I find that I may be continuing my stereotyping of old people and their big mouths with this entry, however, let me add the disclaimer that I am merely only referring to old people who do have big mouths.  If you’re old, but don’t have a big mouth, then you can breathe a sigh of relief.  Now, if you’re young and have a big mouth, then be forewarned that even though I’m referring to old people here, you’re also included.

I’m going to tell you the story of the biggest regret in my life regarding something I didn’t do.  If you’re a friend of mine, and have known me for a while, then you’ve already heard this story (probably many times over), but it still bothers me when I think about it.  So, I obviously try not to think about it too much.

It involves my grandma.  Yes, this is the same grandma I mentioned in my weigh-in post from Tuesday.  The one who actually thinks I look okay.  Now.

I have also mentioned before that five years ago my brother was killed by a drunk driver.  He was only 21.  It was a week before his 22nd birthday, and he is my only sibling.  To say that it was/is hard would be a major understatement.  In fact, I attribute about the last 70 pounds I gained before joining Weight Watchers to his death.  (Seems reasonable since they were all gained between the time of his death and when I joined WW.)  Before that, I had been seriously overweight, but had managed to stay around the same weight.  After he died, it would be fair to say that my weight ballooned.

I was out of town when he died, and since I was unable to get a flight home until later in the day, I was not around to help my parents with most of the funeral arrangements.  I’m sure I will go into further details surrounding his death, and my experiences with it, some day in the near future, but my story today revolves around his Visitation.

Let me start by saying my brother was a big guy.  He was 6′5 (at least) and was not scrawny by any means.  Regardless of your weight, when you’re that tall, you require a bigger casket.  At least that was what I was told.  I believe that my brother’s weight was mentioned to my parents during the process of picking out his casket when they mentioned that he will need a larger-sized one.  I’m not going to mention it here, because frankly it’s no one’s business but his.  What I’m sad about is how I found out what he weighed.

Because I was not there to help out, and my parents needed some support, my grandma (you had to know she’d pop in here soon) went with them to help them make the funeral arrangements.  Where, of course, she proceeded to overhear my brother’s weight.

Being the weight police that she is, could she keep it to herself? Oh, of course not!  As I mentioned, we were at the Visitation the day after he died.  I was sitting on the second row, and my grandma and her sister, my great-aunt, were sitting right behind me.  I was just minding my own business, still shocked and stunned by all that was happening, when what did I hear?  The two of them bad-mouthing my brother!  At his visitation!  The day after he died!  With his sister sitting right there!  I don’t really remember the specifics, but my grandma was telling my great-aunt how much he weighed, and there was a lot of exclamation similar to “My God, can you believe he weighed that much?!?”  Argh.  Such tact.  I was so stunned and shocked that I didn’t say anything.  It was all I could do to keep myself from turning around and hauling off and smacking her.  I’m sorry, but I found that extremely disrespectful.  It was bad enough to make comments about our weight when we’re alive, but to do it at his Visitation was just too much.  I wonder now how many other people she had similar discussions with that day.

Needless to say, my affection towards my grandma cooled rapidly for quite a while.  She was less than supportive during the entire period after his death and we had several run-ins with her lack of compassion.  She seemed to believe that because he was dead, we should immediately just move on and forget about him.  I don’t think so.  My immediate family was extremely close (and still is).

I eventually realized, though, that my anger towards her was hurting no one but me.  Since I never had the courage to say anything to her (of course, my mom and I discussed it often), I was allowing it to just bottle up inside of me until it almost felt toxic.  When I finally realized how I was hurting myself more than her, I let it go.  Life is too short to be filled with hate.  I will never forgive her for what she said and did, but I won’t allow it to consume me.  It will, however, remain my biggest regret that I didn’t say something when it happened.

There was also a secret part of me that decided that I would not be that overweight when I die.  Silly, isn’t it?  But I don’t want my weight to be the only thing people have to talk about at my Visitation.  Knowing my family though, all of the conversations will be, “do you remember when she was huge?!?”