Regret

In the quiet corners of my heart, I hold a profound regret for the way your days waned, shrouded in a somber veil of solitude and sorrow. My soul aches with the weight of knowing I allowed fear to cloud my perception of you . The bitterness that settled in your soul, potent enough to fracture a thirty-year union, remains an enigma to me. In her own right, she endured more than one person should bear - offenses, mistreatment, and misjudgments - actions that cut deeper than any blade. People around you, grew weary of the suffering inflicted by your bitterness. It drove your own flesh and blood away, sowing seeds of disdain, leaving you isolated.

Strangely, you were never bitter towards us, your grandchildren. You always treated us with kindness, never wronged us. You lavished us with care, with treats and affection. . At the time, I couldn't fathom why you displayed such a dual nature. For a while, I believed it was the alcohol that brought out your bitterness, and perhaps that's why I've kept it at arm's length. Another part of me thought that alcohol was merely an excuse for you to reveal your true self. Regardless, I should never have been afraid of you. You were always kind to me. . I regret allowing the whispers of the elders around me to cloud my judgment of you, leading me to treat you as if you were a monster.

I still recall the day I was at your house after school, waiting for my bus. You prepared a meal, a simple yet profound gesture of love. I hesitated, and gently turned it away. You said, "Why are you afraid to eat it? It's good. Do you want me to taste it first? I often wonder how you felt that day, as I treated you like a stranger, a bearer of ill will. The weight of your wife's departure, the scorn of your children, the fear of your grandchildren - these must have been heavy burdens for you to bear.

In the end, I believe these burdens ultimately led to your passing. You were meticulous in your work, always careful. How, then, did that tragic accident come to pass? Why did you not take the precautions, as you always did? I surmise that you no longer saw the purpose in such caution, for a life steeped in melancholy and isolation held little value. That's why you met your end that day, and died electrocuted.

I will always carry the weight of this regret, of intermingling things that weren't mine to bear, matters that were between you, your wife, and your children