My grandmother died yesterday. I got the news in a short email from my mum, saying that my dad was there with a couple of his siblings when she passed. She was the last of my grandparents to pass away. Don’t take me wrong – I’m not sad. In fact, I’m quite indifferent.
I know it sounds weird, but there’s a perfectly natural explanation to it. There’s never been much contact between my parents and dad’s part of the family. Somehow we never fit the mould they expected; we weren’t pretty or normal looking enough. Like my grandmother. She had pictures of all her grandkids in her house except me. On my last visit there three years ago I did see a drawing I did as a kid, but still no picture. I have no idea why.
I don’t know why I’m writing this post. It’s not like I have anything to say, to be honest. I think I just needed to push it out of my system.
With that said: Bye grandma. I’m not sure you ever really loved me, but that doesn’t matter now, nor ever. What does matter to me is that you in part produced the person that came to be my dad. And he is one of the most amazing people I have ever encountered. If nothing else, I’ll always be thankful for you for that.