Secrets & Lies & Personal Issues
have you ever knew soemthing you weren't supposed to, because somone, in a moment of rage, spilled it?
I do.
I lost my grand-mother (dad's mother) when I was around 5 and an half. At the time, I didn't think too much of it. I didn't know she was sick, but, c'mon, I was five. Who talks about this sort of things with a five years old (unless, of course, we're talking about Valeria Richards, smartest kid alive of themarvel Universe...).
Besides, she missed one leg because I knew she had been through soemthing with her bones. I've never asked. People didn't talk about it with me. I assumed she got cancer when she was younger and then, years later, it come back and killed her. I didn't asked. People never told me about it. It's just how things are around here, all botlled up and unshared.
But, nine yeras ago, my grand-father (mom's father) got turbecolosis. Not the pulmonar type, mind you, but he still got it. We got tested in case we'd been the one pasing it to him, and, although not infective, it come out my father had it, dormient.
Nothing weird about it, right? Right. Only, I 0verheard a chat he was having about how both he, one of his younger sister and his mother got it from a sick uncle. And how my grand-mother was hit in the bones, losing her leg in the process.So, no cancer. But I still kept it quiet, bacause it's how things are around here, all bottled up and unshared. Untill...
Untill, couple of years ago, after an extremely enraged argument with my father, mum, while trying to calm down while talking with me, let it slipt soemthing I'm quite I wasn't supposed to find out.
She did of cirrhosis of the liver, because she was an alcoholic, and because of the alcohol, she even robbed a family she was working for, ending up in jail. (My mother found out about it the day of her funeral; she didn't care, she still doesn't, because, she says, it's with my afther she fell in love with, and he is one of the most honest people she has ever met, there are a good cahnce, though, that her parents knew, hence the "hate", not so hidden, they've always felt for my him.)
And I'm walking on eggshells here, because, well, I can't say I know when I hear my father talking about her, and I still can't thin that the nice lady who gave me my first bike was such a person... or, better yet, so different from the one I met when I was a kid.
But that's beyond the point. The point is I'm almost 30, and here I am, in a famly where thingsa r eall bottled up and unshared.