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I wish I could say that this wasn't the defining moment of my relationship with my Nna, that we later resolved our differences and learned to live in peace with each other. I don't regret what I said -- if someone spoke to me like that today, family or no, they would get the same reaction out of me -- I just wish that I had been mature enough, then, to at least try to forgive her. But if it's human nature to saint the dead, then I suppose I've confirmed her suspicions of me.

In the end, I saw where our father got his desire to keep up appearances; I daresay he never inherited his mother's talent for it, though. For four more years, our Nana fed us, clothed us, sheltered us, drove us to school and smiled at our teachers. But for those four years, we only spoke in direct questions and short answers -- Did you finish your homework? Yes. Chicken for supper? Okay. It's bed time. Alright.

No more letters from our father were delivered, no more reports from school came, no more words than were necessary were spoken. At the time, I was self-righteous and self-certain to the point of stubbornness. Holly and I were immovable objects in our conviction that Nana was the villain; and on the surface, she was -- I could have forgiven her, we could have made up, but she still would have defended her son and condemned our mother, all at Holly's and my expense. What I've learned since is that all humans, no matter how happy, or angry, or callous, have inside them a soul that bleeds; and though it took a long time for her to bleed out, I suspect that seeing herself through our eyes the night we fought was the mortal blow.

Of course, you can't die from a broken heart. We were in sixth grade, and it was shortly before Holly's twelfth birthday, when Nana started getting sick. If the doctors hadn't convinced themselves that it was pneumonia, they might have caught the cancer in time to treat it; I'm told that these things happen sometimes.

But only to the people around me.

There were no Christmas or Valentine's gifts exchanged that year. When the cancer was too bad for Nana to stay home, she was placed in full-time care at the hospital; that was when I realized that our mother's room, ironically just down the corridor, was in the part of the hospital where they left patients to die.

If there was a silver lining in any of this, it was that Holly and I got to stay with Marie and her husband. Obviously, we couldn't live by ourselves, but since we still had a living legal guardian who owned her own home, the city couldn't put us in foster care. So, Marie took us in. Mr. Dunsworth was good to us, as strangers go, and Marie -- as always -- doted on us as though we were her own. For the first time in our lives, Holly and I were members of a loving and, more importantly, functional family, even if there was no blood between us.

But if I'm not of the mind that death should absolve all since, it was not a belief I shared with my new surrogate mother. I remember the phone call one Sunday afternoon in June, the expression on Marie's face sinking as the conversation went on. There were tears collecting at the corners of her eyes by the time she hung up the phone.

"How long have we known each other, Hannah?" It was one of those questions meant to draw guilt out of a person like venom out of a bite -- and it worked. With some quick arithmetic, I deduced that Holly and I had met Marie seven years before. "Seven years," she echoed, "you're like family to me, Hannah, and I've tried my best to be the same for you. So why is it that I'm just now finding out that for four whole years -- more than half the time you've known me -- you've held a stupid grudge against your grandmother?"

My mouth went dry; I tried to swallow, but the lump in my throat wouldn't go away. "It's not a stupid grudge," I said. For the first time in seven years, I hid from Marie, using any and every defense mechanism I could find. "She said I was the reason Dad hit Mom. She blames Mom for--"

"Hannah, listen." Marie knelt down to meet my gaze straight-on. "I know that your Nana said some bad, some terrible things to you and Holly. But she's very sick now, and she's probably going to die very soon. I know you know that. Do you really think she deserves to die thinking her only grandchildren hate her?"

I met her gaze as evenly as I could. "You think she doesn't deserve that?"

"I think you don't," she clarified. "Trust me, Hannah, you may not think so now -- you may not think so for a long time -- but this will become something you'll regret. A lot."

"I don't have anything to say to her," I said, turning to hide my face from Marie.

"You'll think of something, love." She touched a hand to my cheek, pulled my face back to meet hers. "Don't do this for her, then. Just do it for me."

