The truth is that in my family as much as we respect and forgive our elders there is a certain sense of detachment. We've lived all over the country. My childhood was much like my father's in that respect. My brothers and I dealt with it in different ways but I developed an ability to be unattached, devoid of connection to people and places. All we had that was constant and unending was each other. My extended family was always far away and though we stayed in touch it was with a certain sense of obligation rather than need. Because we all had each other and that was enough for us. So my grandmother wasn't exactly wrong in not trusting us with her love. It was not that we took that love for granted it was more like we could not experience it properly and she did not know how to express it in the right ways.
I remember when I first moved in with her that she always thought it was funny that I would say “I love you Grandma.” before I left the house or went to bed. She found it odd that I wanted hugs. She felt strange that I would worry about her sometimes or that I was scared when she was alone for too long.
When I first moved in I had a horrible job waitressing for this family owned place. The owner was a complete schmuck in all sense of the word. He treated me horribly and I only lasted a few shifts because I would tell him like it was. My grandmother after hearing that I was no longer working there never complained. If she had been unhappy she would have. It was always the opposite with her. When she was proud or pleased with you she never really said anything when she was upset you knew straight away.
It was like that with all the moments of her life. I remember going to a book store with her once. She told me “I should have wrote books look at how much these are selling for!” I replied “Why don't you? You had an interesting life.” All she said was “No one wants to read about all those mistakes and all those horrible things.”
That wasn't the only time that she had mentioned her life was a mistake or that she had made too many mistakes. She always said it without so much of a glance in the other direction. I mentioned to her once that her life “couldn't have been too much of a mistake because she had two great kids and three awesome grand-kids.” She simply replied “What good has it done me I am alone and living in this small condo and have nothing to show for it.”
How could someone think that the living flesh of their flesh was a mistake? I knew and still know that she loves me and my dad. She doted on my father and I could see in the way she talked about his childhood that she was completely in love with him and my uncle. How could someone love so much and still think it was a mistake?
My only theory on this is that my grandfather was part of the equation. My father and uncle, in my opinion, do not really look like my grandfather. To me that have always looked like my grandmother's side of the family. However the genes must have skipped a generation. I have the same steely light blue eyes as my grandfather. I am sure if it were not for those eyes she would not feel the way she does. I see it whenever she stares real intently into them that she sees something familiar and unpleasant. I know this because I see it too every time I look in the mirror.
I remember when I first moved in with her that she always thought it was funny that I would say “I love you Grandma.” before I left the house or went to bed. She found it odd that I wanted hugs. She felt strange that I would worry about her sometimes or that I was scared when she was alone for too long.
When I first moved in I had a horrible job waitressing for this family owned place. The owner was a complete schmuck in all sense of the word. He treated me horribly and I only lasted a few shifts because I would tell him like it was. My grandmother after hearing that I was no longer working there never complained. If she had been unhappy she would have. It was always the opposite with her. When she was proud or pleased with you she never really said anything when she was upset you knew straight away.
It was like that with all the moments of her life. I remember going to a book store with her once. She told me “I should have wrote books look at how much these are selling for!” I replied “Why don't you? You had an interesting life.” All she said was “No one wants to read about all those mistakes and all those horrible things.”
That wasn't the only time that she had mentioned her life was a mistake or that she had made too many mistakes. She always said it without so much of a glance in the other direction. I mentioned to her once that her life “couldn't have been too much of a mistake because she had two great kids and three awesome grand-kids.” She simply replied “What good has it done me I am alone and living in this small condo and have nothing to show for it.”
How could someone think that the living flesh of their flesh was a mistake? I knew and still know that she loves me and my dad. She doted on my father and I could see in the way she talked about his childhood that she was completely in love with him and my uncle. How could someone love so much and still think it was a mistake?
My only theory on this is that my grandfather was part of the equation. My father and uncle, in my opinion, do not really look like my grandfather. To me that have always looked like my grandmother's side of the family. However the genes must have skipped a generation. I have the same steely light blue eyes as my grandfather. I am sure if it were not for those eyes she would not feel the way she does. I see it whenever she stares real intently into them that she sees something familiar and unpleasant. I know this because I see it too every time I look in the mirror.
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