Well...You are probably wondering why I put that as my title. You have to think about it for a while after you read this, you might or might not get it...But it makes sense to me. I am the one that went through it.
Tuesday night my mothers dad, Gil, died. My mother waited anxiously by his bedside for 3 or 4 days. Actually we all waited anxiously, we were waiting for that sense of relief, the call to tell us that he had passed. I just went on with my daily life. I acted no different than I usually do. I'm going to tell you about everything that went on between me and my so called grandpa, the reason why I just went on with my normal life, the reason why I never really answered you when you asked how my grandpa was doing, the reason why I showed no emotion when he died, the reason that I keep telling my friends that I don't care.
Well the whole thing started when I was really young. Maybe around 2 or 3. My great aunt and uncle and him were visiting from out of state. I was young and I liked to fool around and be the center of attention because that was what I was used too, me being so cute and all...Just kidding. lol. Anyway. I decided that I was going to put my mom's big huge flip flops on and dance around in the middle of the living room in front of everyone...Just to be silly. Well apparently my Grandfather didn't want me to be silly, he wanted me to be the "perfect" little grandniece and sit quietly in a corner and not talk at all. So he yelled at me and pitched a fit at me in front of them....That's when I snapped, that's when this whole thing began. I used to have this against him...This used to be the thing that made me always mad at him. I got over that a few years ago. The reason why I reacted like that is because he embarrassed me...You know I don't even remember anymore. lol. That's sad.Anyway. That when the whole struggle began. He used to teach me phonics and he pretty much was the one that taught me how to read...whoopdydoo....Anyway...That's one of the very few good memories that I have of him.
So, he kinda went on doing that. Getting mad at me for stupid reasons and giving me Indian burns because he didn't want me to do something eventhough he didn't understand what I was trying to do because he would never let me explain. Never once did he let me explain myself to him....And if he did he would just snap at me right in the middle of it. He always snapped at me. He would yell at me in front of company, even large groups of company. My mom would just say, " now Dad there is no reason to yell," do you think he stopped...Nope. He put me through a lot. Now he would apologize but that was only because my mom made him...it wasn't a true apology. He didn't feel bad for what he did. Now of course he seemed all innocent to other people. Everyone saw him as a sick man that was in a lot of pain and needed a lot of things. Well I always saw him the same...As a hateful man that pushed me away everytime I tried to be nice, EVERYTIME! I would try to read to him, I would try so hard to be nice. I would feed him or help him do things at his apartment when he didn't live with us. Everytime he would yell at me because apparently I didn't do something just perfect or I wasn't saying the word right. I would help him write letters to his relatives and he wouldn't make sense in what he was saying, so I tried to help him out. I would say that it didn't make sense and maybe he should try to word it different...NOOOO! He would scream at me over and over again. I would run to my mom crying everytime. She would go in there while I was in my room crying and tell him that he needed to apologize to me for what he did. So he would apologize and I would pretend that I forgave him. He pushed me away....He pushed, not me, him.
People see it as me that didn't care for him, didn't try to make the relationship better between us. But that's why I'm writing this, to tell those people that I tried. I tried to make it better. The last few days that he lived I didn't speak to him...I just observed him....I watched him suffer, I watched him breathing heavily, preparing for death. I don't know the last time I talk to him. People had told me and I had heard that people hold on until certain people either talk to them or something in life happens. When I sat there for a few hours I was thinking that maybe he was waiting for me...maybe he was waiting for me to talk to him, to tell him that I forgave him. I guess that I waited to long...He had to go before I got the courage to tell him that. I've told my friends that I don't care that he died. I care...Just not enough to show emotion. We weren't close in anyway. I'm kinda writing this for all of the kids in my family. We all went through this in some way. Sometimes I wish that I had gotten a chance to know what he was really like. To know some of his life stories, to hear him tell me them, not from other people. I wish that he could have been a better grandpa and I could have been a better granddaughter. That's all I have to say because if I keep writing it will become a book. lol.
I'll type to you later!
McKenzie
