death becomes her

This morning I received a phone call from my mother. She told me, "Grandma past away forty-five minutes ago." Even as I type this, I am still at a loss for words and how to explain what I am feeling. I have this recurring question: Do I feel sad because of her passing, or because of the idea that my grandmother has past away?

I have always felt that I was scorned by my grandmother. My early childhood memories are of her harboring disdain towards me as a child. Any little "inappropriate" action would incur such a wrathful punishment. Playing with a knife and fork at the table merits a slap across the face and a threat. Not washing the dishes "correctly" or any other action done "incorrectly" receives the harshest of criticisms. Her mantra was children should be seen, and not heard. Secretly, I enjoyed the fact that she lived in Scotland, and I lived in America.

Growing older has helped put my grandmother's actions into perspective for me. She lived at a time when Britain ruled the world, and there was a clear sense of what is right and wrong. Children obeyed parents without question, and parents provided discipline for their children. Unfortunately, I got to witness what a part of the discipline really means. Although I can rationalize and contextualize her actions and attitude, I am having difficulty reconciling my past memories with my new understanding. I always have, and perhaps always will when it comes to her.

Another chink in my armor that is my self-image.