My oldest granddaughter that I had never met was 3 years old and developed a brain tumor and died while I was in prison. The part of that story that belongs to me – is that I’ll never forget the phone call while standing against a wall in Davis County jail with 60 females who didn’t even have the decency to turn down Dr. Phil long enough for me to hear the news clearly. With one finger in my ear and the other hand gripping the phone to my head – my youngest son explained the situation and the tears flowed like Niagara falls as I turned my forehead against the wall and had no words to even speak as I ended the phone call.
Usually I would have been embarrassed to be crying in front of these hard ass bitches but this time if someone would have said anything to me – they would have gotten hit so hard in the face that they never would have asked me anything ever again. The pain I felt for her, for my son, for her mother and for everyone involved was immeasurable. It felt like I was literally being stabbed in my chest over and over and over. And where was my sorry ass?? Behind walls of concrete and steel due to my addiction and brief life of crime. Are you kidding me?
I will never, ever forgive myself for not being there for this part of my son’s life.
Her name was Mariah. She was such a gorgeous and beautiful little angel who graced the world’s presence for too short of a time – but she left such a huge impact on all who knew her and have known of her.
I love you Mariah. Grandma loves you.