I just found out today that my maternal great-grandmother, after whom I am named, suffered from the same heart condition that is plauging me now. Thanks a lot, grandma. That’s unfair of me, I take it back. I have done the same to some future unfortunate descendent, passing on my DNA through my 3 offspring. Though it’s entirely possible that none of my children will have any biological children.

My aunt, who along with her twin sister,(my mother), and younger brother, were raised in part by their grandmother Trula and their grandfather Will. So enthralled was I with their love story that I had two silly relationships with men named Will, convinced that it was destiny. Nothing really wrong with either of them or with me at the time, just not a love match, you know? Anyway, I was talking with my aunt the other day and she was telling me how grandma Trula would take to her bed every winter, the entire month of January through half of February. Well. That just about knocked me out, because winter knocks me out every year. Every year I have a hard time. This past winter was the worst, my hands and feet were cold all the time, even indoors with the heat up to eighty degrees. All I wanted to was stay indoors. I wish that I had a man who would take care of me like my great-grandfather took care of her. Unfortunately, I don’t have the kind of marital support that would enable me staying indoors for an entire month-and-a half. Not even hardly.

So I’m wondering why my folks stayed in Tundraland, I mean Ohio, instead of moving someplace warmer when I was kid. I’m feeling like, my mom knew what was in store for me, at least she knew one of the ways I might be affected when I was diagnosed with arrythmia as a child. I guess they couldn’t just pack up and move because of me, sure. But why, back in the winter of 1995/1996 did my mom try so hard to convince me to change my plans for moving to California?? Then I got with Brian in February 1996, who convinced me to stay because of our love. Now that’s shot to hell,we’re about to get divorced. And because of our son Todd, I’m stuck here. Thirteen more years in Tundraland, until Todd turns eighteen. I hate the cold here so much that for a split-teensy-weensy second I considered letting Brian have full custody of him and taking Iyende and Scott (who are not Brian’s biological kids) on the heck out of Dodge, but I can’t do that, leave one of my kids. My baby. He is worth any sacrifice, and besides, I couldn’t bear to have my children separated. I couldn’t bear it, they couldn’t bear it. We are a family.

This entire winter, I will think of you, great-grandma.

She lived to be seventy-eight years old and held me when I was a baby. She was loved with passion and treated with kindness by her husband, my great-grandfather. As well as having a slighty funky heart she was almost entirely bald, and wore wigs often. According to my mom, my great-grandmother wished for me to have a head full of long, thick hair, a good, strong heart, and marital love to last a lifetime.

I did get the hair. One out of three isn’t too bad.

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