My grandfather died tonight. I can't say as I'm too torn up about it. If ever there was an example of how being an a*****e makes for a pathetic ending, it would be him. He treated most of the people in his life like s**t, like expendable pawns, like lower life forms. He beat his wife, he beat his children, he abandoned his wife and children. He was self-righteous and unbearable. And he lived longer than the other three of my grandparents. It seems so unfair sometimes, that the assholes live the longest.
I'd have traded him for my Gramma a dozen times over. She was the only one of the four that gave a hoot or a holler about us three. She was a kind lady, very classy and very much loved us. I still miss her to this day. It's been over twelve years at this point and I still remember the way she looked and how her voice sounded and all those little things that you remember when you love someone.
But I find myself unable to even begin to care about the man that died tonight.
I'll attend his funeral because he's my grandfather. He is responsible for half the genes that make up my own father. That's the only reason I will give him that respect. He's not done a damn thing, besides father children, in this life to garner respect or love.
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