Me as a baby in the late 70s

I never met my Grandma Alice Rolle McCray. Never laid eyes on her, except in a couple photographs. The other pictures of my grandma.. my great aunt Kelis selfish ass had in her possession. I haven’t seen them yet. Not even Grandma’s obituary.

My great aunt promised to show me my grandmother's memories over the years. I haven’t seen them yet, and I get angrier as the day goes by. I never heard her voice or tasted her cooking. Many people have, but I wasn’t one of them.

I was robbed of my Grandma before I learned to spell my first and last name. And lost my Grandma on my daddy side shortly after hearing her voice for the first time
when I was thirteen over the telephone. She died three weeks later, before I could fly to California to meet her.

I hated my mother for it for a long time, but quickly got over it, knowing in my heart Mama had her reasons for taking me from my Daddy’s side.

Mom was fifteen when her Mom died, and her world mended as she knew it.

My oldest uncle was in prison, and my grandfather was heartbroken, at least that’s what I heard. You couldn’t really believe motherfuckers these days. They put a spin on any and everything they repeated.
For Mama, having a baby seemed the utter
replacement.

Have a baby, love him unconditionally and it would replace what she lost. When Mama met my Daddy she was living in California with her father.

Mama was sent against her will to live with him. She didn’t wanna leave her Step daddy, Darvin. She loved him, and she was heartbroken to be separated from such a familiar place and shipped to California like UPS boxes.

I was a replacement gone wrong.