The inner workings of a troubled mind.

Saturday writing prompt

Saturday prompt:Either write directly about missing Rixy or write about someone close to you dying. This can be a personal experience or a story or a memorial type item. Whatever you want to do with this prompt. This might seem to hard to do, but I know from experience that writing can be a therapy in dealing with crisis and loss.

                                                                        MY ONLY REGRET


My grandfather and I were very close. In fact I was never closer to any other member of my family apart from my sisters. I was his favorite granddaughter. I spent most of my childhood with him. My aunts were jealous and vindictive and my uncles could care less about anyone but themselves and what others thought of them.  My mother was caught up in sibling squabbles, and my father worked ten hour days, seven days a week.

My grandpa passed while I was eight months pregnant with my second child. I was with my husband and daughter at home when I received the phone call to rush to the hospital. The night before was my sisters wedding and during the reception, my grandmother told me he was going into surgery the next morning. I offered to drive her so I could see my grandfather and she told me not to bother. It was a simple surgery and I could see him afterwards in recovery.  He never made it through the surgery. I regret listening to her. I was never able to say goodbye to him.

In fact my regret runs deeper. I was going through a bad pregnancy and was in and out of the doctors office three times a week, where I would be strapped to baby monitoring machines for hours at a time. My grandfather would ask me to come and see him because he had a bad foot and couldn’t walk very much. I wanted to see him so bad, but I always stopped myself from going because of my uncle who lived with my grandparents. He had violently beat me into the hospital seven years prior because I was marrying out of my culture. He said I brought shame to the family. His one-sided thinking was deeply rooted amongst my entire family. I was ostracized by everyone, except my grandpa. He met with my husband and found they got along really well. He voiced his high opinion of him to the rest of the family, but was dismissed by their stubbornness and unwillingness to accept my choice.  I move out of town for three years, and moved back when I had my daughter. I wanted to be near my grandpa. I wanted him to be part of my daughters life, even if the rest of the family weren’t. He loved her and she loved him. When I did visit him, my uncle would scare my daughter and threaten me. I was scared and angry that I had to deal with things like this just to see my grandfather. In addition to his upsetting antics my grandpa would argue with him until he was exhausted. I hated putting him through that.

So during my second pregnancy, I would call and talk to him on the phone and keep him updated on the baby’s health. When I found out I was having a boy, he was the first one I called. I never heard him so ecstatic before. He asked me to come over and I agreed. I drove all the way there excited and overjoyed, until I pulled into his driveway and saw my uncle standing there waiting for me with hateful eyes. I never made it in the house. When I called to tell him why I never showed, my uncle would answer and hang up each time. From then on, I only passed by his home and caught a glimpse of him through the large picture window, sitting in his favorite spot, watching his television programs.

Remembering all this brings me great pain. My heart aches for him to know how sorry I feel for being a coward and letting some jerk stop me from seeing him. When I heard his health was failing and that he was possibly dying, I was in denial. I didn’t want to believe that my grandpa, my idol, my mentor was going to die. Even when the distant relatives came from afar to bid him farewell, and the entire family gathered into the tiny three bedroom apartment to be with him, I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him ill, when my entire life he was strong and healthy and spry.

When I was younger he would have me fetch his pipe and I was honored to be the one chosen out of all fifteen grandchildren. He would let me sit on his lap and watch him clean and stuff his pipe. Then he would tell me stories of when he was in the war. I would listen for hours as he told me about his life and all the things he had done in his earlier days. He would take me with him to work and I would watch with admiration how he would handle customers and get the job done. He would tell me to stick my finger in his tea because I was sweater than any sugar in the world. He called me his little lamb and I called him my big sheep. I loved him more than my own parents and I knew he loved me the same way.

Being part of a family that was woven with jealousy, greed, hatred, and competition amongst each other, my grandfather and I were the ones who stood out. We lived our lives with love, honesty, kindness, and honor. I think that is why we got along so well. We connected because we were alike. Even now, as the tears flow, and my regret resurfaces, I know that when I see him again, he will tell me how foolish I was to cry all the time. He will tell me that I should have never been sorry because he was never angry with me. I could never do wrong in his eyes and to remember that I should always forgive someone before they do me wrong. That way I am never angry and I could go on loving them.

I miss you grandpa. I am so sorry.