The following is what I remember of a waking dream:
I arrived at what we'll assume to be Aunt Mabel's house by feel. It more resembled Grandma and Grandpa's apartment on Pleasant Street by layout and also seemed like GiGi's farm house at times, but the overall sense was Aunt Mabel's with its narrow stairway to shared bedrooms and unapologetic style of bare, plywood flooring all the sweeping in the world couldn't quite turn clean.
Everyone lived there commune-like, as I've always said I'd been raised...my Grandpa was there, my uncles, some cousins I knew were related yet can't exactly tell you how...some twenty-somethings and, of course, there were the littles. Kids, I mean. A small group of parent-less children who some of the cousins took under wing or hung out with just to prevent major tragedies.
I learned that my Grandfather's catheter had a strange trick to it. In her time of taking care of him only my mom had mastered its strange drainage system. My uncles kept letting pee get all over him and it made my Grandpa frustrated - but he felt resigned to the ordeal of it since my mom passed away.
Eager to ease his embarrassment, I stepped in and tried holding the hose end shut til someone could get a bedpan to let the fluid roll out into...and yet I was panicked because I stressed that I could be causing more damage by holding the end shut. The oddest thing about it was... my Grandpa would pee and the catheter would presumably work like normal? But then we had to hurry to grab the hose it was attached to and find a container for the inevitable rush of urine.
All this was done in a corner of a living room type area where Grandpa sat up in his hospital bed. Uncle Mike, ever agitated at everything and everyone, had long since taken off for the night. Uncle Bob, ever casual about everything and everyone, helped Grandpa to clean blankets and lit up a cigarette. He slowly smoked.
There was a sense of peace and of being at home...even through the chaos. Everyone did as they should or would have. There was no stress for being who or what you are. We all accepted each other as is - good, bad or indifferent. Family. We roll our eyes at the whack jobs and share grins at stupidity - we band together in discomfort and seek resolve. Family.
It switched to dinner. Things were rather high brow in the dining room. I felt out of place, being that I was a guest even though they all considered me family. There were too many glasses and there was far, too much silverware. There was food, rich food, expensive food, which didn't make any sense for an Aunt Mabel kind of world. I felt like we were acting parts in "dress up," smartly asking for plates to share and commenting on whatsits as if we paid any attention to the real world. We didn't.
Try as we did, the evidence of poverty was on the table...not in the quality of the food but in its quantity. It was a meal I was reluctant to take part in - I felt obligated to take more than I wanted of the steak and other meats, even though I was hungry enough to eat what was on offer and more. I knew by taking what I wanted I'd be causing someone else to miss out. I was careful in what I chose for myself. Caring.
Out of the strange, stuffy room and onto the dusty front porch. I felt free again. Happy. Only, I noticed one of the parent-less kids. She stood right out to me. She looked like me at 7, 8 or 9 years old. She acted like me. She talked like me. I found out her name was Wendy. Like me.
Wendy was looked after by volunteer cousins and friends. She didn't seem too hurt by that...in fact, she was a charming little fat girl. All freckles, all knowing, bright-eyed and chatty. She was eating candy, ignoring a plate of home cooked something or other.
In that moment, I understood that I was there to take care of Wendy. She didn't have a parent. The people who took care of her meant well but they had their own kids, their own lives, and they weren't really giving her the kind of attention and discipline she needed. They weren't able to convey to her how important she is and how her health will equal happiness....and nobody thought to tell her she is a beautiful girl.
There wasn't anger to place on anybody. Everyone was doing the best they could. Wendy needed me. And it was like they all knew I was there to take her under my wing. I was there to be her mom and disciplinarian and chaperone and teacher and friend.
I had a good time talking with her. We had a chat about the candy. I took it away and she looked at me with awe like she'd never been challenged before. I told her she can have candy, but she can't make it her dinner. I gave instructions to her to eat the real food and expect the candy to be something special and rare. I asked her daycare sorts to, please, when I'm not in her presence, be on the lookout for that...to not let her hurt herself like that. To help her understand that it's better and more loving of everyone (me included) to encourage the real food.
They all agreed.
My dream then changed...and spun into something to do with clothing, donations, friends from the Scottsville Farmers Market, old plans coming forward...a caller reaching out to me from a nursing home...and me hurrying to show up to a meeting place. I arrived naked & I was the only person who was remotely embarrassed by that.
I know it's a mix of really weird stuff but I keep thinking that dream and missing my Grandpa and hoping I really do have custody of Wendy. She's so cute. And so worth it. I felt like I could be good for her.
