My Grandfather Part I

Last Thursday I got probably the most random message on facebook. It read: I'm writing you ONLY because I think you have the right to know. Hospice was called in yesterday for your grandfather. If you want to know anything else you can call my grandmother. I did not recognize the name so I called my dad to inquire (that is a fun word to say) as to whether or not he knew who it was. He said it was my step cousin. My grandparents divorced when I was a baby and then both remarried. My grandfather's new wife was actually the former wife of my grandmother's new husband. You might have to read that again :) It's another one those "stories". Anyway. So his new wife, Kathryn, had one daughter, and that daughter had a daughter...Rachelle, and that is who contacted me on facebook.

I have not spoken to my grandfather in years. Not by my choice. I don't recall verbatim our last conversation, but I do remember the gist of it. I had just recently begun talking with my father after ten years and my grandfather was not happy about it. My grandfather hates my dad. Yes I said "hates". That is a strong word here my house, but truly it is how he feels. When my dad was just about 6 years old my grandfather told him, "I have never really liked you." He basically went on to tell him he probably never would. In fact for the rest of my father's life, his father would literally seek out opportunities to sabotage him. One example: my dad had a motorcycle that he had purchased, on his way out the door one day he asked his dad to either take it in or mail his payment check to the dealer. Instead, my grandfather tore the check up. Tangent: that was the kind of stuff my mom would do. He was also very physically abusive towards my father.

As a child I remember not seeing my grandfather for years and then one day them being at our house. I remember the feeling of having them there, I knew my parents were walking on egg shells. I could sense even at a young age that at any moment something might go wrong and things could get ugly. For awhile we weren't "allowed" to come to their house, like there was some kind of test my parents had to pass to be able too. Maybe that is why I have a bad taste for the "boxes" that society places on us. I don't do clicks, I have never been a "club" person, or ever had anything to do with things that exclude people socially. I won't walk that line.

I remember my parents conversations, arguments really, about my grandfather. My mom didn't like him for so long. My dad wanted to try to have a relationship with him. I can empathise with that. I am sure he longed to have his dad love him, so he went to extraordinary lengths to try to attain something that was not to be.

When my dad was going through his crazy time my grandfather was all of sudden there for us. My dad is bi-polar but he didn't know that twenty years ago. He went to a psychiatrist because he felt depressed so they put him on prozac. Well a bi-polar on prozac is like a 3 year old with no nap living off of pixy sticks times 1000. Toss in emotional imbalances including rage, resulting from a rotten childhood and you get my dad. They started him out at a low dose and for the next few years upped the dosage which only made his life and ours worse. It was during that time that my father sexually abused me. He was very violent and scary. He was abusive to us all. Scary abusive. That was when I would sleep with my Book of Mormon, I knew it would protect me.

I know now that the reason my grandfather made his sudden rescue appearance into our lives was because there was some sick validation he found in having a son out of control. It wasn't about his love for us.

When my mother kicked me out my freshman year to bring my dad home from the psych ward my grandfather took me in. His job was to convince me that the abuse never happened. He and my mom were now the best of friends. They both would corner me and rant about how I made it all up and how I would not be allowed to ruin our family with my lies. I was told if I ever brought it up again I would be shipped away from my family. What was interesting is that they were the ones bringing it up everyday, reminding me not to bring it up. Crazy!!

Over the next four years of my life my grandfather's role was to support my mother. They relished in my father's psychological decline. Instead of helping him, they degraded him, manipulated him, and made up lies about him. Looking back I realize that they found great satisfaction even happiness in my father's weaknesses. He was losing his mind, and they sat back and watched enjoying every moment.

I was reminded over and over by my grandfather of the awfulness of my father. He would even go so far as to betray my mother and reveal her lies and manipulations in regards to my dad and us kids. That was a heavy load to carry as a child. And then he would turn his evil ways on me and in a manipulative way that there really is no definition for, convince me of how awful I was, and how I really was the reason my parents marriage was falling apart.