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3 - Love in a Trailer Park

3 - Love in a Trailer Park

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Published by Sera
An abused child finds refuge and love with an ancient soul in a trailer.
An abused child finds refuge and love with an ancient soul in a trailer.

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Published by: Sera on Aug 24, 2010
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved

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05/12/2014

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Love In A Trailer Park©

By Sera
On top of everything else my beloved great grandmother Julia died. My father’s side of the family was very close to me in my childhood. They were poor, bordering on plain old ‘white trash,’ and were (and are) awesome. They were down to earth and funny and just adored me. My grandma Mary’s house was another one of the few safe places I have in my memories. She lived in a trailer (as did most of the rest of my dad’s family) in North Las Vegas, which was kind of a shithole. Still is. But I loved going to visit my grandma Mary’s house. She lived there with her mother (my great grandma Julia), my Uncle Mike (who weighed 300 lbs and didn’t move out until his 30’s and remains my favorite uncle) and something like 10 dogs of undetermined breed, 5 cats and some birds. I loved it there! I’d run in and sit down with my uncle Mike and watch him devour Lay’s potato chips and make me laugh. Then my grandma would make me Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and just hand me the whole pot of it with a spoon and I’d go to town. I’d eat as much as I could and then carefully feed the rest, spoonful by spoonful to each dog (who worshipped me) one bite at a time. What fun! But my favorite part was visiting with my great grandma. She lived in the back bedroom and mostly just yelled at people. Not at me, though. Never me. She just adored me. Most people in my family said I was the only person she’d ever liked or been nice to in her life. We had so much fun together. She called me Tee-Tee. She was in her 80’s and always wore an old housedress and coughed up phlegm all the time into pieces of toilet paper, which she left everywhere. I pretended to hack up phlegm too and spit in tissues and I, too, left them everywhere. My grandma Mary cleaned up a lot of icky tissues. My great grandmother also had some sort of disease in her childhood that had left her hand deformed. She only had 3 fingers and I pretended I only had 3 fingers, too, and would go around picking stuff up with three fingers. As a result, there were alot of broken items at that house. We would sit in her bedroom, locked away together for hours, in our own little world (imagination land) and play and make up stories and games. We made up our own language and laughed all the time together. She never got tired of me and I was never bored with her. We were best friends. She eventually ended up in a nursing home and could not remember who anyone was, except for me, her beloved Tee-Tee. When she died, I was heartbroken. I didn’t go to the funeral, but I got her one white rose and they buried it with her in her casket, so I’d always be with her. I like to think I brought some joy to her in her final years. Her death broke my heart. My time with her is still a cherished memory. I had no fear, nothing scary, nothing in the

dark frightened me when I was with my great grandma.

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