Misplaced Guilt

I have a terrible memory when it comes to anything having to do with my childhood. In fact, I don't trust my memory for anything before, say, 1990. It's bordering on pathological; I'm pretty sure that I could be the sole subject of a dissertation for a doctoral candidate in psychiatry.

I tell you this because I had a conversation with my grandmother the other day when she came to visit me. I'm not sure how we got on the subject - though I'm pretty sure it started when she began (rightly) complaining about the way Grampa's been treating her lately. We talked about his recent behavior, then the subject moved to his sister who, it seems, is just as much a control freak as her brother. The thing about Aunt B, though, is that she looks EXACTLY like her mother. Exactly. It's almost creepy. This fact was commented upon by me, which caused Gramma to reminisce about the apparently terrible relationship she had with her mother-in-law, hereafter known as GG. Gramma was "never good enough" for GG's son, she was constantly dissed and berated - publicly and privately. Much crap was presented by GG to Gramma at Christmas time; the litany of demeaning and aggressive acts perpetrated against this kind, lovely woman was shocking to me.

I do not have words sufficient to describe my affection, admiration and adoration for my grandmother. The adjectives "kind," "funny," "sweet," and "generous" do not even begin to scratch the surface of the soul that resides in this woman. She has accepted me without reservation and does not qualify our relationship to others when she introduces me as her granddaughter. She gives freely of her love and affection and I know, without a moment's hesitation, that she would do anything for me if I needed her.

The part about all this that has caused my brain to stew is that I remember GG fondly. I was, essentially, a homeless child when I first entered GG's gravitational pull. Utterly rejected by my own family, I was warmly and completely accepted by this warm mass of a woman with deep wrinkles who smelled faintly of talcum and rose water. She assured me, on no uncertain terms, that I was not worthless, and that I had a home in her family. After her death, I continued to feel her presence - I'm certain that she visits me on a fairly regular basis, and these visitations comfort me. At least, they did until I learned of the hideous way that she treated Gramma.

Now I'm feeling a deep distrust of my memory of GG. My profound love for Gramma in the face of this new information has triggered a defensive response that I'm not sure how to deal with. On the one hand, I recognize that my relationship with GG was very different than Gramma's, and that there's nothing essentially wrong with honoring that. At the same time, however, I wonder two things: one, am I remembering my perceptions accurately knowing, as I do, my notorious tendency to make memories up? Two, if I am remembering correctly, was that relationship ever really valid, given that GG was so horrid to Gramma? I mean, can someone be abusive to someone and kind and loving to someone else? I honestly don't know the answer to that question.

So, the point of all this rambling is that I feel guilty for remembering kindly the woman who caused Gramma so much pain and grief. I know what it is to be berated and rejected, and it bothers me deeply to think that I essentially revere the memory of a woman who abused someone that means more to me than I can adequately express. I'm not sure what to do about that. Any suggestions?