I was robbed at ages 1 1/2, 19, & 20. I was even robbed before I was born.
My paternal grandfather died when my father was about 18 years old. Before my father even met my mother.
My maternal grandfather died when I was just a baby. The only memories I have of him are pictures & stories from my mother.
My paternal grandmother died when I was 19 years old. Her death, I suppose you could say, was harder to handle - but also easier. I was at school when I found out - my sophomore year of college. But I quickly went home to be with my family.
My maternal grandmother died when I was 20 years old [about 7 months after Nan]. Her death was even more difficult to handle because she had lived with us for 5 months before she died. I like to think we had a wonderful summer with Grandmom. She was happy before she died. But what made her last months with us & her death more difficult, in my opinion, was Beth's abandoning her. I understand she felt overwhelmed - believe me, I understand feeling overwhelmed - but I would never attempt suicide while my elderly mother was in the next room, helpless. [I wouldn't attempt suicide at all - no matter how bad life seemed to be].
I also understand that Beth doesn't see that she did anything wrong. In fact, she was right to bring Grandmom to us - she should never have brought her to live in Baltimore to begin with!
The day Beth brought Grandmom to us [without even saying goodbye to her own mother] was the day she died in my heart. She is no longer my aunt. My ties with her died with Grandmom.
Like I said, I have been robbed in my life. I was fortunate enough to have known 2 of the greatest grandmothers in the world; lucky enough to call them my grandmothers.
I do wish I had gotten the chance to meet & know my grandfathers. They were 2 such extraordinary men & I know some of their stories. But I long for the memories of sitting on my grandfathers' laps & hearing their stories firsthand.
Pop [Mom's Dad] ran away & joined the Navy at age 16. He lied about his age & was found out after about 3 months. He was sent home to his mother [his father had been killed in WWII] & waited till he could legally join up. I've heard the story from my great-grandmother, my grandmother, & my mother. But I would love to hear Pop's version of the story - to know what he was thinking about when he suddenly ran away from home.
Pop [Dad's Dad] was born in Huddersfield, England [not too far from Manchester - 2 hours from London]. His father was Irish, his mother English. My dad has told me that Pop had a wonderful singing voice - he had been trained as a young man. My dad has also shared a childhood memory of his own: he didn't realize his father had an accent till he was about 10 years old.
Pop worked on & drove the trolleys in Lawncrest [Philadelphia]. It was because of one of these trolleys that Pop lost his legs [a horrible accident that happened years before my father was born].
I wish I knew the sounds of my grandfathers' voices. I envy my older brother for his fishing trips with Pop [Mom's Dad]. I envy some of my older cousins, who were lucky enough to meet Pop [Dad's Dad]. They were lucky enough to know my grandfathers. For that, I am eternally jealous.
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