I believe that people do what they think is best... love the best they can.
I didn't have a spectacular relationship with my grandma. She didn't tech me to sew. Or cook, or garden. We didn't take nature walks, didn't play dress up. At most, she'd hand me a discarded pile of used copy paper and a tin box of blunt crayons.
She did share her secret stash of chocolate chip ice milk, still perfectly squared in a specially-designed tupperwear ice cream container.
And she did have the priest re-bless me every time I stepped foot in her Catholic Church.
My grandma passed away last week, and we buried her on Tuesday. It's been a roller coast of emotions: happy she lived a long life able to watch her nine children and 21 grandchildren grow; heartbroken that she (and I) lost my mom at such a very young age (I was four, my mom 28); sad to be reminded, in pictures, of what an awesome person my grandfather was.
And I'm... mourning. Mourning what was, what could have been; how it all could have played out so drastically different. And I'm not dumb, I know looking at me was painful - oh, so painful - for her, to see her daughter in me and not have her around. No parent should ever experience the loss of a child.
Maybe. How I've hung so many of my life experiences and broken relationships on that little wishful word.
Despite how much I wish everything could have been different, I'm grateful for the time I got to spend with my grandma in this short, short lifetime.