Angry….
My brother called me last Saturday to inform me that my grandfather had passed. My only response was to say, “Oh okay.” Through the silence I could hear my brother’s mind clicking, trying to understand my apathy. For my part I was trying to understand why he would expect me to be upset or even sad.
My grandfather was my father’s father. He and my grandmother were divorced when my father was around three or four years old. From that moment on my father spent his entire life chasing after a man who would not be caught. At my father’s funeral my brother asked my grandfather why he never made more of an effort to see our father, to call him, to help him. My grandfather blamed my grandmother. It is true that my grandmother can be difficult for a lack of a better word however, I was raised that no matter what you always try to be there, you always try to stay in contact no matter what the obstacles.
Growing up our grandfather was never around. We never received gifts or presents much less, calls on holidays or birthdays. When he came into town and we went to visit him, we vaguely acknowledged with awkward hugs and sent on our way. I still remember my father trying so hard to be seen.
I’m angry with my grandfather for always keeping my father waiting like the perpetual child looking out a window sitting up straighter at the glimpse of a familiar car only to find that it’s not his father after all. I’m angry that my mother and to a lesser extent my brother need me to be sad. I’m not happy that he’s gone but I feel guilty for not being sadder that he’s gone. And I’m pissed off at myself for feeling guilty.
I don’t like being angry. It’s not in my nature. When I am angry it comes in flashes and then dissipates into the wind but this anger won’t release.
