My grandfather passed away two days ago. I just found out this morning in an email from my father.

I am not upset at the passing of my grandfather. I didn't know him and he certainly didn't know me. In a crowd of two, I wouldn't have been able to pick him out. All through my life, we always wondered where he was living, and who he was married to now. My mom did her best to keep him updated on my life, sending him my grade school pictures and graduation announcements for high school, college, and grad school. I met him once, the summer before I went into the 6th grade, with his 2nd wife, I think. I don't remember much, except how uncomfortable it was to have to visit with someone I didn't know in our living room. Needless to say, he wasn't a big part of my life. He wasn't even a small part of my life.

No, what upsets me now is the pain my father is feeling. They always had a rocky relationship, which hit its biggest bump about 15 years ago and caused my father to change his name altogether and keep them from talking during all that time. About a year ago, my grandfather contacted my father, to let him know that he had terminal lung cancer and to make amends. It worked for a while. My dad was so happy to have his father back in his life, to have a relationship with him.

But you can't change your colors that late in life, and my grandfather soon went back to his old ways. His "ways" included deliberately misunderstanding others and their motivations, never giving them the benefit of the doubt, and giving full voice to his prejudices, regardless of the feelings of those around him. So, despite being terminally ill and married to a woman who wasn't in much better shape, my grandfather still managed to alienate his entire family. Again.

And now my father writes to me from the road as he drives to the funeral. I think during this last encounter, he was able to let go of a lot of the pain he'd carried around all his life from dealing with his father. He writes

No regrets for not loving him. No regrets for not pouring myself into that abyss. I wish you were here. I wish you were going with me. I wish someone was. However, sometimes we experience and intentionally experience a kind of hunger to get back to something. We cause or create the ordeal in order to experience it rather then shelter ourselves from it. I want to wish you were there and I will wish that for the entire trip... but you shouldn't be there. My IQ about myself will be higher when I get back. It is my greatest mystery and I will add a few points to that IQ in this next week.

When a life ends and there is no feeling of loss, there should be a question asked and someone must seek that answer. Standing before each other at a grave site is less of a tribute than trying to find the answer to that question. There are simple questions about life with even simpler answers but I need the understanding, not the answer. This is my chance. I am off tomorrow on my trip. Wish me discomfort and doubt and uncertainty. I need them but no shelter and no companion... no comfort and, good grief, no more healing. This is a time for destruction. I can build this back when I find that understanding.

thanks for listening and for not being there....

Regardless, I wish I was there with him. If only so that he could talk about all the stuff that's going on in his head.