i grew up very happily in an unusual family, there were four generations.
This is long.
My Great grandmother who was widowed, my grandmother who had been abandoned by my grandfather and my mum. Our dad walked out just after I was born.
My great grandmother was the eldest of eight and her youngest brother was just a year older than my grandmother. He married for the second time to a lovely Irish lady so my grandmother had 1st cousins who were half a century younger than her, nearer our age.
They lived around the corner from us and you couldn’t have met nicer people. His kids looked after us, taught us to read, do our tables, play the piano and guitar.
When I was about 11 their mother died in her forties, followed by my great grandmother and then her brother.
I can’t remember when we lost touch with their kids, but I have tried to find the youngest daughter on facebook.
My grandmother remarried and life became very good. We called him Grandpa, and he was the kindest man, not only was he generous he bought us our own house, but he spent time with us, teaching us and making us laugh. When we talk, my sister and I talk about him with much love but my brother recognises his good points but says he was different with him being a boy, expecting him to behave in a macho way.
So nearly six decades later brings us to last Saturday and my sister was at a wedding 150 miles away and there at the wedding was our lovely cousin who had been so important to us in our childhood. The bride and groom are not related to us, it was sheer coincidence.
This cousin turns to my sister and said how horrible our step-grandfather was and how he had put his tongue down her throat and would grab her and how her 17 year old boyfriend had hit him.
This was the man we adored and whose generosity turned our life around.
I haven’t been able to sleep. I am in my 70s but my mother is still alive. My sister wants to tell her but my brother and I don’t.
My sister doesn’t want to believe her. I don’t know what to think.