AisKara's Thoughts

Grandad,

I’m writing this post a little bit differently than the ones I’ve written before. So far, I’ve written my thoughts as they come to me. The posts have been very personal, written to express my thoughts in a stream of consciousness, but I wanted to write this one to you directly. I need to share these thoughts with you, because I didn’t get to, and I won’t get to now.

The time since you were murdered has been hard. I still can’t believe that you’re gone, still can’t believe that I won’t ever get to hear your voice again, won’t ever get to feel the warmth of your love again.

You never were the most physically affectionate man. Even as a kid, I remember you giving us handshakes instead of hugs. I’m not sure why you didn’t like physical affection, but that doesn’t mean I ever doubted your love for a second. I felt your love for me every time you taught me something new, every time you told me your stories, in the affection in your voice every time we spoke on the phone.

I think that’s part of what makes it so hard that you’re gone. I know you had so much more love to give. That’s my first regret, is not having been able to take the time with you to hear more of your stories, to learn more from you, to spend more time with you. I remember one of the last times we spoke, dad called you because I was over at their house and you wanted to talk to me. Even though I was there for whatever celebration it was, I sat in their spare room and spoke with you for over an hour. I could hear everyone in the living room asking where I was, but I didn’t care, I just wanted to talk to you.

You told me about your dancing, you told me about your brother passing, we talked about the ancestry work that I had been doing for you. It was in conversations like that where I truly felt closest to you. You always loved dancing, I remember downloading belly dancing videos for you when I was younger so that you could teach yourself, and the members of your local Legion have told me that you would go dancing there every Friday night, rarely ever missing a week. I always loved to hear you talk about your dancing, I could always hear the life in your voice when we spoke about it. I think I got my passion for dance from you, and I think that I need to start putting more energy into that now that you’re gone, as a way to remember you.

My second regret also comes from that conversation, and that’s not finishing the work you had started on our genealogy. I remember the first time you spoke to me about your work on that. I was in Cégep, and you had asked me to go to the BaNQ to look for records for you. For years I tried to help you with your work on that, but I also made a lot of excuses. There was always something happening, always some reason I wasn’t making as much progress as either of us had hoped. In the end, I didn’t get you all of the information that you had hoped for, and I’m going to regret that for the rest of my life. You were so passionate about that project, you were so hopeful every time we spoke that I’d have some more news for you, and in the end I wasn’t able to deliver. I think that part of it may have been the fear that had I done it, we wouldn’t have anything to talk about anymore, but part of it was just laziness on my part, and neither of those are acceptable excuses. I robbed you of finishing something that meant the world to you, and it hurts so much that I’ll never get to share the joy of finishing that work with you. I truly hope that I can continue it, but it won’t be the same now that you’re not here with me.

My last regret is that I wasn’t strong enough to be there for you when Nana was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Dementia. It’ll be 10 years this year since we lost her, and I still don’t think I’ve gotten over her death, still don’t think I’ve forgiven myself for not spending more time with her before she died. Many of my happiest memories from childhood involve you and Nana. Your visits to our house, our visits to your house, listening to her stories, learning knots and carving from you in your workshop, having Christmas at your house, learning French from Nana when you used to come visit.

The truth is, her condition scared me. I don’t think I’d been scared of death until I saw what she was going through. To watch those horrible diseases claim someone so core to my being broke me in ways that I don’t think I even really understand. I still remember one of the last times she came to visit our house. She didn’t remember anyone else, but she remembered me, and we sat at our dining room table and spoke for hours. She told me stories, and I truly don’t know if they were nonsense or if they were true. However, I do remember the fear I felt when she started talking to her invisible friends as if they were in the room with us. The fear I felt as she, in full conviction, started talking about the person sitting on top of our fridge. I think it was that moment, the fear I felt then, that really made me unable to visit her in the home before she died. Yet, I still haven’t forgiven myself for not being stronger, for not being able to push my fears aside for her sake, for your sake, for our sakes.

Grandad, ultimately, I think that’s my biggest regret of all, is not being a stronger person. All my life, my regrets have boiled down to that. I didn’t transition sooner because I wasn’t strong enough to be able to. I didn’t visit Nana because I wasn’t strong enough to. I didn’t finish our Ancestry work because I wasn’t strong enough to. I didn’t visit you more because I wasn’t strong enough to. My whole life has been dictated by the things that I haven’t been strong enough to do, and I wish I knew how to get the strength and self confidence to do the things that I need to do.

Hell, even things like changing my personal style and starting to go to the gym, I don’t do because I feel too self conscious to do them, because I’m not strong enough to fight for my own happiness and what’s important to me.

I hope that someday I can be stronger. I hope I can be the confident person that you were. I think that’s the one thing that struck me since you were murdered, was just how beloved you really were by everyone. To hear their stories about how you would help anyone in town who needed it, to hear the stories about how integral you were to so many people’s lives, and how devastated they are now that you’re gone. It’s honestly been so inspiring to hear, and also so heartbreaking to hear how many people are truly mourning the loss of you. I could probably count on one hand the people who would miss me if I was gone, but you had a whole town who truly loved you.

It feels weird to say this in my 30s, but I hope that I can grow up to be even half the person that you were. I know you had many faults, but we all do. The important thing is that you never let those faults define you, and you lived your life on your terms and you made so many people’s lives better, mine included.

I’ve said it before and I’m not going to stop saying it anytime soon, I’m going to miss you so, so much. I truly hope that wherever you are, you’re at peace. You more than deserve the rest after the amazing life that you lived.