Thanks. The scars are still there, but things are getting better.

The best thing to come out of my dad’s death was me becoming closer to his sisters. They’re mostly lovely. Like, they have blind spots, but they’re minor and sometimes adorable. (Example: one of them kept talking about her daughter and her daughter’s roommate. After a couple months of this, I asked directly “are they dating?” Yes, yes they were. They’re now married. My aunt was just awkward about saying her daughter was dating a woman because she lived through times when that could have been a fight, and I think it was habit.)

My brother was adopted and my grandmother was similarly biased against him, asking my mom if we got any money from the state for taking care of him. Like, no, he’s her son! There wasn’t even the excuse of racism–my brother is blond-haired and blue-eyed. He just wasn’t her blood.

Eventually she started liking him as dementia kicked in and she forget his origin. Still messed him up.

I’m glad your nephew didn’t have to deal with her for all that long, though it sounds like it was already long enough.

Mom always thought she was a good person and not racist. The cracks started to show when she’d express options on Facebook, like that sure, black people go to jail for much longer that white people for the same crimes, but it’s their fault for being criminals.

Lots of little things like that. I started therapy in my late 20s for anger management. A couple months in, my parents and brother came from out of state to visit. It was a Bad Time. My mom and brother kept needling me constantly. They mocked my opinions. They told me I was wrong about local facts. They asked a local for directions then mocked him for having a Boston accent. In Boston.

The several-day visit ended with me driving them back to their hotel room and my mom telling me the whole trip had been a waste, we were probably the sort of family that should only see each other at funerals, preferably hers.

Poor dad was hard of hearing, so missed a lot of what was said. He apologized for any part he played in it.

A few years later in December 2020, my mom brought COVID home from what she described as a mandatory work Christmas breakfast potluck. My dad caught it from her and spent a month in hospital. I don’t know how mandatory that potluck could have been, tbh–she retired a few months later after my dad died. She was all shocked Pikachu that my dad, who was known to be immunocompromised, could die from COVID.

She also lamented to me, the week before he died, that dating as a widow sucks. Either you date too soon and everyone thinks it’s inappropriate OR you don’t and everyone thinks you’re sad. (Not saying she shouldn’t have thought ahead to her widowhood, but don’t say these things to your kid.)

Anyways, she sucks and is blocked on my phone. She could email if she cared. My dad was the Good Parent and he had his warts, but he at least tried to relate to me and explain things instead of just assuming I could read minds.