Grandma’s on high anxiety tonight, her craft supplies stolen out from under her. Only found out upon cleaning the craft room, a task she had put off due to anxiety at the size of the mess. She’s crying, pacing, trying to do anything to avoid her own thoughts. Her heart is racing, her words all over the place. Jumping from idea to idea. She can’t clean anymore.
She had received a grant for nearly $3K CAD to build new regalia, and much of that was swiped. She has a key to lock the room, but didn’t think her own family would do that to her, so she locked it sparingly. The key next to her while she slept, anyway.
She received the grant because her previous regalia was destroyed, along with all her crafting supplies when the boys wrecked the house. She was homeless and hopeless and needed a win, so I filled out the forms for her and she won.
She was nervous when she received the funds, careful to spend it on exactly what she needed, a full list made. I drove her to Iroqrafts to buy the ribbons and beads and scissors, and other supplies. She spent twenty minutes picking out a perfect fringe. She spent the exact amount. She was ready to pay, and bam. Her card says insufficient funds. She tries again. Same thing.
I called the bank to inquire what’s going on, Grandma crying and wailing in the aisles of the store. The funds, an unusual activity in her account, were put on an hold. We would have to come back another day. The store clerk packed up the supplies and put them in a bag, wrote Grandma’s name across them, then put them in the back room. Grandma and I drove home in near silence.
She had to throw out several pieces of diamond art today, as well. The kids drinking over it. Cooking over it. This round, they must have dropped them on the floor as the jewels were covered in animal urine. She’s angry now. The one end of the kitchen table where she’s forced to craft, after her craft room became a catch all for crap in the house against her will. Now that space was also invaded.
She doesn’t even have a bedroom, sleeping upright on the couch to ensure no one comes into her house unwanted at night. The craft room, her one area of the house that was supposed to be hers. Isn’t. She had a key, just didn’t think she’d have to use it against her own family.
Now what will the funders at the grant say when they find out? Will they demand the funds that she no longer has, back? Will they demand to see pictures of the finished regalia at the end of the term? Time will tell.
We talk for an hour and she calms down, eventually going back to the room to clean again.
“Ugh. I’m gonna have to figure out a way to replace all that,” she laments. “I hate starting over.”
Have you ever watched someone lose something they worked so hard to rebuild?
If this story stayed with you, restack or share it. Someone else might need to hear it, too.
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