I discovered my grandfather was a murdering, raping psychopath when I was about fifteen. The stories I continue to uncover in recent years get worse and worse and worse. Threatening to bury relatives alive if they told anyone what he was doing; molesting toddlers; two of our cousins disappeared off the face of the earth at this time, way before I was born, but no evidence ever came to light.
My grandmother might be even worse. She regularly made my mother -- barely ten years old -- get the two of them takeout in freezing weather without warm clothing in the dark while she got nothing. They would eat it in front of her and her brothers. She called my mother a liar for 20 years before admitting the truth about it all, it was fucking crazy. I'm not proud of it, but I was pretty cruel to my grandmother during this time (verbally). I just hated her for ignoring her daughter when she needed her most.
Do I wish I didn't know it all? In a way, yes, because it's inhuman cruelty, but I'm also really, really glad my mother had the guts to tell me so she could finally say goodbye to that part of her life; not live a lie just so I'd have grandparents.

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