I finally broke down and calling my grandfather in an attempt to reconcile.
I spent weeks rehearsing what I was going to say, over and over.
Lets just say that just blew up in my face. I was wrong, I was mistaken, I was lying, I was making stuff up, I need to reevaluate, he doesn’t know where I got that, he doesn’t know what’s going on in my head, he can’t read me, he can’t understand me. It was all me, he did nothing… said nothing. I was the villain yet again.
I tried talking with him about the crap that’s gone on during the past 12 years. Like him literally throwing my things during one of our moves.
Him: “Well, you should have gotten out there and helped.”
Me: “Did it ever occur to you that I was already helping someone else?”
He’s threatened to harm our animals. Nope, he never said that. I point out his comment about his gun helping with our “cat problem” just a month ago. His response: “Gawd.” And then comes an ultimatum: get rid of our animals or say goodbye to him.
I told him I’ll find another option. I’ve been abandoned enough in my life, I won’t inflict that pain on another living creature. I’m more important than those animals, he says. I didn’t even bother to protest that Luna has saved my life numerous times as a hypoglycemia alert dog.
Then he literally had the balls to wax nostalgic over Brownie, our collie who died years ago.
Every point I tried to make, he said I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. My feelings are totally wrong.
He said I used to be his best friend, but I’m not anymore. He even declared I don’t love him. He’s been so gracious to offer to let us live with him, but for the sake of those animals we’re refusing. We need to think it over “real good.” The animals or be disowned.
I finally said “Goodbye, Poppa. I love you.” and hung up.
I made it out to the living room and just collapsed in the middle of the floor.
If I don’t love him, why in the world does it feel like I was punched in the gut?
