yes, my grandfather IS dead. the first emotion i felt after i learned this was shock. i didn’t believe it. then i felt happiness. joy, even. i sang and i did a dance. it was good news. it is good news.
he hurt me so bad. he tortured me. he raped me. he abused me. and now he’s dead. dead forever. he ain’t never coming back. i’m never going to see him again on this earth. and i can be absolutely certain that he isn’t hurting anyone else, and never will again.
not only did he do all of that to me, but he did all of that, but more so, to my biological mother, aunt and uncles. how my biological mother hurt me is so very directly connected to what he did to her. and he didn’t only hurt his own children. he did the same to my first and second cousings, and likely any number of other children.
it feels good knowing he’s dead. it helps a little bit, actually. a part of me that was still scared of him can let go knowing that he’ll never harm and brutalize me or anyone else again.
there is a part of me that is sad. i expect that in many ways it was a relief to him. he was a brutal sadist as an adult, but as on old man he was frail and scared and had a tenuous relationship with reality and sanity. his life was mostly misery, i think. and he was a victim of the cult, too. he was a little boy once. a little boy who was tortured, raped and abused until he couldn’t take it anymore, gave up and became an obedient cult member.
all of that’s true, but i’m still glad he’s dead.