There are a few things I would be devastated to no longer have. There’s my last birthday card from Mom; my cross necklace; my wedding dress; my Pillow People, Suzie, that I got when I was 5. One item that reminds me of one of my grandmas, Mom, and Bub is a painting that belonged to Dad’s mom. Grandma and I were the only two who liked the painting. Everyone else thought it was ugly, but I loved it. I would stand there and look up at it every time I was there. It was titled “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” It was painted by a German guy whose name I have long since forgotten. I told Grandma more than once that I wanted that painting left to me, and she told me it was mine. Bub and I were her only grandchildren, after all. Neither grandparent had a will, so it was on their word, and my worthless dad, to fulfill verbally-made promises.
Dad’s second wife was hateful, jealous, and petty, and she successfully pushed me out of Dad’s life, but I doubt he put up any kind of fight, as he never wanted me. She wore the pants in that relationship, and since she is a complete trash person, she emptied Grandma’s house after she died (Papa died about a year prior) and got rid of everything over a short period of time. I wasn’t told about it. My brother wasn’t told about it, but he found out somehow. There was so much I wanted from there, and her actions made me sick, and that is something I still haven’t gotten over (obviously). I was supposed to get the painting, Dad’s children’s books, my rock collection that was under Grandma’s bed, Grandma’s costume jewelry, Papa’s handmade Native American beaded belt from when he was young, handmade mocassins that I wore wear when I was there. Nothing worth monetary value, which makes it worse to me.
In total Bub fashion, my brother decided to break into the house one night on his way home so he could get a keepsake, and he wanted to know if I wanted anything. I asked him to get the painting. A lot of the stuff was gone but he was able to get one of Papa’s shirts (which is all he wanted), and my painting was still there. In the end, my grandparents’ belongings were taken to Goodwill. Some of my family tried to track some of it down to no avail. I love that they tried. I do have Dad’s baby blanket because I asked Grandma if I could take it home, which I’m glad I did. I’m sure Dad’s wife would be livid to know I have it. She got super mad at me because I went to see Papa the day he died and she had thought she was the last person to see him. Yeah, she is that childish and spiteful.
After receiving the incredibly heavy painting, I repainted the frame a light blue, and the painting hung on my bedroom wall for years, until one day it didn’t. Without provocation, it fell off the wall, and we found out the back was some sort of wooden sign advertising some German place. Papa was in the Navy and had been all over the world, so that didn’t surprise me. I put the painting, flat, under the bed to keep it safe until I could get it re-framed. It was there for years, and when I pulled it out, I discovered my cat had torn a hole in it with his foot and had ripped the edge. I guess he liked lying on it. I was very upset, but still couldn’t do anything about it. What would be the point in reframing it when it’s torn and has a hole in it? It was very old and already had a taped-up rip on the bottom edge.
More years pass, and Adam enters the picture. On my birthday (I forget which one), I’m ushered into the living room by Mom, and there, over the fireplace, is my painting 🥰🥹😭. Mom had it restored and reframed, and it was beautiful. Because of its age and fragility, a lot of it had to be trimmed, including the title and artist, and the guy added a dark matte border. Of course, I cried, which Mom made sure to get a picture of. She and Adam had cooked up a plan to get it out from under my bed and into Mom’s car, then get it back in the house after it was fixed. Not an easy task.
So, that is my extremely long answer to a simple question.
Cari R Esta 