The You That Was Never Really Here

I finally cried over you once I realized that you were really and truly gone.

Our entire family sat around the dining room table and in the adjacent room with their attention divided between whoever was speaking in that moment and whatever was going on behind their phone screens. The only non-victims of such an awkward emotional scene were your great-grandchildren, who were running around and picking at the drywall, unbeknownst to their parents.

The better part of your day was over already, and all that was left to go over were the remembrances. Where there had been excitement over hotdogs, hamburgers, and helping the children eat their candy, there were now long faces as we geared up to recount our finest recollections of you. I desperately searched my memories for something pleasant enough to add to the conversation. After all these years, there had to be something.

Your other grandchildren went first. Kevin and Tobias spoke of you like a warrior. Iron-fisted and stern. Strong because you had to be at an early age.

“But what we admired most,” said Tobias, “was the warmth she had for her family.”

Warmth, which I had yet to feel from you.

Mathilda and Leeanne next spoke of your disciplinary ways and high standards. They mentioned how you were strict in your expectations of your children and grandchildren, and the harsh tones you’d take on when we strayed too far from who you wanted us to be.

“But what we admired most,” said Mathilda, “was the love she had for her family.”

Love, which you had yet to show me.

“Love for her great-grandchildren too, which brought her to move back to Nevada from Kansas,” my Aunt Bethany chimed in, who had recently become a grandmother herself.

It was suddenly my uncle’s turn, who only sat two seats from my own. He spoke of how you terrified him when he first met you, and then bit back tears while he recounted how you finally accepted him. How the conversations you two shared were some of his fondest to look back on. And then Aunt Bethany said a few more words of praise about your cooking and how well you fell into the role of healer when anyone was sick.

Everyone was so caught up in Aunt Bethany’s speech that I wished she would go on forever to keep the attention from me. But eventually, she stopped talking. Everyone’s eyes landed on me as they waited for my grand story.

Me, who was born sometime between your other grandchildren and their children. How could I put into words the differences between my life and theirs?

I thought even harder. I looked even deeper. Warmth, love, conversations; all of which there had been none between us. When it came to you, the only emotions there were was loneliness and shame. Of happiness and belonging, there was nothing to say.

Perhaps it was out of selfishness, but instead of speaking, I turned away. I got up from my chair, and I walked out of the room. Away from your family’s hungry eyes.

But I caught my mother’s knowing glance just as I slipped away to finally mourn you on my own terms. She wouldn’t have much to talk about either, though time and therapy had only begun to heal those old wounds.

I finally cried over you once I realized that you were really and truly gone. But it wasn’t really you that I cried over. It was the you I needed you to be. The legendary grandmother who showered their family in love and would actually make me feel wanted.

I cried over the you that was never really here.