I’m usually okay with grief.  I know my feelings, and I’m not afraid of them. 

This time, though, I’m feeling conflicted.

My paternal grandfather died two days ago.  Yes, I’m sad, in much the same way I’d be sad that anyone has died.  We knew it was coming, and I tried to prepare myself, but I just couldn’t feel the emptiness I’d felt when my maternal grandmother died, or even when my uncle died, and I really rarely saw my uncle.

The thing is, I really don’t know my father’s side of the family well, with the exception of his younger brother; nor do they really know me and my family.  Growing up, my grandparents never really seemed all that interested in myself or my brother.  We were always told to quit being so loud, stop running, behave…..but we were good, quiet kids.  I read a lot, my brother liked to play cars.  I was nothing like who I am now – I was shy and quiet, and never had a lot to say to many people.  I can’t speak for my brother, but I know I never really felt welcome or loved or even part of the family.  I know my mom’s mom loved me, because she talked to me, cheated me at checkers, and hugged me.  I never expected her to buy me things, and she didn’t, really, because she didn’t have much money, but she’d make sure I had apples, my favorite fruit, and would make fried chicken for me whenever I wanted it.  There were plenty of tabloids for me to read, a creek to play in….plenty of great memories for me to pass to my kids.

I don’t have many memories of my dad’s parents, though.  My grandpa worked at KCTV 5, as an engineer, and worked late hours.  I remember him spending a lot of time in his room on his CB radio, telling us to be quiet.  I remember him telling my brother to quit talking so much at dinner.  Instead of getting praise for raising some grades, we were ridiculed for not raising all of them. 

I was asked to scan photos, create a slideshow, and make a poster for the visitation and funeral.  I thought I could handle it, because I thought I was so emotionally detached from all of this.  I was wrong.  I spent several hours crying about the things I missed out on with my grandparents, and the things they missed out on with us.  Especially difficult to scan were the photos of my grandfather working at the television station.  You see, when I was in college, I managed to get a job at the local television station doing the exact same things he did.  He never wanted to talk about it, never told me he was proud or thrilled or happy, and when I asked if he could help me get a job when I got home, he really wasn’t interested.  I was devastated.  For once, he and I had something in common, but I felt like I was of no consequence to him.

My dad asked me to read a passage at the funeral, as well; it was so hard to tell my father no, that I couldn’t do it, but I feel like I’d be a hypocrite if I did read.  I have no ill feelings toward my grandfather, I just have….no feelings. 

I’m sad that things are turning out for my dad in the way they are, too, but to be honest, it’s not unexpected.  It is what it is, and I only hope my dad got the acceptance he was looking for before his own father died.  That’s all I can ask for.