The text read “Any chance you will reconsider speaking on the family’s behalf at your grandfather’s funeral?”…love mom.

My grandfather died in December and the memorial services are this month. My grandfather and I were never close. Not to say that I didn’t spend a lot of time with him growing up, we just weren’t close. He was always very clear that I was a source of disappointment to him starting with conception. My grandfather hated my father and never let an opportunity go by without reminding me that everything he deemed bad in me I inherited my father. My choices were always foolish in his mind. Moving to Europe was foolish and disrespectful to this country, divorcing my wife was stupid because she was so great and I would never find someone as good, starting my own business was an attempt to not have to hold down a job. He was a never ending wealth of stupid and hurtful comments. But I kept coming back for more.

In my 20’s I could do whatever I wanted and I prided myself on not taking shit from anyone. However every year I drove to Arizona and visited my grandparents. I bit my tongue and focused on building a relationship with them and to a certain extent I succeeded. I avoided certain topics and ignored the “N” word and “fagot” every time he said it. I played along because I desperately wanted their approval. Believe it or not I wanted my grandfather to be proud of me.

By the time I was 26 I was in a relationship and running my business. I advertised that my company was gay owned and operated and I was years beyond pretending I was anything but who I was. Except around my grandparents. My mother came to visit and we drove out to Arizona to see my grandparents. This visit felt different. It felt as if my grandfather could speak of nothing else, he was obsessed with the “fagots” and how they were this or that. I felt like a fraud, how could I sit here and ignore this when in my real life I would have annihilated this moronic blowhole. So with careful consideration I sat them down and told them I was gay. I didn’t ask for their support or acceptance just their respect when around me. “I thought it was only fair that you have this information so you could think before you speak when you are around me.” He looked at the floor and then to my mom and said. “Billy you are ours and we love you.” We sat down to dinner and my grandmother asked “this man your with, he’s not colored is he?” and my grandfather slammed his fist on the table queuing the end of the conversation.

So I went home and believed that a miracle had happened. They actually accept me and we don’t have to play pretend anymore. I think it took me almost 6 months before I realized I had been disowned. The birthday card never arrived, then Thanksgiving came and when I called to arrange my annual trip to their house for Thanksgiving, they ignored me. No Christmas card etc. A few years went by and it was clear that I no longer existed to them. I was hurt but chalked it up to a casualty of being honest with who you are, not everyone will like it.

The rift between my grandparents and I bled into my relationship with my mother. We fought about it like crazy and it brought up all kinds of history that we both thought had been buried. Why aren’t you standing up for me? Why didn’t you stand up for me when I was kid? Suddenly I was furious with her. We didn’t speak for 6 months. It was awful.

Last year I received a card from my grandparents telling me that my mother wasn’t speaking to them because she felt that they did not accept me and they wanted me to know that they loved me even though they didn’t agree with my lifestyle. I cried. Then I wrote them a letter and explained to them that we a simply different and that’s ok. I said I loved them and decided we had resolved the issue as best as we could.

A few days after Thanksgiving this past year I was in Arizona standing at his hospital bedside. I found myself alone with him and I was frozen. He was in an induced coma and this could be the last time I would see him alive. I reached for his hand then pulled away; I was fighting to connect and desperately wanted to feel what I thought I should feel. I told him I loved him and walked out of the room.

The funeral takes place in a couple weeks in Phoenix. When my mother first asked me to speak I said I would because I knew it was important to her. I sat down and stared at a blank screen for hours trying to come up with something to say that felt organic and true yet still positive. I felt like a fraud. I wasn’t going to miss him and I couldn’t think of one funny story or a bonding moment that I shared with him. The more I labored over this thing the more I started feeling resentful. Why am I doing this? He doesn’t deserve this from me.

I drank a bottle of wine and then called my mother and told her I wasn’t going to do it. I explained that I was struggling with it and that I didn’t want to get up there in front of our whole family and all of my grandfather’s friends and lie. I would go to the funeral and sit silent and stand beside her and then it was over. There was a part of me that felt like everything about me and my love of words and my need to be expressive were all things that he hated and insulted me for. I thought of being a kid and running to the bathroom to cry into the towels every time we visited them. He was cruel and I wouldn’t betray that kid by honoring my grandfather with my words.

My mother was disappointed but she understood. It came up a couple more times but she knew not to push. Then this morning the text message arrived. I hate not doing what my mother wants me to do which is why I always struggle when she pushes. I want to do whatever I can to make this funeral easier for her and I promise that I have put a lot of thought into my decision. But now…. I find myself reconsidering.