Facebook did well to remind me the other day about Glenda. Perfect for #MondayMemoirs.
Two years ago, while I had not really recovered yet from my parents’ passing-away, Typhoon Glenda decided to add insult to injury.
I came home with a bruised and almost-cut upper lip from hurrying and slipping face-first on the pavement. It was disaster I came home to. The roof over my sister’s old room partially came off and was found in the neighbor’s yard. The ceilings leaked dirty-brown on the walls. The floors were flooded. Sheets and things were wet and stained for good. The gate was useless. The fence was completely down on the ground. Trees and all other debris were, too…
I wanted to cry. In fact, I was tearing up while my then-boyfriend/now-husband and I were trying to scrub all the dirt off the walls. I felt so sad for my parents who built the house for our family. I felt sad because there were still problems I was going through that my parents were not able to solve. I did not know how exactly to go from there. Thank God for my other half who made things a little bit easier and less lonely.
The effects of this event are still certainly felt until now. It led to a confrontation that I tried to avoid but had no choice–it was a matter I could not let pass, one of those important things my parents left unsolved. It led to more problems in the coming years, with people taking sides, bad-mouthing the “enemies”, back-stabbing the supposed “allies”, doing the same to me, or sometimes to the point of others trying to run my life (you know, if you don’t follow their advice/suggestion, or you so much as say a word to the enemy, you are labeled a traitor).
It didn’t matter that I didn’t talk to the other side because they said so and I was just trying to keep the peace, then I would find out they talked to the other side. Or that one kept saying she was mad at our allies and wasn’t talking to them anymore, but guess who keeps talking to them until now and sends to me their messages of disapproval of how my new family and I are doing things wrong all the time.
I wish Glenda never paid a visit. Maybe things still wouldn’t be solved, but maybe we would be in a lot less mess than this. The house has never been the same again. Just like me. We’re still trying to pick up the pieces.