My Grandpa, Popfly

     He's a strange fellow. When I was little I thought he was the most clever soul on earth. He would always use cryptic little sayings as if to catch his grandchildren in their own confused contradictions. He would speak in riddles, always leaving a trail for us to figure out. He used to be a mystery to me, but in a way that filled my child's-mind with wonder and admiration.
      A year and a half ago, my 70-year old Popfly was getting divorced from Grandma Jane. I only learned the truth that summer, something that my parents had tried to keep from my not-yet-jaded knowlege. He had cheated on Jane with a mysterious woman from Israel, and now he was going to live with her. He was not sorry, for he was a proud man. But I was not proud of him. I was almost more angry with the fact that he would never apologize for his stupidity than for the fact that he ruined many relationships other than his. I no longer can talk to Jane's side of the family without the strain of knowing that his shadow loomed from the back of my eyes and haunted them.
     He doesn't know all of my anger. He only thinks I will love him unconditionally, as my parents had relied on me to do. But love is a hard thing. Trying to find trust in a person who you thought you knew, only to have them fall from your carefully constructed pedestal, is something that takes strength. And right now, I can't seem to find that power in me, no matter where I have looked for the past one and a half years.