Reconciling Life with Death
I'm having trouble reconciling the person I knew to the person being talked about. I hear the idealization given by the guilt-ridden and grieving. I hear the words being said. I don't recognize the actions. Grandma played favorites. I didn't know that my family was a blended family until I was eight years old. It didn't matter. My cousins were my cousins and my grandparents my grandparents. I didn't realize my Dad was a divorced kid. It didn't matter. Family is family no matter how it's assembled. I have little claim to favorite status. I wasn’t her only biological child's children. I was eight and almost in the third grade (it was before school started that year) when I was told the difference by one of those favored cousins. In front of both grandparents. During a roadtrip. It wasn't until later that I noticed what my cousin's damning words really meant. It meant that I was an afterthought to Grandma. It meant that I had to sit at