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Death and Confession

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It was on a Saturday night when I heard that my grandfather had died. I have grown used to death. I lost my beloved maternal grandfather when I was ten and I remember crying myself to sleep. My maternal grandmother died when I was twenty five and I was devastated. I had a close relationship with both so their deaths were like a dagger in the heart. Now years later I lost my other grandfather and though it stung I felt more anger then anything. Never once in my life did he attempt to get to know me or my brother.


He did everything with my cousins and admitted to loving them more. When my brother and I would go into the same room with him he would get up and leave. He kept his distance even when I announced that he was a great grandfather. He never attempted to get to know my son either. We were lucky enough to get to go to the funeral as my one uncle was against it. The funeral made not only my brother and I more of an outcast but also my son as well as my own father. I broke down and cried for this man I barely knew whom I would discover was a war hero. I cried at the fact that even after all these years I was still an outcast. Barely acknowledged and hardly spoken to.


It was later that night that I found out a starting truth about why my uncle had such hatred for us. My mother confided in me and revealed something horrifying. Shortly before she married my father his brother raped her. She was getting a ride from him when he pulled off the road and forced himself on her. She never told my father or anyone else. I sat stunned and unable to speak. So many things were going through my mind and now this. She needed me to understand why he hated us. It was guilt.


So with this death came a confession that I must live with. A strength I must keep. I forgave my grandfather for his distance. I will never understand why he was distant but I forgive him. As for my uncle I can't forgive him. Maybe someday but not today.

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