I thought that if one day, if my paternal grandfather passed I wouldn't even shed a tear because I knew what he had done. I only remembered the bad things he had done to my grandmother and father.

It never occurred to me that it was my dad and grandma's fight with my granddad. Not mine. I ignored all the advices my mum had given me - " It's the adult's problem. Not yours dont concern yourself with it. He's still your grandfather and he loves you "

I witnessed their fights as it occurred when I was about 11? I think. So every event is etched clearly at the back of my mind. It made such a big impact, an impact so big that I forgotten how nice he has been to me. How dearly he held us all- all his grandchildren. Yet, influenced by the nothings we had isolated him.

I didn't really ignore him. I just didn't bother to make effort to communicate with him. I still went on reunion dinners with him and all but I didn't go to spend time with him. I go because of courtesy. I am raised in a family where I do things based on courtesy first. Manners comes first and the rest later.

I only just learned that, among all grandchildren, he had loved me the most. Maybe because I'm the family's eldest grandchild.

During prayers I had time to myself and I sat there and sort of did some memory flashback. He really did show signs that he loved me ( and my sister and the rest of my cousins ) although he hated my father.

At my times of need, when my father was busy elsewhere, he took the role of my dad for awhile. I remember during the funeral of my biological mother, while my dad was busy with all the funeral shenanigans , he was there with my sister and I. Since my grandmother couldn't drive, he took us out. And I remember too that once I had some sort of allergic reaction to god knows what, he took me to the pharmacy. He was proud of me too. Whenever I said that I had scored in exams, he was genuinely happy.

So many incidents and I choose to remember the bad ones. So much love given and I choose to repay with hatred.

I thought that I didn't love him. I thought.

It turned out that I had love burried after all- underneath all the hatred.

He may have been a bad husband and a bad father, but he was a good grandfather. I was the bad granddaughter.

Now I finally understand this sentence
: Dead people receive more flowers than the living because regret is stronger than gratitude - Anne Frank


I don't think only the dead will have a flashback on their life. The living do to. They recall the good things. Only the good. In that moment, no hatred. My grandmother, my father never did show hatred on that day. They didn't cry but it was clearly written that they were in grief. Unexpected grief.

It may be too late to realize but I do, love my grandfather.

Bury hatred with love. Not bury love with hatred.