My dad forbade us from meeting our grandmother, dismissing her as “dead” whenever I asked. Mom stayed silent, her eyes hinting at unspoken pain. I assumed my grandmother was awful—why else would Dad cut her off?
After nursing school, I started working at a hospital. One day, a patient’s name—my own last name—stopped me cold. It was her. My grandmother. Nervous, I entered her room, expecting a monster. Instead, I found a frail woman with kind eyes, surprised yet relieved to see me.
Through tears, she revealed the truth: a misunderstanding drove a wedge between her and Dad. She had tried to protect him from someone who hurt their family, but he saw it as betrayal. Choosing silence, she hoped time would mend things.
My heart broke. The woman Dad erased wasn’t cruel—she was selfless, misunderstood. I vowed to help her heal, physically and emotionally, and to one day help Dad understand the truth. I wanted our family to find peace after years of silence and pain.
