COVID-19 Lockdown, Day 146

 

Another rough week. My paternal grandmother, Grandma Margie, has been diagnosed with, you guess it, COVID-19. She is non-symptomatic, and she is in isolation. Guess how I found out about it? From my brother on my father's side--in my Facebook newsfeed. Of course, I started to worry because no one called or texted me to tell me. I sent a message to him, my younger paternal brother, and my paternal sister. I asked them when they heard about Grandma. I also included my old man in the text, wanting to know what her condition was and why no one called me to tell me. As it was late at night, I did not get a response for either of them, but I managed to enhance my calm well enough to go to sleep. When I didn't get a return call in the morning, I called my old man again. (Sidebar, my apologies if the moniker for my father offends you; that's just how I refer to him.)

I got ahold of him, and he was very nonchalant about my concern, He said that she was fine, and he said that I would know about these things if I called him more. He lectured me on not calling him enough and said that his other children knew what was happening with my grandmother because of how often they call him. That was the most preposterous thing I had heard all week, and I work in the mental health field. First of all, I work two jobs, maintaining a household with little to no help from anyone. I have a wife who needs support, and I have my own personal problems. As much as I would like to call everyone every day, I cannot do it. Even if I had the time, I hate talking on the telephone, especially for something that takes longer than 30 seconds. Talking on the phone is torture to me. The good news is, they invented something nifty called voicemail. You wait for the beep, you leave a message, and then you hang up. Very simple. The fact that he did not have the consideration to leave me a voicemail, if he called, so that I could call him right back, to tell me about my grandmother is nauseating. COVID-19, ladies and gentlemen, is a potentially fatal disease, especially for African-Americans and most especially for African Americans older than 80.  And I have to learn about her being infected on Facebook?! Bullspit! 

I don't blame my brother. He probably expected the old man to contact the rest of us. Yes, maybe she did not spend much of my childhood with me because she was busy with her own life, and yes, she barely remembers me due to her having Alzheimer's. Still, that is my grandmother, and I love her. I try calling her even though she still thinks I am a little boy who is too young to be married. She is my blood; I have a right to know when she is unwell. I don't care who thinks I don't call enough.  If that were not enough, I had gotten a sermon about "checking in on the old folks." He told me that he bet I didn't know he had a procedure done. He's right; I didn't know, but neither did his other children!!! Word of advise, friends, before trying to put a quilt trip on someone, make damn sure they don't have jack on you. There were plenty of times growing up when he was not there for me--either because of a quarrel with Mom or because he was just being himself. I remember when I was a child, and I wouldn't see him more than four times a year or talk to him on the phone more than once a month. There were times I would call him because I wanted to talk to him. If there were no answer, I would leave a message on his machine. The next day, I would not get a response, so I would call him back and leave another message. After the third and fourth day with no answer, I would start calling him 2-3 times a day. Nothing. After about a week of this, I gave up, thinking that my old man just did not want to talk to me. A few weeks later, he would call me back, and he would tell me that he deliberately delayed calling me back because (wait for it...) I was calling too much! Seriously?! Negro, please! Well, the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon! This, friends, is the root cause for me having such hang-ups (no pun entirely intended) on using the telephone and why I get so anxious and paranoid when people don't return my calls or messages. 

As much as I have felt hurt over the years, for the sake of peace, I cancelled all debts my old man owed me as a father. Reversely, whether he agrees or not, I owe him nothing. Not a damn thing. Yes, I owe him honor as my father, but he and other parents need to remember Ephesians 6:4. Any honor I have towards him cannot be abused. Do I love him? Of course! Do I want him in my life? Sure! Still, I will not be made to feel guilty for having a stressful and hectic life. No one should. Alas, how could he possibly think that withholding information from me would make me feel guilty enough to call him more frequently? All this stunt has done is made me angry and a little more hesitant to pick up the phone. No matter what relationship you are in, it is a two-way street, meaning both parties are responsibly for their contribution.  I have had enough trying to bear other people's responsibilities as well as my own. I'm not Jesus. 

--Signing off.