We were in the car ten minutes later. I held Holly's hand from Marie's doorstep to Nana's bedside, communicating to her without words that we together were strong and that everything would be okay. We stood in front of our Nana's bed ready to go to war together; Nana had different ideas.

"Holly, could you excuse your sister and I?" Holly cast a nervous glance at me, which I barely registered for trying to figure out Nana's game. I squeezed Holly's hand and nodded.

"I'm not sorry for what I said to you," I said when the door closed behind Holly.

"Good," she said, giving me a week smile that confused the Hell out of me. "I deserved the words you said. If you suddenly forgave me, just because I'm about to die, I might be worried that you weren't really my granddaughter." She planted her hands under her back, and before I knew what I was doing, I moved to help her sit up in her bed. She took the opportunity to steal my hand into hers. "I'm not looking for your forgiveness, Hannah. It's not in your blood, anyway. All I want is your understanding."

Being likened to my grandmother made me sick to my stomach. I pulled away from her, took a step back. "I understand that you hate my mother for ruining my father's life," I said, accusation thick on my voice.

"Yes and no." She sighed. "Your parents weren't ready to get married when they did -- Douglas was much too young, to be sure. They were in love, and they thought that was all that mattered, and all they did was shoot themselves in the foot. And yes, I resented your mother for a long time for taking my son from me so soon. But then you and Holly came along, and the two of you were so beautiful. There was nothing I wouldn't do for you.

"But your father was still a child in so many ways. Charlotte was a saint in the way she could adapt to anything, but she didn't realize that she set a pace that Douglas couldn't keep. He always tried his hardest to do right by you girls and your mother, but he just hadn't developed the faculties to do it. That's why he was always so frustrated."

I poured myself a glass of water from Nana's bedside table and drank in silence. If I was younger, weaker, I might have fallen for it. I might have bitten the lure, cried my heart out onto her pillow and told her she was forgiven, whether I meant it or not. And in a flash, I realized that that was the exact reason she had asked Holly to leave; my sister might have reacted like that, but Nana knew that I would hold steady and stand fast, refusing her anything she didn't really deserve. She truly didn't want to be forgiven, she just wanted to be heard; silently, I nodded for her to continue.

"Douglas wasn't a bad man, Hannah. He isn't a bad man. He loves you and Holly more than you want to believe, and he loved your mother more than you could ever imagine. He would have given her the world, and he would have broken it if it ever hurt her. He was a wonderful man, in his own way.

"But even good men can do bad things, and that's a reality I don't think you've quite grasped yet. Your father isn't evil, he's just flawed; like me, like you. You said you weren't sorry for what you said to me four years ago, and you know I'd be lying if I said I was truly sorry for what I said. It's just not in our nature; we don't care who we hurt, and we can't be sorry for anything we say or do, when we're trying to protect the people we love the most. But I am sorry I didn't have the courage to say this before. I shouldn't have let this drag on like it did."

I studied the old woman for a long moment. Whatever I believed of her or the world, I could see that what she was saying was at least true to her. As I'm sure she expected, even that knowledge did nothing to break down the defenses I'd put up around myself, but it did affect me. I held that Truth of hers and took it inside myself, valued it for no more and no less than it was worth. "I can't forgive him," I said finally, drinking the last of my water and setting the glass back on the bedside table.

"I'm not asking you to; that's something you'll come to yourself when and if you decide it's time. I'm just asking that you try to understand." She tried to smile, but it came out wrong through a face hollowed by death. "The letters your father wrote you are in a shoebox in my bedroom closet, behind my luggage." I met her sad eyes with a hard stare. "You don't have to read them if you don't want to. I only hope you'll keep them, in case the day comes when you change your mind."

Emily Liberty Grey, my paternal grandmother, passed away on June 8th, 2003, at 6:39 PM -- less than two hours after I had nodded a silent promise and joined Holly in our mother's room to grieve over different loss.

