Dear grandfather,

It would be harsh to say that you are undeserving of that title — cruel and very wrong of me — but to call you by your given name is another layer of disrespect that I do not want to partake in. It is overly familiar and exactly the kind of thing that our culture does not condone. But truly, to say your name is to steep it in contempt, to arouse feelings of antipathy and bitterness at the loss of this relationship that could have been. Grandfather, the one who had a hand in my existence but the one whose face I will never see. I should not care that I shall never meet you or know what you look like but I suppose I felt morally obligated to create resentment in my heart toward you. I shall never know who you are and you shall never know that I exist because you could not be bothered to stay.

I had always been aware that the grandfather I knew was not related to me by blood. It was no secret. Until he died, there was nothing more than passing curiosity about you. He and I had clashed, even as young as I was. I was very sensitive to the preferential treatment he showed my younger sister and felt keenly the weight of the unfair expectations that he had placed on my shoulders. Yet, he gave me a nickname that I carry to this day, one reserved only for family members. I was one of his frustrations, but I was also his precious flower. You should have named me, grandfather. That should have been your right, but you squandered it. Now, all I have are questions and what-ifs. What would you have called me? Would I have been the delight of your soul or the cross you had to bear? I have always been looking for love, grandfather, in the words that people say. I would like to think you would have given it to me, that love that I seek, but it would be foolish to assume that you would have or that you are capable of giving me what I need.

My grandmother always tells us that she would not know it was you if she passed you by on the street. How shocking that news was to me when I first heard it! How could she not know the face of the father of her daughter, the man she shared intimacy with? I do not know if she loved you but if she did, how could she forget the face of love? The idea seemed ridiculous at the time but as I have grown older and forgotten faces that I just met, I know how easy it is to wipe clean the memory of someone who appears to want to be forgotten. You would hardly exist in her mind if it were not for the physical reminder of your presence in her life, my mother, and her children.

You have met my older brother, the eldest of your daughter’s children. I do not know how long ago that was or if I was even born yet. We are many years apart, my brother and I, and have lived worlds apart too. We would have been strangers if not for the bond of blood that has brought us together on occasion. But he and I know about more than the other’s existence– I know that I can depend on him for help and protection and he knows my care for him as a younger sister. Though we may not meet often, we are familiar with each other because we function as family to each other. I do not know if he is family to you or you to him, nor if he remembers your appearance and mannerisms. What I do know is that he had the opportunity to meet the grandfather we shared. I want to be enraged that I never had the chance. I want to be angry that it was taken away from me before I even knew it was there. I want to be upset that he got to meet you face-to-face and I did not, but what use is this anger? What can it accomplish? It does nothing for my soul and it will not bring me before you or you before me. For all I know, you may not even be alive, and I would then be stuck with the question of who you were with no way to receive the answers.

I sometimes wondered if I have ever passed you by, grandfather, without knowing it was you. If I had known, would I have been surprised? Happy? Sad? Angry? Overjoyed? Confused? Disdainful? Would I have felt nothing? I truly cannot say. I do not want to imagine anymore for it would lead to nowhere productive. It is safer, I think, to live in complete oblivion than to agonize over the mysteries that life leaves unsolved. Apart from my mother, you are one of my biggest mysteries, and I suppose it does not matter if the enigma of who you are is solved. The fact remains that you will forever be unaware of my existence while I think about yours. It is time to put you to rest in my heart.

Signed, Your granddaughter.