When my ds was a teen, there was a woman in our town who let all the kids hang at her house. She was a nurse who worked nights so the kids were there all night with no supervision. Her house was horrendous, just wall to wall mattresses with kids sprawled out on them everywhere. I can't even tell you how many times I had to drag ds out of there, and how it ripped my heart out to hear him call that woman "Mama" (that's what she had all the kids call her). When ds moved out at 17, it was to rent a room in that woman's house (she eventually rented a 7 bedroom farm house out in the country so all the kids she was "helping" could have more space and help her with the rent).
Well ds no longer calls her Mama, he eventually started just calling her by her name. A while back he told me she had cancer. I couldn't find it in me to care. Then recently he said she had died, he was upset because she died before she saw the baby. To my shame, I'm GLAD she didn't get to see MY GRANDSON. She was NOT his Grandma, I AM. So I'm feeling a little guilty, normally I am a pretty compassionate person but I just can't dredge up anything but antipathy for that woman, even dead.
Pat
