Do not speak your complaints and cry like babies with all your annoyances to anyone who will listen. Pray and take heart. Write it out, for God knows your thoughts. The enemy is dumb and cannot read or hear your thoughts, but it can listen to you complaining and whining. God blesses you with healing. God gives rest and peace. The enemy tricks you into chaos, confusion, and death… he is a lair, but it starts with what you speak out loud.
*Read Chapter One Here https://fabricthatmademe.com/2024/05/30/part-one-it-began-several-months-ago/
Chapter Two: One Hell of a Year
The passing of my grandpa left me in a strange and uneasy state, and even recounting it now feels somewhat taboo. It’s not just the natural sorrow of losing a loved one that haunts me, but a lingering sense of injustice that follows his death. His departure in September marked a turning point, coinciding with a disorderly period in my life. A few months before his passing, I immersed myself in work, juggling countless responsibilities you read in Chapter One. During this chaos, I embarked on an unusual trip to Tennessee, a tale unto itself. However, the main reason for the journey was to visit my grandparents in North Carolina with my mom and daughter.
At the age of 43, I grappled with conflicting emotions about the visit- many things I still hold close to my chest. While I cherished my grandparents dearly—they were instrumental in raising me—I harbored an aversion to North Carolina and its residents. This reluctance stemmed from the presence of my grandparents’ youngest child, a man who, despite his old age, embodies everything repulsive and vile. I cannot overstate the revulsion I feel towards him; his very proximity fills me with dread. He epitomizes the worst imaginable traits, and his mere mention evokes a visceral reaction. Though I could delve into the sordid details of his crimes and despicable nature, I choose not to for the sake of my own sanity. Suffice it to say, his existence serves as just one of many reasons I had no desire to set foot in that state or within the confines of their home, despite my longing to see my grandparents.
It’s a profound hurt when you find yourself loving someone deeply while simultaneously detesting their beliefs and choices regarding those they love. With my grandparents, this internal conflict drove a wedge between us, a void whose depth I couldn’t understand for the life of me. Little did I know then, the extent to which it would continue to divide us—separating us as if by an unbridgeable existence spanning heaven and earth.
During that visit, I clung to my daughter with an almost desperate intensity, holding her so close that she was practically on my lap. It was an uncomfortable closeness to keep her distance from the predator, made all the more apparent by the fact that she’s now thirteen and we’re nearly the same size. But I wanted nothing more than to keep her safe from him. I didn’t even like his beady eyes to look her way.
I’ll skim over the specifics but emphasize that despite my grandpa’s remarkable physical condition, he wasn’t immune to pain. He was robust, often outpacing others despite having a walker and cane at his disposal, which he rarely used. He even wielded a motorized wheelchair to tackle tasks like mowing the lawn. His vitality was evident, a testament to his resilience.
Yet, his vitality didn’t shield him from the trials he endured. Like many of his generation, he bore the scars of war, facing harrowing battles and enduring numerous surgeries from head to toe. He conquered cancer with the same tenacity he displayed on the battlefield. His toughness was legendary, but even the strongest have their limits.
I observed his gradual slowdown, and his weariness was visible. The burden of his son’s incompetence and the strain of his wife’s escalating distress surely took their toll. How could it not, given the constant presence of such draining company?
When I left their house, I noticed a few strange things that struck me as odd; however, it wasn’t until later that I realized just how bizarre and unsettling they were. The first thing that struck me was the bossy attitude their “man-child” would adopt towards my grandma, leading my grandpa to intervene and calm things down. It was strange to witness such behavior from elderly individuals in their late 80s and 90s and a man in his 70s- who is clearly old enough to know better! It was as though they were dealing with a spoiled teenager, even providing him with gas money. Another peculiar aspect was the arrival of a new wife for this bratty “man-child,” who has gone through several women in the past, exploiting them for money and even abandoning one to die. As I’ve mentioned before, he’s a deeply disturbed individual. However, my grandma seemed completely infatuated with this new wife, speaking of her glowingly as if she were one of her own children despite no one knowing much about her. When this lady entered the house, she kissed my cheek and explained it was a cultural gesture, sometimes switching between English and another language. Her inconsistent behavior left me with a strange feeling.
A Frantic Call and Uneasy Suspicions
The phone rang with that unexpected call—frantic and cryptic, a sense of unease, leaving us grasping at shadows of uncertainty. Details were sparing, a puzzle missing crucial pieces, leaving us bewildered and anxious.
All we knew was this: Grandpa and Grandma had returned home that day, an ordinary moment punctuated by an extraordinary turn of events. Grandpa, usually robust, felt the unexplained heat and asked for a bottle of water while he waited in the car. Grandma hurried inside to get him water.
When she returned, the scene had shifted. Grandpa lay on the ground. Panic surged as Grandma’s frantic called for help, summoning her “man-child” to the scene. His arrival was followed by a call to emergency, and more tension was whispered of discord.
As we pieced together fragments of the chaotic narrative, uneasy thoughts lingered in the aftermath: Could it be that this sequence of events was not merely happenstance? Dare I entertain the notion… was it planned?
Exposing the Truth
As time went on, that “man-child” and his scheming wife began to take advantage of my grandma’s fragile, broken mind. Without my grandpa there to protect her or their bank account, they started to seize control. They dismantled everything my grandpa had built, sending money abroad to her family overseas. All my grandpa’s wishes were shredded.
It took only fine-tuned lies and fancy letters to convince my grandma that my grandpa secretly wanted to send all his hard work to people he had never met. No matter what anyone said, they had her hooked.
