No regrets

I missed the four year anniversary of my grandfather's death this year. I think about him regularly, but somehow the anniversary just slipped right through my fingers without me even realizing it.

My mother was born in Italy. She's an only child so when she moved to the States at 22 she left absolutely everything behind. I was lucky. I was privileged enough to be able to see my family in Italy relatively frequently, usually once a year or so. My grandfather was the typical doting grandfather, loving on his only grandchild every single opportunity he had.

But the older I got, the more I resented having half of my family located halfway around the globe. My summers were never mine. Every weekend I had to be home to talk to them on the phone. I didn't get to sleep in or have Saturday night sleepovers because the grandparents would be calling Sunday morning and I had to be there to talk with them. My entire childhood was constantly recorded on video tape so they could see me grow up too. When you grow up like that, with parents who live behind the camera and limitations your child-brain associates as a negative of your family specifically, you get bitter. And unfortunately, you get bitter specifically toward those you blame for stealing your time. You get selfish.

But he never once blamed me for that resentment. He understood it. He always welcomed me with open arms, loved me more than life itself no matter what. After I graduated high school I started to feel like I should give him more of a chance but I was torn between wanting to start over and feeling like too much time had passed to do so.

We surprised my grandparents with a visit for Christmas in 2017. That goodbye hug was the tightest one he ever gave me. It was also the last one he ever gave me. It's almost like he knew something would happen. He died unexpectedly about two months later. We got that call that we needed to come, quickly, at 2am and he lasted two days. But he died just hours before landed.

Italy doesn't do funerals like we do. And because he died so suddenly and unexpectedly, we weren't expecting many to show up to the funeral. But everyone was there. And I mean everyone. It felt like the whole town and then some showed up. People my mom hadn't seen since childhood. Owners of businesses my family hadn't frequented in years. Extended family we hadn't seen in years. All the neighbors. Members of the choir he was in 30+ years ago. Members of his heart association. All of them carved time out of their day for him one last time. And every single person had nothing but good memories of him, happy and funny stories to share. Half of them expressing shock because they had just seen him the morning of his accident, healthy as always going through his same old morning routines. He'd been fine right up until the last minute. He was social, loving, accepting, friendly, a joy to be around. And I missed a whole lifetime of it.

I carry that guilt with me every day. I regret not letting this amazing man have a better relationship with his one and only grandchild. I regret not getting to know him, not hearing his stories, not learning about his life and his hardships. I have always been one of those people who lived by the golden rule of "there's always tomorrow". But there isn't always a tomorrow. And unfortunately I learned that the hard way.

When they ask me what I regret most, it will forever be letting my selfishness and childish attitude hurt another human I love dearly. He may have spoken highly of me to anyone within a five mile radius who would listen, but I know my inaction and lack of involvement hurt him and it kills me that I never righted that wrong.

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