Blame is a funny thing. We blame ourselves for gaining that extra five pounds last month. Or we even blame others for falling out of touch with each other over the years. It’s something that we pass around to others as if playing hot-potato. With blame, we begin avoiding responsibility where no one is truly held accountable for their actions. What is really heartbreaking is when people blame themselves for something that they had no control over.
My grandpa was one of the most cold and distant people I’ve ever encountered. He was never emotional about anything nor did he show any type of affection to his sons or grandchildren. He never called to see how my first day of school went, or when I was in the hospital, or even congratulating me for graduating with my Bachelor’s Degree from University. He wouldn’t send as much as a card in the mail saying, “You did it!” I didn’t ask him for anything, nor at this point, did I ever expect anything.
When he passed away February 10, 2017, I didn’t feel anything. Sure, he was the last living grandparent. And yes, it was an end to a childhood-era. But how could a person be held to an important title, and not be at least kind or loving? After years of trying to be the bigger person and initiating conversations, I stoped trying to have a relationship with a man that would refuse to acknowledge me at family functions.
Sitting at the table with my dad a few days after the funeral, my dad talked about how much guilt he was harboring for not having my brother and I not spending as much time with my grandparents on his side. How was my dad so capable of love or capable to feel any type of emotion for others. He lived under the same roof as the man who refused to hug me for the past 6 years– and yet, he somehow incorporated the blame that my grandpa was supposed to have and pushed it back upon himself. It baffles me how different they are and how lucky I was that my dad is nothing like his dad.