We all saw a side of my grandma we had never known existed. She became nasty, mean, and cold—starkly contrasting to the woman we once knew. It was ugly and ruthless. As the truth about my grandpa’s passing began to surface, she fought harder than ever to conceal anything that might cast her “baby, the man-child,” in a bad light. With each passing day, the situation grew more toxic and revolting.
Her other children—my mom, her daughter, and two sons who lived away—became casualties of this escalating family drama. Sadly, the “man-child’s” own children, now adults themselves, faced many attacks as well. My sisters and I also had our share of this turmoil, but we were fortunate enough to live in different spheres of existence, so no matter what they did, it couldn’t harm us.
This sad and very illegal situation left those with a heart, a brain, and any moral and ethical code with no choice but to seek help. That help came in the form of wellness checks and surprise visits, quickly revealing the disturbing reality. This led to a more significant intervention and thorough investigation that uncovered every misdeed and sneaky scam perpetrated by both the “man-child” and his wife. When authorities began asking questions, they already knew the answers. This was a significant win for the good guys but required patience and waiting. Unfortunately, there are no real winners because, at this point, my grandma’s mind is still too far gone; the loss is too great and irreversible.
It took outsiders, including external agencies, to validate what we already knew about the ongoing crimes and to finally step in to protect my grandma from herself and her “man-child.” Sadly, it might be too late to achieve any meaningful justice now.
As long as my grandma believes no crime has been committed against her, despite all the obvious signs, the hands of the helpers are tied. Meanwhile, the “man-child” continues his appalling behavior, surrounded by the unsavory company he keeps. His wife’s suspicious past, with her multiple aliases and the husband she still has in another country, only adds to the grim picture. They, along with their family, are now benefiting from my grandpa’s untimely death.
The Schemes of the Man-Child
The only way they could have gotten all these assets was by getting my grandpa out of the way. It’s well known that this poor excuse for a human being went around bragging to several people, including his own son, that he was about to come into a lot of money and, in his words, “be rich soon.” This was a good month before my grandpa passed. A few months prior, this piece of work and his wife started working on my grandma, taking her to lunch, buying little trinkets to decorate her porch, and “spoiling” her in my grandma’s eyes. I believe this was all part of their sick manipulation plan, grooming my grandma to think she would be well taken care of by the “man-child” and that my grandpa was ill and dying, wanting them to have things he never intended to give.
For example, my grandma thought it was the best thing ever when this slimy trickster wife brought over a new plastic flower décor and placed it on the patio. She adored it and suddenly wanted to shower her “man-child” and his wife with dinner outings and gas money for this cheap Dollar Store purchase. My grandpa, however, saw through the act for what it was—more clutter blocking the walkway and making it difficult to get through the doorway. He even told his “man-child” son to ask his wife to stop buying all this junk, insisting they didn’t need it and should save their money instead.
My grandma’s mind wasn’t well, and that’s why my grandpa protected her so fiercely. The “man-child” and his wife exploited her vulnerability, convincing her that they had her best interests at heart, all while dismantling everything my grandpa had worked so hard to build.
Fast forward, and it seems my grandma has begun to see that her youngest son is, in fact, a liar with bad intentions for her. However, she still struggles to make sense of all the things that came before—such as the letters, the small lies that led her to give away my grandpa’s hard-earned savings, meant to keep her safe and secure for the rest of her days. Unraveling that web of deceit is still difficult for her.
Part of it might be her own guilt for how cruel and ugly she has been to the people who have loved her most over the years. Those who would—and have—moved mountains for her, she treated terribly. Maybe she doesn’t want to face her own sins in all this. I can’t say that I blame her.
As it stands today, I find myself grieving the loss of both my grandparents, even though I haven’t lost them both to death. A profound sadness accompanies my reflections on childhood—the sweet moments we shared and the ones I try to avoid. I see how quickly I was forced to grow up because survival was imposed on me.
Flashback to the past
I vividly remember one piercing scene: my dad standing under a tree on my grandparents’ property after they lost one of their children. It was my youngest sister, and my mom was still in the hospital, holding on to life herself and the twin, Jessica. My dad, overwhelmed with grief, screamed at the top of his lungs and fell to his knees, crying. I looked out the window at him and wanted to run to him, but my grandpa stopped me and hugged me tightly. He said my dad was having a moment with God. I remembered that.
When I was hurt in the house—still just a child myself—I went to that same tree, cried, and had my own moment with God. To this day, when I need that kind of peace, I go outside to cry and have my moment with God. It’s become my way of finding “my moment with Him” and connection in times of need.
When it rains, it pours. But you know what they say about rain- without it, nothing grows.
A Legacy of Love
To end Chapter Two, I want to share this about my grandpa. He might have been hard, and he certainly wasn’t perfect. If he could come back, I’m sure there are things he would change. But there’s one thing I’ve said time and time again about him, and I believe it’s the greatest gift anyone can give.
My grandpa taught me a few essential lessons about life, one of which was never to take the easy way out, a home-cooked meal is love, and the other, and most importantly, always turn to God first in every situation. He introduced me to Jesus, and without that foundation, I wouldn’t have been able to later guide my very lost husband to God. He is now a strong man of God for our home and leads our family in Christ daily. Together, we raised two beautiful, God-fearing children who love and serve God wholeheartedly. Our deep relationship with God began with my grandpa’s love for Him.
It all started with Grady Little and his strong faith; I will forever be grateful. His faith and love for God planted the seeds that grew into the strong faith my family and I hold today. That is a gift that has saved my life and our souls.
- The Almost Empty Nesty- The Middle Space
- The Hidden Cost
- Part Three: It all began several months ago
- About Skelly Designs Co.
- Part Two: It began several months ago | Deceit & Lies
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