Heartless
This is a difficult blog for me to write. You see, my grandfather is dying.
Before anyone jumps in with the 'I'm so sorry's, I want to make it plain that my grandfather was no Grandpa. He is a spiteful, self absorbed and, yes, I would say unpleasant man. I never knew him as a child (I never knew either of my father's parents); they made it plain from quite early on that it was their way or no way, and when my parents wouldn't toe their line (big family issues, don't really want to talk about them here), they cut off all contact. Since then, I tried to connect with them when I was a teenager, but it's hard to connect with someone who just wants to tell you off all the time, especially when you are 14. For me, it came to a head just over a year ago - my Dad had yet another falling out with his father (he tried to be a good son and looked after him every day for 3 years, despite my grandfather's increasing belligerence. In the end, it took my grandfather to hurl a plate of food at my mother for my father to finally step away), and upon meeting his first great-grandchild, he wouldn't even look at her and spent the entire meeting making digs about my father. As it happens, he was more interested in my Uncle's new puppy than he was in Emily's birth, and he has never met her.
So why the blog? Because I have no idea how to react. I was told yesterday that he had been admitted to hospital and, basically, this is it. The only way he will come out now is in a box. I also found out that he has not only cut my father out of his will, but out of the family - on all next of kin records, my father doesn't even feature.
My brother rang me from New Zealand this morning, full of angry tears. He feels helpless being so far away, hates the fact that there will be no reconcilliation, is angry that my family can't sort itself out just this once. Me? I feel nothing. Literally. I feel worse about not recognising my neighbour because he has grown a moustache for Movember.
I suspect this makes me a terrible person. Maybe I should have made more of an effort. Maybe the fault does lie with me - with us; maybe we should have turned the other cheek and continued to try, because family is important.
All I do know is that when I see my daughters playing with my father - their beloved Grandpa - I know that we are all the richer for it. They won't know the confusion - and yes, the pain - I felt as a child, not having grandparents (my mother's parents weren't around either - he was an abusive alcoholic and she very much cut herself off when they divorced. I do have a relationship with my maternal grandmother now, though, and Lucy and Emily see their GG regularly). And for that, I am eternally grateful.
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21 Comments
My mum's mum was a terrible mother and not much better as a grandmother. She had a knack for saying the most upsetting things in the most upsetting way and I did not feel overly sad that she had died. Strangely though I grieved for the grandmother I wished she had been.
I am blessed, too, because my children have wonderful grandparents.
I will say this, though, if I may. This death business is rather final and you can't know how you will feel after the event. I know it took me by surprise the first time I went through losing someone. Perhaps for your own sake you should say goodbye. It doesn't have to be more than that, but there will come a time when that opportunity has gone.
Family, eh? You can't choose 'em...
Kate - I know you're right. My brother is more angry at wider family issues; my dad's brothers are withholding information, and we don't know why, especially since they have all been in my Dad's situation over the years - Grandad picks and chooses who is his favourite son and then cuts off the other two, causing huge infighting amongst the 3 brothers. One of the problems is that Dad said 'no more' to these games - that's one of the reasons they fell out all those years ago. He just wants everyone to stop being so bloody stupid and come together for this one last time - me? I just want it to be over. Close the book, you know? I have my own family now - in the immortal words of the Bard, I don't need this shit!
Sounds like you have learned the right lessons from it.
I think he's an idiot for missing out on his grandkids. Mine are my best mates. Little one sang the farting song I taught him in his playschool. Daughter is furious.
Yours missed all that.
What a fool he must have been.
The problem is, having children doesn't make a family, love and being there makes a family. You're a mum, same as me, and there's nothing that would stand in the way of us being part of our children's lives unless we chose that. Your grandfather sadly made his choice and stuck to it. You couldn't have done anything to change that, I'm sure. It must be very upsetting for you right now, so I hope this helps a bit.
As for grieving, as Charlie has said, that's a very personal thing and as long as you accept your reactions, I think you'll be alright. There is no right or wrong, so don't be too hard on yourself. xxx
It's your dad who has the relationship (of sorts) with your grandad, you don't owe your grandad anything, except - and this is the hard bit...
You may not feel you are able to do this, but if you can it would be so helpful to you, and just maybe, to the whole situation. Your grandad has wronged you in many ways throughout your life. If he were to repent and ask you to forgive him, would you? I suspect, even though I know you only a little, that you probably would. Now here's the bit that's so hard. 'Forgiveness' (that you offer to someone else) and 'repentance' that the someone else undergoes, are not directly related. What? Of course they are. Someone says, I'm sorry, and I say, Alright, I'll forgive you. Well, that's often - perhaps, usually - the way it happens in practice, and that's why people think that forgiveness follows repentance. But it doesn't. Sometimes there can be repentance on the one part but no forgiveness on the other. The wronged person is 'too badly hurt' they 'can't forgive'. In other cases there is forgiveness but no repentance - the father who lost his daughter in Armagh to the IRA bombers would be an example. So, although they often come close together, they are not interdependant. The process of repentance in the wrongdoer is quite separate from the process of forgiveness in the one wronged.
