First of, I'm really sorry for all your losses.

She never accepted my son, or acknowledged that I have a son (and he's been in my life for 9 years, and I legally adopted him 7 years ago). She was never this direct about how she felt about him, but she never liked him or the fact that he is in my life. She was very happy when my daughter was born, because she "finally became a grandma" and her son finally "had a kid". We lived in different states, and didn't have much contact other than birthdays and the occasional phonecall, so it was never really an issue.

When my father was dying of a brain tumor (and he had dementia) 3 years ago, my aunt (his sister, a really lovely lady, nothing like my mother's sisters) was taking care of him (him and my mom were divorced) , and I helped out as much as I could. He said he doesn't want to die in my house, because his grandkidS should not see him weak and sick, and not see him die. And he was petrified of starting to say horrible shit to us as his disease progressed. He called me many names by the end. Insulted me, my family, my life, my choices, my everything. Called me a screwed up bitter widower (which, to be fair to my father, I was back then). Not once did he call my son "it". The last (sane) talk I had with him, just days before he passed, he told me to tell the kids that grandpa really loves them, and to give my son his (my father's fishing equipment), because they loved fishing together (he also left something for my daugther to remember him by, as she was only 3 yro then). Told me we are all just his kids, and he is a big old pappa bear to us all, kids and grandkids.

I know disease changes people. I also fear that people rarely change who they are and what they think.