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Life is often sad...
Jul. 31st, 2005 04:07 pmMy grandmother is very ill. Now, I love Grandma but I don't like her much and she's only tolerable in small doses. She is -- and always has been -- mean spirited and stubborn. She the ability to know exactly how to hurt people the most. It's an ability that seems to be passed down in the genes because my father can also do it. As I can I. I warn my daughter that she, too, shares that trait and needs to watch out for it.
In any case, she is still my grandmother, my father's mother, and there is the feeling of finality about our visits. She's 80 something, almost 90. Her birthday was on the 15 of this month -- as was her anniversary, but grandpa died more than 30 years ago, now.
She's not well, hasn't been for quite a while. It's hard thing, though. Hard, mostly, because there are so few happy memories to go with her life. Hard because there is that lingering knowledge that it's too late to change her now, too late to change the memories to ones of joy and acceptance, rather than sorrow and disappointment.
I have pictures of Grandma and Grandpa. Memories of them. Other people's memories of them. Glimpses into a hard life that she had to be hard to survive. Maybe. I also had another grandma and grandpa, and they had hard lives, but they were not hard. Is it a choice? And are some people allowed to choose?
In the end, if you can't show kindness and compassion to those you love, what difference does it make that you love them at all?
***
Can't focus enough to write. Spending my time reading improbable crossover fic with even more improbable characterization.
*sigh*
Should write. I'm six parts away from finishing a fic.
In any case, she is still my grandmother, my father's mother, and there is the feeling of finality about our visits. She's 80 something, almost 90. Her birthday was on the 15 of this month -- as was her anniversary, but grandpa died more than 30 years ago, now.
She's not well, hasn't been for quite a while. It's hard thing, though. Hard, mostly, because there are so few happy memories to go with her life. Hard because there is that lingering knowledge that it's too late to change her now, too late to change the memories to ones of joy and acceptance, rather than sorrow and disappointment.
I have pictures of Grandma and Grandpa. Memories of them. Other people's memories of them. Glimpses into a hard life that she had to be hard to survive. Maybe. I also had another grandma and grandpa, and they had hard lives, but they were not hard. Is it a choice? And are some people allowed to choose?
In the end, if you can't show kindness and compassion to those you love, what difference does it make that you love them at all?
***
Can't focus enough to write. Spending my time reading improbable crossover fic with even more improbable characterization.
*sigh*
Should write. I'm six parts away from finishing a fic.
