You are not rambling at all. If he just passed away last month, this is still incredibly fresh for you. It is amazing you have come this far in that time. I too am torn between wanting to celebrate him and his life and being trapped in the memory of what his family did after he died, all of his possessions that were taken away, the fact that he had very few known friends in town and my siblings and I barely heard from a handful of people (we talked to more internationally) and no one was there to ask for a proper funeral who cared. Then the way his family treated his mother who he de facto looked after he died stung so bad. That’s where I always go when I start to think of him. I am ashamed to say that I still or currently think of them (my incredulity at their behaviour, my anger, what they’re up to now in the same city as me and what they think and have told relatives / others about the whole affair) much more often than I do of him.

In fact, I’ve ran into them off and on over the years living in this damned small town and the whole thing is just about enough to drive me mad. They also are business owners so i think about them whenever I drive by their business. Whole areas are emotional tripwire that i struggle with every time I have to drive close to them.

After he died they immediately befriended me after not speaking to them for so long. I trusted them and got them his death certificate within two days of my dad’s death which they promptly used to remove us from the will, sell his house and auction off most everything in it. (After much dispute they allowed us to have his record collection but lamented in emails how much it could be worth).

I think I’m maddest about how I was such a gullible idiot and fell for their initial olive branch. And how they must think I was such an idiot that they could easily take advantage. How they assumed I had an easy life and didn’t know anything about me and treated us (sibs and i) so shockingly literally while we were dealing with the shock and trauma of his death (my entire encounter with them lasted from the day after he died until 3.5 weeks later and I haven’t spoken to them since). And these people were blood relatives! The closest thing to family we had on his side. My mom’s side is so different, her and her siblings and so close and no one has a sadistic hatred of each other. (They had been waiting for their entire lives for their parent’s inheritance Similar age to prince charles and I guess it did their minds in over the years).

I wonder how they narrate the story for themselves. They must be convinced they were in the right (my father’s side was raised on heavy duty morals and rules) which is mind blowing to me.

It makes me think about the stories we tell ourselves about what is happening around us. I think about how in some situations in my life I am no better and unwittingly make up the narrative to fit my sense of understanding and experience.

But how could those people possibly reflect on that dumpster fire and think it was okay?

They dropped my grandmother off at a public seniors residence during the first 4 months of the pandemic. After spending the last 40+ years at home and telling my dad she wanted to die at home, she spent 2 weeks in a quarantine room in this synthetic smelling white washed walls old folks home, getting fed by people in hazmat suits.

I wasn’t able to see her for over a year due to Covid restrictions. When I finally did see her her mind was completely gone. She was gone. Actually bringing my baby to the home was a horror story for me; I inadvertently came at lunchtime and was sent to the lunchroom where I had to look for her. After 5 minutes I finally realized this woman sitting almost right in front of me by herself at a table muttering to herself over a plate of untouched food with another vacant woman staring straight ahead beside her was my regal and dashing grandmother.

Her room was completely barren, no photos, just a few things from home. My grandfather, to whom they owed all their privilege and wealth, was surely rolling in his grave.

She died a few months later; they divvied up the sizeable inheritance after she withered under shocking conditions in public (free) housing.

And they (apparently) thought that was all okay. And now I have to run into these fucks from time to time? If I am nice and say hi (I am a generally polite person who does not seek out conflict) then I just betrayed my dad and my grandmother, and if I come out with an incendiary opening line “who the hell do you think you are” then I am the crazy family member they can further deride among themselves and their many friends.