I've always detested the saying "Blood is thicker than water." In my life, it's far from true. January 17, 2018, my paternal grandfather Floyd Needles died. Tomorrow is his funeral. I've been debating whether or not to go. At fourteen Floyd gave me fifty dollars and told me he never wanted to see me again. I took him at his word. Now that he's dead, do I act like I actually know the man? He collected playboys and penthouses. He smoked cigars, drank a glass of whiskey or something like it every night and he made good shakes, that's the summation of my knowledge. I understand why he wanted me to "get lost." I don't blame him for it. It makes sense. When I pressed charges on someone he loved, he couldn't believe the person capable. Still going to his funeral feels out of place. It would be nice to go and hear stories of who he was, learn new things about him, but on the same note, I will be alone there. It will be two hours that feel...
Do your best, take it day by day.