I'm posting this here because, despites some of the themes presented, this currently makes the most sense to me.
My grandmother passed during the night. We knew she was on her way out as she'd taken a nasty fall recently, fracturing her femur, and she was in no state to survive an operation or otherwise recover. My parents, having *just* made it back to America in time, managed to quickly turn around and get up there to see her the past couple days.
And... For that, I'm quite happy. I can't imagine what not being there would've done to my mom, to not be able to see her mom out of this life (and to see that she, topped up with morphine, was very much at peace when she did leave).
But for me... I don't know. It feels like it doesn't really mean anything.
My grandmother, some 15 years ago, decided to cut out and effectively excommunicate our side of the family. At the behest of my one aunt (who has ticked every point on the Hare psychopathy checklist), she pushed away her two other daughters and all their associated family members. Refusing to believe anyone except for that one daughter (and her son, who was perfectly willing to toe the line and not fight the outrageous statements coming out of the bitch) and shunning anyone and everyone else.
There was a very brief moment in time where she tried reaching out to contact me specifically (apparently thinking my parents to be the cruel and deceitful individuals my aunt had painted them as and worried that they would interfere with any communications should she not work out how to send an email directly to me), and... I'm not really even sure. Try to stay in touch and keep things pleasant while declaring my parents and anyone associated with them to be morally reprehensible? Myself included?
And that was it. Beyond that, I haven't seen or talked with her in about 15 years. She made her choices and she stuck with them.
...or at least, she intended to. In her later days, her mind deteriorated to the point where she didn't remember any of that ever happening, and went back to singing praises of my father and me. Which must've been quite the interesting experience for my uncle, who had been her primary caregiver for ages at that point. Apparently she didn't have nearly as much positive to say about him.
And I just... I feel like I should probably feel something more. I mean, my grandmother died. And before the great split, I did have some good experiences with her. But I guess I'm not as good at forgiving just because she forgot.
I do feel for my mother though, and I hope that she gets to process this whole thing in a positive way. I'm also worried about her not acknowledging what weight this situation holds for her, which is of course a hilariously ironic statement coming immediately after my whole "I totally don't feel anything, brah", but... yeah.
Weird message to wake up to, in any case.