It's okay, Y! The only way to find things out is through dialog, I believe. Sometimes what you find out can take you aback, but no one should shy away from the process because of that.

I also believe that a good chunk of anyone's recovery effort has to be achieved largely through his or her own steam, though there have been times when I have had to depend almost completely on other people. That right there is one of the things I have had to accept about myself. Lately, though, I have been much more able to give aid to others, so I'm glad about that.

I saw her and my grandfather at least as often as every summer and Christmas growing up, for several weeks at a time, and she was generally a major presence in our lives, always offering her unsolicited opinion on things. My sister's partner was the only one who ever stood up to her. It was quite gratifying to hear about it. I wish I had been there.

If I find a place that smells like the basement of my grandparents' house, it takes me back. My wife's aunt and uncle's front hallway in Boston smelled exactly like it. Uncanny. And there's a park not far from here where the field smells just like the fields around my grandparents' farm. It's a really powerful trigger.

There is definitely depression in my family, and just a general inability to identify, acknowledge, or discuss emotional states and interpersonal conflicts. I am s-l-o-w-l-y starting to be able to talk about these things with one of my sisters. Very late in the game, but I'll take what I can get.

My grandmother was definitely all there, very hardworking and capable, managing the home front while my grandfather was out canvassing the countryside selling tractors and things. However, she was utterly incapable of expressing what she was feeling in any sort of mature way. Her frustrations came out as sarcasm or just general condemnations of the state of things, and a lot of sniffing. She had absolutely no clue what to do with a sensitive kid like me. She had no words of encouragement to offer. I think she must have thought I wouldn't have lasted 10 minutes in the world she grew up in. Maybe she had a hard time believing that someone as strong as her could be related to someone as weak and lazy as me. Maybe she was just afraid for me.

On the other hand, she may also have been quite insecure. I could be pretty sarcastic, too, and she may have been afraid to talk about what she was actually feeling for fear of ridicule. I was also the city slicker and she was the country bumpkin. That dynamic got more pronounced as I got older.

I think the only time I remember her opening up was when my grandfather was dying of Parkinson's. Finally, under great duress, she did tell my mom that, yes, she was afraid.

Not the greatest situation, but it is what it is. I have to find a way to move on, forgive her, forgive myself, etc. A little progress every day, right?

Very glad to be yours, too, Y! All the best to you. HS