Could you bring yourself to feel forgiveness towards your grandad - not because he deserves it, not because he has asked for it - but because you owe it to yourself as a loving mother and daughter, as a loving person, to wipe the slate clean; to clear all the years of bitterness; to free yourself from the negativity?
You don't have to do this. Of course you don't. But if you can, you will feel so much better. First forgive him - if you can - and then write to him and tell him. He may just tear up your letter, but that's up to him and quite unrelated to you and you future well-being, which will be so much the better for it. But - he just might be affected by your letter. He just migh have second thoughts. There just might be a reconcilliation. Maybe not, but you will know a great freedom, a release from any possible regrets, knowing you held out the olive branch.
If you do think of doing this it would be good to talk to your dad about it first, take his advice into account and assure him of your love for him for being such a good dad and grandad. I do hope you work things out. With all good wishes, Tony.
My mum and sister came over this afternoon (my sister is getting married next week, and we need wedding shoes!) - turns out my dad has spent the whole day at the hospital. And I think that is the thing that really gets to me - dad's trying to act as if it doesn't really bother him, but it does. I'm not going to lie and say it's all my grandfather's fault (heh, Nana also stuck her nose in as much as she could! But at least she accepted the reconciliation when it was offered before she died... Grandad, on the other hand, is having none of it) - enough vitriol has been slung from all corners. But as for the letter thing... we've tried that. Just before Lucy was born (and after their last falling out - it was over dad's retirement thing), my dad wrote his father a letter. In summary, he asked what he had done wrong and what he culd do to heal the relationship, even if it was just for the sake of us kids. I got a distinct undercurrent of a boy simply seeking his father's approval (not that my dad would ever admit to that). My grandfather would not even open it; he tore it up as soon as my dad gave it to him. And that is what we're up against. I have no idea where such hatred comes from - and why he has reserved it for members of his own flesh and blood(he stopped speaking to his brother nearly 40 years ago, and his sister in law (my great aunt - my great uncle is dead) said that he has always been this way with people) - but I can't help but feel sorry for him. Sorry for what he could have had, given freely with no strings attached. He should be there, surrounded by his family (he has 9 grandchildren and 3 great grandchildren), but he isn't. Instead, he's lying in a hospital bed, waiting for his time to come, riddled with bitterness and hate. And that *is* upsetting. How someone can allow their pride to dominate them so much - to allow their fear of somehow 'losing' a perceived argument to take precedence over everything - is tragic. There is no other word for it, really.
If he wants to see us, then we have all agreed that we will go. But it has to come from him - not because we want him to beg, or for him to apologise, but simply because we know that if we just turn up, that would do him more harm than good in his fragile state. And that, my dear friends, has to be the very definition of sad. :-(
Thank you - all of you. I'll probably delete this blog soon (not really the kind of thing I want hanging around for posterity, you know? 'Writer whines about her family'. Yeah, that's exactly the kind of thing a potential agent wants to read!), but before I do, I want you all to know how much it has helped get things straight in my head, and how much I appreciate it. If I could, I'd make a great big 'Thank You' cake and give you all a hug! xx
Btw, when it come to attending the funeral, I wouldn't feel at all hypocritical about doing so, if you want to. Paying our respects to the dead is quite natural and doesn't need to imply any close bond of love. At any funeral there will be those mourning a lost loved one, others there because the deceased was a friend and others who simply want to pay their respects to someone they knew who has gone. Hugs.
I've been considering what to say. I feel that the two points Tony makes, just about sum up what I think too.
First, that whatever he might say, your dad will feel it the most. You are one step removed from the situation and never had much of a relationship with him, whereas your dad grew up with him; and nobody can hurt us like our parents because nobody's opinion matters as much.
I feel that we can mourn a bad relationship more than a good one - because there *aren't* those happy memories and there are far too many unresolved conflicts and unanswered questions. Once he's gone, you'll never get to the truth. Your grandad may not even know the truth himself if he's been like that all his life. Perhaps he was repeating patterns he learned as a boy? If so, all credit to your dad for breaking the cycle and not passing on that terrible legacy. I still think he'll wobble a bit in the aftermath of the impending death. Perhaps not immediately, but sooner or later.
The other point, is that forgiveness benefits you; the other person can be irrelevant. It's a way of taking back the power, of not nursing that huge weight of resentment that suppurates inside. And the best revenge is to live well.
I'd be tempted to write him into a book, cast as the villain. I've done that a couple of times and it really helps to deal with your anger if you look at him through the lens of fiction - give him his cumuppance and perhaps come to understand a bit more of his motivations - and you might feel quite sorry for him in the end.
Whatever happens in the future, it's a horrid situation right now. Thinking of you.
When I was younger, I had a realisation about my father one day. It suddenly struck me that if he was just some stranger who had come up to me in the pub and started talking to me, I'd be like "Fuck off, loser, I don't wanna talk to you." After that, I simply stopped caring about whatever he said or did, cos I saw him as just another random asshole.
Just to say - been there...I did not shed a tear either! But, now that time has gone by (my gran died 13 years ago) I remember the very odd snipets of what could have been. Time heals... some people are just bitter no matter what! Just because you are related does not mean you have to be held to ransom.
If he dies, say thanks for having my dad - without him you wouldn't be there and your kids wouldn't have such a great grandad - and that's all! :)
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