made their childhood bearable when it truly wasn’t. For me, that was Grandma Margie. She was the one person I could always turn to, no matter what chaos my life was going through.
When my parents were fighting, when they divorced, when we lived with just dad, when our stepmother moved in, when I couldn’t handle puberty, when there were too many boys and no friendly females in my life, Grandma was always there for me. I spent every weekend at her house for as much of my childhood as I can remember.
When life was too much for me to bear, she helped me carry the load.
When I lost her in 2005 to breast cancer, I lost control. I was so mad at the world for taking such a wonderful person away. I pushed myself down a path that took me several years to get off of and nearly killed me.
In 2007 I tried to kill myself. It was her memory and the belief that she instilled in me early on, that suicide was unforgiveable, that pulled me back from the edge and made me call 911. Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by people who said they loved me. But all I could see was that they would be better off without me. I couldn’t see the sun through the cloud I had created in the way.
It’s taken me many years to understand what she meant to me. And now I have shared with you. This woman, this unknown country grandmother, was my hero. If I can live a life half as good as hers, it will be a good life.