I would have days of rage where I would scream at anyone that made me mad. Depression that would make me attempt suicide. I would be manic if every thing was just rosy. But rosy wasn’t in the picture in those days. So mostly I would rage and spend days in the bed, wishing life would just cease. This wasn’t an environment for any teenager, let alone one that had problems. I have been eaten up in guilt. Guilt for not being a good mother. From all the mistakes I made in raising Brad. And not trying hard enough. For not going out dancing when Brad asked me to go with him. He knew that I loved dancing, and wanted to show me that he too could dance. I should have made time to take him to and from football practice when he told me that he wanted to join the team. But instead I told him no football because I worked and wouldn’t be there to take him to and from. There are so many things that I regret not doing.
Brad presented me with my first granddaughter. The best thing that had happened to me in a long time. She saved my life. I love that little girl so much. I guess that is the gift for grandparents. Brad wanted to know why I couldn’t love him like that when he was little. I tried to explain to him how I had to work making almost minimum wage. That I was the rule maker, the bad guy. And I raised him alone. That has made me feel guilty too.