Description
I wish I could say that this wasn't the defining moment of my relationship with my Nna, that we later resolved our differences and learned to live in peace with each other. I don't regret what I said -- if someone spoke to me like that today, family or no, they would get the same reaction out of me -- I just wish that I had been mature enough, then, to at least try to forgive her. But if it's human nature to saint the dead, then I suppose I've confirmed her suspicions of me.

In the end, I saw where our father got his desire to keep up appearances; I daresay he never inherited his mother's talent for it, though. For four more years, our Nana fed us, clothed us, sheltered us, drove us to school and smiled at our teachers. But for those four years, we only spoke in direct questions and short answers -- Did you finish your homework? Yes. Chicken for supper? Okay. It's bed time. Alright.

No more letters from our father were delivered, no more reports from school came, no more words than were necessary were spoken. At the time, I was self-righteous and self-certain to the point of stubbornness. Holly and I were immovable objects in our conviction that Nana was the villain; and on the surface, she was -- I could have forgiven her, we could have made up, but she still would have defended her son and condemned our mother, all at Holly's and my expense. What I've learned since is that all humans, no matter how happy, or angry, or callous, have inside them a soul that bleeds; and though it took a long time for her to bleed out, I suspect that seeing herself through our eyes the night we fought was the mortal blow.

Of course, you can't die from a broken heart. We were in sixth grade, and it was shortly before Holly's twelfth birthday, when Nana started getting sick. If the doctors hadn't convinced themselves that it was pneumonia, they might have caught the cancer in time to treat it; I'm told that these things happen sometimes.

But only to the people around me.

There were no Christmas or Valentine's gifts exchanged that year. When the cancer was too bad for Nana to stay home, she was placed in full-time care at the hospital; that was when I realized that our mother's room, ironically just down the corridor, was in the part of the hospital where they left patients to die.

If there was a silver lining in any of this, it was that Holly and I got to stay with Marie and her husband. Obviously, we couldn't live by ourselves, but since we still had a living legal guardian who owned her own home, the city couldn't put us in foster care. So, Marie took us in. Mr. Dunsworth was good to us, as strangers go, and Marie -- as always -- doted on us as though we were her own. For the first time in our lives, Holly and I were members of a loving and, more importantly, functional family, even if there was no blood between us.

But if I'm not of the mind that death should absolve all since, it was not a belief I shared with my new surrogate mother. I remember the phone call one Sunday afternoon in June, the expression on Marie's face sinking as the conversation went on. There were tears collecting at the corners of her eyes by the time she hung up the phone.

"How long have we known each other, Hannah?" It was one of those questions meant to draw guilt out of a person like venom out of a bite -- and it worked. With some quick arithmetic, I deduced that Holly and I had met Marie seven years before. "Seven years," she echoed, "you're like family to me, Hannah, and I've tried my best to be the same for you. So why is it that I'm just now finding out that for four whole years -- more than half the time you've known me -- you've held a stupid grudge against your grandmother?"

My mouth went dry; I tried to swallow, but the lump in my throat wouldn't go away. "It's not a stupid grudge," I said. For the first time in seven years, I hid from Marie, using any and every defense mechanism I could find. "She said I was the reason Dad hit Mom. She blames Mom for--"

"Hannah, listen." Marie knelt down to meet my gaze straight-on. "I know that your Nana said some bad, some terrible things to you and Holly. But she's very sick now, and she's probably going to die very soon. I know you know that. Do you really think she deserves to die thinking her only grandchildren hate her?"

I met her gaze as evenly as I could. "You think she doesn't deserve that?"

"I think you don't," she clarified. "Trust me, Hannah, you may not think so now -- you may not think so for a long time -- but this will become something you'll regret. A lot."

"I don't have anything to say to her," I said, turning to hide my face from Marie.

"You'll think of something, love." She touched a hand to my cheek, pulled my face back to meet hers. "Don't do this for her, then. Just do it for me."

