Unfinished Business

As this week comes to end, so might a life, legacy, and a heart full of hurt.

Twelve years ago I lost a part of my heart as my best friend, my Grandma Kate, died. I admit that I was young and possibly to naive to realize the circumstances were intense and many family secrets were broken. During the most trying parts of the grieving process, my parents decided to try and replace the void in my life by allowing my other grandmother to reenter my life. I was timid at first because the last time I saw her she ran out of the house and when I ran after her she slammed the door in my face. I never asked her to come visit again and her name was never mentioned in the house so I felt like I had a right to present myself emotionally disconnected. I resisted being alone with her, I resisted letting her get close to me, and I resisted to give her a second chance.

One night I gave in, against my intuition, and spent the entire night with my grandmother and her husband because my three younger cousins were going to be there and I assumed it would be fun. Little did I know this night would haunt me and that her husband had an awful temper. I soon found myself in a war zone protecting my cousins from impending and unavoidable doom. But I failed and my little cousin had bruises to prove it. I sat there helplessly in front of my other two cousins and blocked their view and hoped that they would not be next; unfortunately, I could still see the rage in his eyes as he kept hitting her harder the harder she would cry. My grandmother stood right next to him watching and snickering, and she never once told him that he had went to far or to stop.

I hated the whole family for this soulless crime; however, I never told anyone what I witnessed because my cousins were to young to remember and I did not want to be the cause of another family feud. Once my grandmother’s husband died I decided to give her a second chance. I thought that maybe she could not stand up to him because she did not want to be next. I thought maybe she had nothing to do with it and instead I began to just hate the man laying in a casket; it seemed easier. My grandmother’s health decreased over the years forcing her to switch between all of her kids and I never minded having her around. She kept my mother entertained and allowed our family to feel useful, which in turn made us closer.

Life seemed to pass on by as the routines were created and our family seemed to get along until late one night when my mother and grandmother got into a terrible fight. They both probably said things they regretted but I do not think they realized how it effected me. Even as a 21 year old, I reverted back to when I was 10 and I hid. I was just beginning to let my walls down when I was reminded of the old days and it was then I realized that her husband was not the whole cause of that night but that she also had the abusive spirit within her. She was no better than him.

There was no second chance from this point; I was done. I have avoided every family get together intentionally and I even avoided conversations where she might become a topic. And now as she lays in her hospital bed with little hope to leave it I cannot help but wonder what to do next.

Is it really going to help if I go and make my peace with her? Should I remind her that I never forgot? Should I tell her how much she has hurt me? Should I tell her I forgive her? Should I tell her that while I will never be thankful for that night, I am appreciative that I received the heart to never let another child be hurt like that in my presence again? What if she died shortly after - would it be my fault? Could I live with myself and pronounce myself a Christian when I have so much hatred in my heart? Maybe its better that I do not have the opportunity to speak with her and that I bury the past in the ground with her when she dies?