My grandfather and I never had a relationship that was common among others. So, the recent passing of my grandfather has prompted a state of reflection on the relationship that we held. 

The grandfather that I speak of is not actually related to me. He married my grandmother after her husband, my biological grandfather, died in a horrific accident. I never knew my grandfather as a compassionate person but he must have been to marry my grandmother while she had three kids from her former relationship. For the purpose of this story I will be referring to the man who married my grandmother, after her husband died, as my grandfather.

In my former years, my grandfather and I lived much closer to each other; we were only an hour's travel apart. We were frequently around each other for a diverse amount of events such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, and any other family events. 

My father had gotten a job offer in Portland, Oregon causing my family and me to relocate, pushing my grandfather farther away; we were now separated by a several hour drive. This placed an unnecessary amount of strain on our relationship.

While my grandfather poisoned any possible relationship with his devious ways, my immediate family and I still made an effort to see him. One time there was a family gathering that mostly consisted of my father’s extended family.grandparent’s house and my brother was in the fifth wheel as well as my second cousin, who ended up breaking something. My brother didn't do anything wrong but my grandfather thought that my brother was the malefactor, in response to this my grandfather proceeded to slap my brother in the face. 

As time passed we saw each other less and less; the feeling of estrangement descending upon my grandfather’s and my relationship. My grandfather became like a stranger to me, whenever we saw each other a conversation between us rarely struck. Even though we were in the same house we would go days without speaking to each other. 

One of the last times I saw my grandfather was also one of the worst. It was the last day of our visit and I had been told multiple times to pack up my personal belongings, but I didn't do that, instead I chose to continue doing whatever could have been infatuating me on my phone. My grandfather proceeded to loom over me and yell in my face. All about how my father had told me what to do and I hadn't done it. After that he went on a rampage screaming to my father all about how he was failing to raise me right. He proceeded to utter a string of vulgar profanity at me, for which I don't particularly remember the goad for his actions. After all the events that transpired my family and I went a long period of time without seeing him.

When my father informed me of the rapidly declining health of my grandfather, I would be lying if I said that the first emotion that struck me was of any relationship to sorrow. I had never really known my grandfather, so I had no emotional tethers to him, no reason to feel anything. Why would I feel bad? Thousands of people die everyday. I don't feel bad for them, I didn't know them. The main reason for his rapid decline in health happens to be lung cancer. He, without a doubt had not taken care of himself, he even had to have plaque removed from his arteries. Everyone knew the morality of his situation, he had a very late diagnosis that coupled with his elderly age ment that he would most likely die. My grandfather went through 9 months of aggressive treatment for his cancer, my grandmother clinging to her hope that he would survive, that he would beat cancer. 

Since the diagnosis, I had only seen him two more times before his passing. The tone being set by my grandmother’s despair. She knew that he would die, just not when. 

It had been a couple months later when I had heard the news from my father, he had died. This was of no surprise to me. I had only felt regret about his death, I had a chance to tell him whatever I wanted to, but I didn't take it. If only I had the courage to tell him how I truly felt, how he had poisoned any potential relationship we could have had. I know that I should have forgiven him for all the things that he did to me but it was too difficult to do so. Now I get to live without closure, with regret for the things I never said, for the forgiveness that I had not given. The lesson that I learnt from this is that it is better to act like everyday could be their last because it just might.