I'm currently quite upset that my Grandad is in hospital, got pneumonia, very frail, possibly not going to make it through much longer than the weekend.
This is my Dad's Dad, my Mum and Dad split up when I was 6 after my Dad had an affair and then my Dad didn't have a lot to do with us, and as a result we didn't see much of my Grandparents.
I got back in touch with my Grandad in 2001 and managed to have a decent amount of time getting to know him again before he got Alzheimers a few years ago. He was really moved that I was back in touch.
I took my brother to see him too, my brother seemed quite pleased to see him but never went to visit him off his own back afterwards. His choice, I kept up the contact.
Bear in mind my Grandad never did anything wrong to my Mum or brother, it was my Dad who walked out, and as a result our contact with the rest of my Dad's family suffered.
My Dad eventually fell out with my Grandad, along with the rest of his family. He's just like that.
When I told my Mum on Monday night that my Grandad was seriously ill, she just went "Oh" and proceeded to tell me that she'd just ironed 3 duvet covers.
She took great delight in telling me on the phone just now that she'd told my brother my Grandad was very poorly in hospital and that he didn't seem interested.
I said well actually, I am upset, and my Grandad never did anything wrong to my brother and his reaction to the news is nothing to do with me, I don't want to know, I was simply passing on a message.
I accept that my Mum probably doesn't have any sentiments towards my Grandad, that's fair enough. However, a little tact, knowing full well I am upset, would go a long way.
(This is the same mother who never phones me but gets the arse if I don't phone her, has been to mine and DP's house twice since I moved in in January even though we live less than a mile away from her, yet I go to hers every weekend, shows no interest in my first pregnancy and no interest in even getting to know DP even though we've been together for ages. The same mother who visited two whole times when I lived in London for 12 years.)
It's almost as if they are saying they are glad he's dying because he's related to my Dad and that makes him a bad person.
Yes, she's still bitter about my Dad, but I think 29 years is an awfully long time to be holding such bitterness inside you. Must do something really nasty to your insides.
And I wonder, why do I bother?