Twenty years ago, if you’d have told me that it’s possible to miss someone decades after they left, I probably would have been a narcissistic fuck and told you that you only missed a person because you’re stuck in the past.
Actually I probably wouldn’t have done that, I just like to be hard on myself. I’m not the type of person that would spit on someone who is in pain, but for some fucking reason I like to think that I was maybe sorta kinda the person who could do that. Not now, but back then, in all of my anger.
But I never was that person. And every time I’ve tried to be it has weighed on me like a ton of bricks because more than anything else, I hate to see people in pain.
So if twenty years ago you would have told me that my grandma was going to die soon and in twenty years I would still weep at the sight of her on video, I would have told you to fuck off but I would have felt bad about it afterwards.
I don’t know why this is my introduction. I’ll probably regret it later.
My grandma died twenty years ago. It completely wrecked me when she died, but over the course of time I learned how to channel her influence on me in a good way.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
As my favorite aunt (now also deceased) said, of all the fucked up, morbid, and depressed grandchildren she had, it had to be you who found her dead?
I’m just digressing more and more, aren’t I? Maybe I don’t know how to tell this story.
Maybe I should just say what I want to say.