Part II

15 years ago today (may 26) I left Texas and moved to St. George, Utah. I believed my grandfather to be on "my side" and left boxes of my stuff at his home. Here is a bit of irony. Because of the nature by which my grandfather lived I know that no one ever touched my boxes. I am sure he found with in this another opportunity to one up some one, namely my mother. You see those two were and are like gang members; loyal until is was profitable to be unloyal. My mom wanted my stuff. She wanted to dig through it and claim what she felt was rightly hers. I am not sure what she would have done with one of my Caboodles, or my old Cabbage patch puffy stickers, or old notes from high school, but she wanted it I do know. He would eventually mail the boxes to me in Utah.

I remember one phone conversation later that fall in 1995 when I was asking for help in purchasing a vehicle. I was wondering if he would match the money I had saved so I could buy a car. Oh the reasons he had has to why he could not help me, despite me reminding him that he said that he would help me financially if I ever needed it. (I needed about $700 more to buy a beater car) He had once proclaimed that he knew my parents were incapable of being there for me so he would be. Liar. If you are wondering why I ever believed him in the first place. At the time I did not know what I know now. My whole life was lies and manipulation, so I really didn't know how at the time to tell the difference. And I was so desperate for some kind of support that I trusted what he said. He basically told me in that conversation that I was on my own. That there would be no money. Not even $20. That he had learned how to survive with out anyone and so could I. Despite such a resolute remark or statement from him I continued to call. Hoping that at some point he would see my predicament and help me. I think outside of needed financial help I wanted love. My mom hated me, my dad was at his height of insanity, and my grandpa was aloof to any one's needs but his own. They were all I had, so I called hoping that one day they would see me.

That is how it went for so many years. I did move back to Texas for a few months. The abuse or neglect wasn't really any different except that it was face to face instead of over the phone. One evening particularly sticks out in my mind. I had stopped by my mom's to get some of my stuff from my sister. My grandfather was there. Mom was not going to let me leave with the box, even though she knew it was mine. Her argument was that it was in her house so anything in it belonged to her. He stood in the door way preventing me from opening the front door while she spit in my face and screamed at me. She tried to take the box and I fought for it. They threatened to call the cops and tell them I had broken in and was trying to steal stuff. They said some pretty awful stuff about me as a person and how I deserved all that I had gotten in life. I truly feared for my life. I don't know what let them allow me to leave but eventually they did. Not with out threats and a few fun words tossed in.

I eventually moved back to Utah (1997). This time I didn't call anyone for a long time. Eventually though I did call. It was the same ol' same ol'. "Well Andi, your mother....." "and your father....." "and can you believe....".

In 1998 I took over payments on a friends car. She got pregnant which for some reason made her a little crazy. One day when driving to lunch there was this Nissan Pathfinder that was following me. It scared me a bit so I tried to lose it. I pull up to a light thinking it was gone and this girl, lets call her Crazy Lady, comes out of no where and jumps on the hood of the car and starts screaming at me. I know she is prego so I don't drive off. Eventually she calms down and asks to talk. I am so naive at this point in my life and so I unlock the car door. She jumps in and starts kicking me and screaming for me to get out. Again I know she is pregnant and had already had a miscarriage so I don't kick back. I tried to push her off but it is a little hard when her size nines were in my face. A face that I liked and didn't really want smashed in. So I get out and grab my stuff as quick as I can. She opens the trunk and lets me take out the rest. Okay here is where I am the bad guy. I removed the newly updated registration sticker I had just paid for. So there I am standing in the middle turn lane somewhere around 21st south in Salt Lake with all my stuff. Some guys from work stopped and offered a ride. My head was seriously spinning. After that Crazy Lady proceeded to call my grandfather and tell her I had stolen her car and a million other things that weren't true. My grandfather being the honest man he isn't, gave her numbers of other people in East Texas who might be interested in this information. I didn't know she had called him. She called me and said she was going to sue me for the miles I had put on her car. Now I had made the car payments, but she was going to sue for the miles???? I attract crazy people :) I called my grandfather for advice. He told me to "pull up my boot straps", that "the truth will come out". She calls me one night to ask me why I had not registered the car. Well I had, I told her, she said "no you didn't the DMV has no record.' I was thinking sweet revenge, maybe only $100 revenge but revenge non the less. I begin to tell her that I talked to my grandfather and she interrupts and tells me that she has as well. She tells me when, and that he assured her that she would have his full cooperation in getting me to pay her the thousands of dollars she was sure she deserved. I felt like someone had kicked me in the teeth. Seriously? Does the betrayal never end?

The sheriff's department got involved and once they heard my side of story, along with my bank statements showing I had paid, and my boyfriend's story, she was told that if she harassed me again that she would be arrested.

Needless to say it would be many more years before my grandfather would hear my voice on the other line. It wasn't until 2001 after I had Aspen. I wanted him to know he had a great granddaughter. My mom didn't care and I wasn't talking to my dad so I reached out to him. He and Kathryn sent her gifts. We exchanged pleasantries. The correspondence was infrequent. I would go months before calling. They never called. It wasn't until one therapy session that I ever realized that I did all the calling. I called when Alora was born. And then I hit rock bottom.

I was so depressed after her birth that I did good to wake up and shower. I didn't think about him. I was working towards a healing.

The Lord revealed to me that in order for me to be healed I had to forgive my father, my mother and my uncle. Hard thing to do. But I did, to the best of my abilities. That September as I knelt in prayer, my Savior healed me. He came to me and healed me. He removed the ugly scars associated with years of endless abuse.

I don't remember when I finally told my grandfather of my healing. He is not a religious man so the whole story meant nothing to him. Almost the instant I told him of my miracle he dismissed it and began again with the same ol' lies and manipulation. I called him after we had our son. He knew I had begun correspondence with my father. He told me that he could have nothing to do with me if I was having anything to do with him. After that phone call I prayed mightily to know what to say to him.

I wrote my grandfather a letter. I told him again of my healing. I shared with him my testimony of our Savior Jesus Christ. I told him I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I shared with him my testimony of the power of forgiveness, and the opportunity it gives us to see others through the Lord's eyes. I poured out my heart to him with love. I told him however that I would not be told who I could or could not communicate with. I told him I loved him and I knew that he knew that.

I called to make sure he had received the letter. His remarks were as before. So we parted our ways.