Mine is a Different Kind of Grief
I got the news yesterday that my grandma Nancy had died. At first, I was okay, thinking it was no big deal. After all, I hadn't seen her since I was 20 years old and it had been several years before that since I had talked to her on the phone. I continued on with my day and went about my work but after a few minutes of sitting and letting the new sink in, I was overwhelmed with emotion and tears and I left work to go home.
Like many others in my family, I shed many tears yesterday. However, my tears were not of sadness because she was gone and I was going to miss her, they were tears of anger stemming from a broken heart filled with questions, bitterness, and a longing beyond words.
This grandma was the wife of the grandfather that molested me for seven years when I was a little girl. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents when my dad was working but I don't remember too much about her from those early years. Although she was the only mother figure I had during that time, I don't remember her being overly warm and motherly or very affectionate. If I had to describe her in a word, it would probably be 'practical'. Life was what it was and we were going to live it accordingly.
I told about the abuse when I was 10 and I have many more memories of my grandma from then on, probably because of the great pain and heartache they caused. My grandfather was sent away for treatment the night I told and my grandma followed him a few weeks later. In letters she wrote to me after they moved, she complained a lot about how unhappy she and my grandfather were in their new surroundings so far away from their friends and family in Wyoming. I stopped writing her eventually because I was so tired of those negative responses, as if she was trying to make me feel bad that my telling about the abuse was causing them such great misery.
(Side note: After I told about the abuse, I thought all was fine and dandy. The abuse had stopped, my grandfather moved away and I didn't have to see him anymore, and that was all that mattered. Granted, I was only 10 years old and wouldn't be hit with the realization of the many effects of the abuse until I was a teenager, but in those early years, I continued a relationship with my grandma like nothing had changed.)
One particular memory that sticks out in my mind happened one summer when I was visiting my mom in Arizona. I was probably 12 or 13 and I called my grandma to ask if she wanted to come up and spend the day with me (she lived a couple hours away). She asked if my grandfather could come and I adamantly said no. She asked why not and couldn't seem to understand the simple fact that I didn't want to. She told me she would have to think about it for a couple day and that she would call me back. I can remember the moment she called back as if it were yesterday. She asked again if my grandfather could come with her and again, I said that I didn't want to see him. Then she said that she wouldn't come unless he could come too. My heart was broken and that was such a light bulb moment for me. I know it's not about choosing sides - my grandfather's or mine - but I knew that day that her loyalty would always be for him.
That loyalty proved itself many times over the next several years. After I became a Christian and started college, I began to work through the abuse issues with counselors. I wrote a letter to my grandma, baring my heart about how I felt towards her and her actions and the response I got was filled with denial about what had happened as well as blame she put on my shoulders for the fact that the abuse happened. She lived in a state of denial I would never understand. Granted, I know her marriage vows were for better or worse and she came from the generation that believe women should stand by their men. I get that. I really, honestly do. I just never understood why she couldn't see how much my grandfather's actions hurt me and the fact that I still wanted a relationship with her, even though I didn't want one with him.
The last time I saw my grandma was 13 1/2 years ago in the courtroom when I pressed charges against my grandfather. He was barred from having any contact with me that day and I didn't have any with my grandma either. My reason for pressing charges was solely so my grandfather would have to register as sex offender in his community so others could be aware of his past behavior. It's what I believed I needed to do to keep other children safe but I'm pretty sure my family didn't see it that way. The tension in the courtroom that day was unbearable but I will never know what my grandma, or any of the other family members in the room that day, were thinking because that was the last I saw or heard from any of them. Not exactly the kind of closure I was hoping for.
All this is to say that I'm sorry I missed out on a relationship with my grandma because of the actions of my grandfather. I will never know what influenced her to make the decisions and choices she did and even if I did, I doubt I would ever experience the sense of peace my heart longs for. Some things simply won't be answered this side of heaven. I understand many members of my family are grieving tonight, and I honor and respect that, I really do. I just ask that they understand that my experience with her was different and that mine is a different kind of grief.
Like many others in my family, I shed many tears yesterday. However, my tears were not of sadness because she was gone and I was going to miss her, they were tears of anger stemming from a broken heart filled with questions, bitterness, and a longing beyond words.
This grandma was the wife of the grandfather that molested me for seven years when I was a little girl. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents when my dad was working but I don't remember too much about her from those early years. Although she was the only mother figure I had during that time, I don't remember her being overly warm and motherly or very affectionate. If I had to describe her in a word, it would probably be 'practical'. Life was what it was and we were going to live it accordingly.
I told about the abuse when I was 10 and I have many more memories of my grandma from then on, probably because of the great pain and heartache they caused. My grandfather was sent away for treatment the night I told and my grandma followed him a few weeks later. In letters she wrote to me after they moved, she complained a lot about how unhappy she and my grandfather were in their new surroundings so far away from their friends and family in Wyoming. I stopped writing her eventually because I was so tired of those negative responses, as if she was trying to make me feel bad that my telling about the abuse was causing them such great misery.
(Side note: After I told about the abuse, I thought all was fine and dandy. The abuse had stopped, my grandfather moved away and I didn't have to see him anymore, and that was all that mattered. Granted, I was only 10 years old and wouldn't be hit with the realization of the many effects of the abuse until I was a teenager, but in those early years, I continued a relationship with my grandma like nothing had changed.)
One particular memory that sticks out in my mind happened one summer when I was visiting my mom in Arizona. I was probably 12 or 13 and I called my grandma to ask if she wanted to come up and spend the day with me (she lived a couple hours away). She asked if my grandfather could come and I adamantly said no. She asked why not and couldn't seem to understand the simple fact that I didn't want to. She told me she would have to think about it for a couple day and that she would call me back. I can remember the moment she called back as if it were yesterday. She asked again if my grandfather could come with her and again, I said that I didn't want to see him. Then she said that she wouldn't come unless he could come too. My heart was broken and that was such a light bulb moment for me. I know it's not about choosing sides - my grandfather's or mine - but I knew that day that her loyalty would always be for him.
That loyalty proved itself many times over the next several years. After I became a Christian and started college, I began to work through the abuse issues with counselors. I wrote a letter to my grandma, baring my heart about how I felt towards her and her actions and the response I got was filled with denial about what had happened as well as blame she put on my shoulders for the fact that the abuse happened. She lived in a state of denial I would never understand. Granted, I know her marriage vows were for better or worse and she came from the generation that believe women should stand by their men. I get that. I really, honestly do. I just never understood why she couldn't see how much my grandfather's actions hurt me and the fact that I still wanted a relationship with her, even though I didn't want one with him.
The last time I saw my grandma was 13 1/2 years ago in the courtroom when I pressed charges against my grandfather. He was barred from having any contact with me that day and I didn't have any with my grandma either. My reason for pressing charges was solely so my grandfather would have to register as sex offender in his community so others could be aware of his past behavior. It's what I believed I needed to do to keep other children safe but I'm pretty sure my family didn't see it that way. The tension in the courtroom that day was unbearable but I will never know what my grandma, or any of the other family members in the room that day, were thinking because that was the last I saw or heard from any of them. Not exactly the kind of closure I was hoping for.
All this is to say that I'm sorry I missed out on a relationship with my grandma because of the actions of my grandfather. I will never know what influenced her to make the decisions and choices she did and even if I did, I doubt I would ever experience the sense of peace my heart longs for. Some things simply won't be answered this side of heaven. I understand many members of my family are grieving tonight, and I honor and respect that, I really do. I just ask that they understand that my experience with her was different and that mine is a different kind of grief.
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