Funeral arrangements, light on the grieving, heavy on the sadness

The Mighty Hunter's maternal grandfather died last night at 1am. Technically, that makes it so that he died this morning, but whatever. In my world, 1am is night-time. And my world includes this blog. So, there.

I am struggling with writing this post with any attitude that would normally be appropriate for mentioning the death of a family member. So, instead of telling you of the wonderful blessing this man was, I'll tell you the truth.

His nickname was Slick, and he preferred it. He was not a very likeable man. The times I was ever in the same room or building sum less than 20. The times I heard him speak to me directly without asking me to do some menial task that he was too dang lazy to do himself are less than 5. The single time he asked about anyone in my family in any manner amazed me to no end. The times friends and family discussed his salvation are endless. The time he came anywhere close to professing said salvation was said in a way that you say things like "I can drive a stick shift just as well as anyone."

Recently, The Mighty Hunter and I were discussing Slick and his life. And, as I so often do, I revealed an Incredible Truth that the entire world had missed seeing, because I have such superior insight into Life and Love and Truth and Chocolate.

"He is, and always has been, his own god."

He is his own god. That may be the saddest thing one can say about another.

A little more than a year ago, an series of events, henceforth called the Hay Dispute, occurred. As a result of the Hay Dispute, The Mighty Hunter and I chose to never see, or speak to, Slick again. He never again saw our children. The "disowning" was not our action or our choice. Slick was responsible for forcing us to take such severe actions. It was not a decision we took lightly and was one that was unfortunate.

He was an abusive man. He neglected his daughters - one of which was The Mighty Hunter's mom, whose funeral he didn't attend. The other was his youngest child, who is mentally disabled. His wife was his slave, taking the abuse that he dished out with a dignity that amazed and bewildered all of us. He killed her spirit and vitality with his words and probably his fists.

He gave our children a box of apples one year. Before the Hay Dispute, he held Lucky and, for just a moment, was almost a loving great-grandfather.

Yet I never heard him say an affectionate word to anyone.

He raised his 5 children and possibly fathered others, but we don't know with any certainty. We do know he supported another woman financially and made no secret about it. But I can't tell you that his 5 children knew he loved them.

If each of us truly have love languages, and if his language of expressing his love was with financial gifts, then maybe he did love them with his meager financial resources. But his love was not equal, as he gave his entire estate to his eldest son and nothing to any other children. His youngest daughter, who will never support herself financially or live alone or find a mate, was not even a passing consideration for him.

We are sad but not for the normal funeral time reasons. We are sad that we do not know where he is now and forever. We are sad that the relationships we had with him were what they were. We are sad that he was not the man he could have been, should have been. We are sad that Carl and his sisters didn't have the father they deserved and needed. We are sad that there is no love lost in our lives today. We are sad that we are not missing a loved one.

And that is very sad indeed.

It is not sad, however, that Grandmother and Carl's sister will not have to serve that mean old creature another day and will never be abused like that again.



*****

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