I didn’t really know the man. I would see him once every few years. He wasn’t a particularly good man. He left my grandmother with the kids for the woman across the street, and never looked back. He put into my mother all the insecurities and issues she then passed into me.
It makes me feel like a psychopath to not be sad. He’s a stranger I shared genes with.
Once when I was 16 he called the house:
“Hi Alex! It’s your grandpa. Not Marty (my step-grandfather), your real one.”
I was stunned. After he spoke to my mother for awhile I took the phone back:
“Do you know how old I am? Do you remember what year we spoke last? When you last saw me in person? I know Marty can answer all these questions.”
My parents have spent the last year trying to handle his affairs, after he (once again) put himself into a position he couldn’t handle, and left himself nothing to fall back on. It’s going to be a relief when he stops being such a weight on my family.
How sick is that?