On Friday, I returned to the house where my grandmother was murdered.
Obviously, it wasn’t a comfortable visit. There are so many memories of that house for me and my family. She’d lived there for many decades. The house itself was built by my grandfather, who passed away in 1987 after having a stroke.
As a child, we’d spend every Christmas Eve there in front of the rock fireplace, built with care by my stonemason grandfather. It was the one time of year when I’d see all of my cousins together. I remember laughing and playing with them, while we all waited for Santa to arrive. My uncle (her son), who now stands accused of her murder, would bump around and shout “ho ho ho” in a Santa costume outside the house, pretending to be the bearded man himself. All of us children would wait quietly in my grandma’s bedroom, forbidden from looking outside. Somehow we all knew he wasn’t the ‘real’ Santa, but we all enjoyed the game and the trinkets and treats that ended up in our socks after it was done.
For me, I have early memories of grandma holding birthday parties for me in that house, and evenings teaching me how to play Chinese checkers and other board games. Just feet away from the coffee table where she taught me backgammon, her life ended in a violent, brutal manner on January 2.
That house was the starting point for hikes in the woods and along abandoned railroad tracks with my grandfather and his trusty German Shepherd, Corky. Every morning, my grandfather would be sipping his beer and tomato juice (a poor man’s Bloody Mary) and rolling his own cigarettes. He’d sit in his recliner and watch “The Price is Right.” Just behind his chair would be where his wife would be murdered many years later. Grandpa’s death brought to an end 3 years of painful suffering after he fell victim to a stroke. Grandma’s abrupt death did nothing but extinguish a vibrant life, causing pain and sadness for all who knew and loved her.
It’s been 6 months since her murder, but like the embedded blood stains still visible in the wooden floorboards, the sadness is too deeply engrained to dissipate. Forever will it taint the hearts of my family and I.
There is no way possible for me to express just how horrible this has been for my family. She was a 90 year old woman, frail in body, but strong in mind and spirit. Without this violence, she easily could have easily lived another 10 years. She read frequently, enjoyed attending the movies and discussing politics. She loved traveling, and had set foot on almost every continent during her lifetime. She continued to audit classes at the local community college.
She could still drive her car safely enough, even though we began to grow more concerned as she grew older.
She loved her son. She didn’t think he would follow through on his threats. My mother and sister tried convincing her it wasn’t safe to go back to her house, where he was. Despite his threats towards her and other family members, she refused to believe her only son would hurt her.
Her life ended sometime after arriving at her house in a manner that is too difficult for me to relate.
Dad and I took the final load of my grandmother’s belongings to the dump on Friday. Everything that had sentimental or other value was given, per her wishes, to family. This load was mainly trash. Included amongst the garbage was a birthday card my grandmother made especially for my uncle, the accused, sometime in the distant past. Wishing you the Happiest of Birthdays, With Love, Mom it said, in big red letters.
Revisiting all this by writing is now causing my sad heart to race uncomfortably and my hands to tremble slightly, but I hope that the healing can continue. Seeing her house empty was strange enough, but standing near the spot where her 90 years came to an end was sad and heart wrenching.
I hope I never have to return there, a place filled with loving memories of a time past and painful memories of present tragedy.
2 Comments
June 4, 2008 at 4:30 pm
I agree. My mom said that Timmy expressed interest in buying the place – to me, it just seems morbid.
June 28, 2008 at 6:58 am
Joe, I am so sorry to hear all of this. I had no idea that this had happend. I am at a loss as even how to express my sympathies given that when Popo passed away I was devasasted… I can’t (and I hope never have to) imagine what it must be like to have someone taken in such a horrific manner.