February 21st 2024.
When my grandfather passed away in 1987, it was a difficult time for our family. But it wasn't until his will was read that things started to make sense. I remember my mum giving me a big smile and bringing over a fruitcake to the table. "Do you fancy a slice?" she asked. "Grandma made it specially for us to bring home." I couldn't help but grin and nod, excited by the idea of a sweet treat. However, as my dad cut a piece of cake, I noticed some red and blue bits of plastic among the juicy raisins and currents. "Are those... tablets?" I asked, puzzled. My parents locked eyes and without saying a word, my mum picked up the cake and threw it in the bin.
At the time, I was just a child and didn't quite understand what was happening. It was only later that I discovered my grandma's true intentions - to harm us. This was just the first time, but unfortunately, it wouldn't be the last. My maternal grandma was always a strange woman and to say she wasn't very nice would be an understatement.
We could never figure out why my grandad - a nice and unassuming man - had married her. Even he couldn't give an answer when my mum would ask him. He had been married before and already had a son, but his first wife passed away. I think he was vulnerable in his grief and maybe needed someone to help out with his son and around the house. Whatever the reason, they tied the knot and went on to have my mother.
But when my mum met my dad, my grandmother hated him simply because of his skin color. Being French Moroccan, his skin was brown and that was enough for my grandma to despise him. She refused to speak to him whenever we went to visit and I remember one time, she even went as far as calling him a racial slur. My dad confronted her, asking if she even knew what that word meant, but she just sniffed and turned away. My dad would brush it off, saying she was just an ignorant woman who didn't know any better. But my mum would get upset, hating to see her own mother treat the man she loved so badly. And it wasn't just my dad, she didn't like me either just because my skin was dark. She would always give me a sly pinch when picking me up to sit me on the kitchen bench. When my bruises started to become noticeable, my grandad started taking me out to his garage. I thought he was just showing me what he was working on, but now I realize it was his way - and my parents' way - of keeping me away from my grandma.
I was only eight years old when she sent us home with the fruitcake. It wasn't until later that we found out the red and blue tablets were my grandfather's heart and blood pressure medication. There were about forty of them in there, but thankfully, they hadn't melted into the mixture. I shudder to think what would have happened if they had. My parents didn't say anything to her, but when we visited a few days later, my grandma was shocked to see us alive and well. We laughed about it on the way home, but in reality, it wasn't a funny situation at all.
Eventually, my grandfather realized his mistake and left her in 1980. But it wasn't long after that, when she was living alone, that she started causing problems. She would ask my dad to fix things around the house, but he noticed that there were screws missing or things had been tampered with. It was clear that she was trying to cause harm. From then on, we started to cut down on contact with her and my mum only saw her when she really had to.
When my grandfather's will was read, everything finally made sense. To everyone's surprise, I was his sole beneficiary instead of my grandma. She was furious and tried to waste the money by moving houses every year for six years. It was ridiculous, and my mum was outraged. In 1994, she finally moved into a care home - a move she was angry about. On one occasion, she even tried to push my mum under a bus while they were walking together. Thankfully, my mum was wearing flat shoes and the ground wasn't slippery. But it was a scary moment.
When my grandma passed away in 1997, I didn't attend her funeral. My parents only went because they didn't want the priest to stand alone. As we were clearing out her room at the care home, we found some of my grandad's old glass syringes filled with insulin. We have no idea what she was planning to do with them, but it sent chills down my spine. She was a dangerous woman who should have been feared in life, and certainly isn't missed in death.
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