I thought her death would bring me some peace but it hasn't. I found out today that she died July 7th, 2018 while I was in the nursing home.
You know what? I read the obituary and they called me Faith, not by my birth name. My Aunty C did that and I know it. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. It means the world to me. I'm recorded in a roll of family members as separate from her.
My grandmother was hateful. She was an abuser, enabler and all around horrific person but she was someone's mother, sister and wife. Just like my own mother, I'm having a hard time 'enjoying' the fact that she died because I know death hurts. Her family and friends are hurting so there is no joy in this moment. Sadness is absent as well. I am angry though.
It makes sense now why my aunt, who is dying of Leukemia, has decided to move to Colorado.
Why I torture myself I do not know. I looked up my sister online again, this time with the total shock of finding an updated photo of her. My first thought was, oh she's just as beautiful as I remember. Then my heart fell sad.
I spoke to her just the other day (in my heart) and told her I don't understand what she's doing with her life. I don't understand why she never, ever loved me or liked me. She, like my other adult relatives, has a choice to be different. She chose to be like them, to be with them, and that is plain sad.
When zero family members called or cared that I was in the hospital I knew it was past time to let go of her and them. Despite them not visiting or calling or caring they were going to get a gift from me. Had I died my body specifically was to go to my sister! Sounds passive aggressive...and perhaps it was a bit....Here's my body and a thousand bucks to cremate me! It was a final screw you! I thought, ya know, you'll go to the bedside of an abuser and enabler but won't answer the call of someone who loves you. Perfect! And honestly I thought it would be an annoyance that was easy for her. It would be hard for my friends to do but not my family. They'd so easily cremate me and go the heck on. My friends should not be burdened with my burial I thought. Let someone who hates me do it.
Now the Matriarch of the family has died, the one I was originally named after. I was fine reading the private obit, which was a total work of fiction, until it got to the part about sending flowers and donations to my deceased brother's foundation. That's the only part that got me choked up. That is a life that shouldn't be gone, that never should have been extinguished and one that I will never get over. Nothing will heal that loss and nothing will ever be the same.
I called her obit a work of fiction because they called her a wonderful mother and grandmother who was always there for her family. Must be someone else cause they're not talking about my grandmother!
I've had a very long time away from this family, time that has stood still in a way. I've got no new memories with her, but they do. Perhaps their relationship with her changed. Perhaps she changed in her older years just like her own mother did, who at one time was more evil than she.
My memories have not had a chance to grow dim. I still remember her and her house like it was yesterday. I remember her, not at a loving wife of some 60 years to the same man, but a domineering, self serving, cold and vicious woman who taunted me relentlessly. Her house holds ghosts that just won't die, memories that haunt me cruelly to this day. The good they wrote about in her obit, I don't know any of it. I just know she should be dead. She should have been dead a long time ago and maybe, just maybe my mother wouldn't have been as abused as she was. And maybe just maybe I could have been spared a single beating, a single horrible word, a single night in the cold or spared a single, solitary day of abuse. Just maybe.
I cannot, at this time, offer condolences for my grandmother. I'm not happy about someone who should be dead. I hope it makes sense that I say I'm not happy right next to saying she should be dead. This is a seasoned abuser we're talking about, a woman who did everything in her power to make life hell for her children and grandchildren. Having her name was horrific because whenever she hurt my mother emotionally I got the brunt of the anger, the violent anger. That name carried a prison term with it for a crime I didn't commit. It was hell carrying that name and getting blamed for it and being called a smaller version of a master manipulator, a bitch, a liar. Those are the names I was called as a young girl, master manipulator, bitch, liar. So no, there's no sadness, no mourning period, just an empty space where family should be but isn't.
Devils. Dogs and Masters.