We were in the car ten minutes later. I held Holly's hand from Marie's doorstep to Nana's bedside, communicating to her without words that we together were strong and that everything would be okay. We stood in front of our Nana's bed ready to go to war together; Nana had different ideas.

"Holly, could you excuse your sister and I?" Holly cast a nervous glance at me, which I barely registered for trying to figure out Nana's game. I squeezed Holly's hand and nodded.

"I'm not sorry for what I said to you," I said when the door closed behind Holly.

"Good," she said, giving me a week smile that confused the Hell out of me. "I deserved the words you said. If you suddenly forgave me, just because I'm about to die, I might be worried that you weren't really my granddaughter." She planted her hands under her back, and before I knew what I was doing, I moved to help her sit up in her bed. She took the opportunity to steal my hand into hers. "I'm not looking for your forgiveness, Hannah. It's not in your blood, anyway. All I want is your understanding."

Being likened to my grandmother made me sick to my stomach. I pulled away from her, took a step back. "I understand that you hate my mother for ruining my father's life," I said, accusation thick on my voice.

"Yes and no." She sighed. "Your parents weren't ready to get married when they did -- Douglas was much too young, to be sure. They were in love, and they thought that was all that mattered, and all they did was shoot themselves in the foot. And yes, I resented your mother for a long time for taking my son from me so soon. But then you and Holly came along, and the two of you were so beautiful. There was nothing I wouldn't do for you.

"But your father was still a child in so many ways. Charlotte was a saint in the way she could adapt to anything, but she didn't realize that she set a pace that Douglas couldn't keep. He always tried his hardest to do right by you girls and your mother, but he just hadn't developed the faculties to do it. That's why he was always so frustrated."

I poured myself a glass of water from Nana's bedside table and drank in silence. If I was younger, weaker, I might have fallen for it. I might have bitten the lure, cried my heart out onto her pillow and told her she was forgiven, whether I meant it or not. And in a flash, I realized that that was the exact reason she had asked Holly to leave; my sister might have reacted like that, but Nana knew that I would hold steady and stand fast, refusing her anything she didn't really deserve. She truly didn't want to be forgiven, she just wanted to be heard; silently, I nodded for her to continue.

"Douglas wasn't a bad man, Hannah. He isn't a bad man. He loves you and Holly more than you want to believe, and he loved your mother more than you could ever imagine. He would have given her the world, and he would have broken it if it ever hurt her. He was a wonderful man, in his own way.

"But even good men can do bad things, and that's a reality I don't think you've quite grasped yet. Your father isn't evil, he's just flawed; like me, like you. You said you weren't sorry for what you said to me four years ago, and you know I'd be lying if I said I was truly sorry for what I said. It's just not in our nature; we don't care who we hurt, and we can't be sorry for anything we say or do, when we're trying to protect the people we love the most. But I am sorry I didn't have the courage to say this before. I shouldn't have let this drag on like it did."

I studied the old woman for a long moment. Whatever I believed of her or the world, I could see that what she was saying was at least true to her. As I'm sure she expected, even that knowledge did nothing to break down the defenses I'd put up around myself, but it did affect me. I held that Truth of hers and took it inside myself, valued it for no more and no less than it was worth. "I can't forgive him," I said finally, drinking the last of my water and setting the glass back on the bedside table.

"I'm not asking you to; that's something you'll come to yourself when and if you decide it's time. I'm just asking that you try to understand." She tried to smile, but it came out wrong through a face hollowed by death. "The letters your father wrote you are in a shoebox in my bedroom closet, behind my luggage." I met her sad eyes with a hard stare. "You don't have to read them if you don't want to. I only hope you'll keep them, in case the day comes when you change your mind."

Emily Liberty Grey, my paternal grandmother, passed away on June 8th, 2003, at 6:39 PM -- less than two hours after I had nodded a silent promise and joined Holly in our mother's room to grieve over different loss.