What could have been

It's been a long couple of months. On June 1, my Dad's parents celebrated their 50th anniversary, and two days later, we had to put grandpa in the hospital followed by the nursing home, and finally the ground.

It has been a really odd time for me emotionally. My grandfather, although he has always been around, was never a part of my life. Growing up, I have so many memories of Grandma. She has been one of the people that influenced my life in so many ways. She plays prominently in my childhood. However, looking back on my life, I can honestly say that I have no good memories of my grandfather. In fact, I have very few memories of him. Sadly, my father and siblings share this situation.

My grandpa believed that his job was to take care of his family. He worked hard all his life to provide for them, but that was all. When he came home from work, he was to be taken care of. My Grandma always worked to keep the house clean, food ready and the kids out of his way. As the years went on and grandpa's health started to fail, Grandma was forced to take care of him. She waited on him hand and foot because that's what he expected of her. She was repaid with temper tantrums and angry words because nothing was ever good enough.

Several years ago, the doctors told grandpa that he needed to have some tests and procedures done. He refused because he knew more than the doctors (who were only trying to take his money). It was this refusal that would lead to his death last week.

I was extremely sad as I watched him lie in the nursing home a few days before his death. Despite the medicines, he was in pain. He didn't recognize anyone. He couldn't eat or drink. What I found the strangest was that as I looked at him, the sadness I felt was more for the fact that he was a person suffering, but not someone I knew.

Over the years, I have accepted the fact that I never had a relationship with that grandfather. I also came to understand that it was his choice. When I was a kid, I had the ability to love him with all my heart, but that was refused. A short temper and the mistreatment of my beloved Grandmother made that choice.

I am sure that in his own way, grandpa loved me, but the tears that I spilled on Sunday were not for him, but for Grandma and for the relationship that never was.