She’s Gone

[About Cat Hartliebe]

This isn’t getting shared places. I doubt you even want to read this. Losing someone who was difficult makes life easier.

I hope.

There is a poem at the end, but it’s seriously depressing too. Move on to the next read. You’re not missing anything.

She’s gone

It probably should hurt more to lose my grandmother. She was the last one in that age group for me. My last grandmother. Five grandparents all gone.

Part of it is I’m happy for her. She’s been suffering for the last two years. Heart attacks, stints, even stoke have weakened her. She wasn’t exactly in the best shape. Her death has been expected for years now. She only lasted this long because of medical science.

Most of me is happy she’ll never insult me or consider me less or consider me lying. I’ve had a questionable relationship with my grandmother.

For my family member that was the most equality advanced, she really wasn’t. She was still heavily racist and sexist. Perhaps if it was more than just me telling her things, she would have moved forward and not hated my existence or others.

Thinking about it… She was probably the most against me dating an Asian. The most. “At least he’s a good one.” I got that from her. “I can accept him.” As if she couldn’t up front.


Those I’m most attracted to are the less desired by my family, so I wasn’t allowed to try anything. I feared those I attempted would have lost their lives. My father always threatened that.

Doesn’t matter. Nothing really matters.

She never accepted the fact I’ve always been sick. I could be unable to function, and she’d tell me to stop “playing”. As if I decided to play sick. It wasn’t just the medical doctors and the bulk of psychologists saying I was crazy and not really chronically ill. My family did too. I have fought for every step of the way when it comes to illness.

Because no one believed me. Even now…

My grandmother felt as if the most equality minded of the group. But she had exclusions. And guess who ended up excluded.

She’s a “product of her time”. Really? That’s all I get from my mother.

Grandma was the only one who said “At least he’s a good one.” But the rest thought it. And the one they didn’t think was “good enough”. They didn’t support me in that relationship. They couldn’t stop me, but they wanted to.

It wasn’t a good relationship. But to have my family hate my choices is…

Why can I not even try dating right now? Because I don’t want a white guy. They are ugly. Like beyond ugly. And threatening by their very existence. They don’t realize how many privileges they have. I’m at the point of hating them up front because of the damage I have gotten from them.

But I’m trapped.

In so many ways.

My grandmother was… Problematic. When I visited her, I would expect to leave angry or depressed. It was always one or the other. No matter how much I did or how much I proved, it was never enough. I was never good enough.

She had no idea what I had to fight just to be at this standing.

I will miss her because I have memories where I was clueless she felt that way. Days where I visited my grandmother without allowance to the problems she caused. Or the hate she gave.

She never would have supported the KKK (unlike my father’s family and the bulk of mine). She hated them. But she was easily persuaded that blacks were evil. Very easily. She never gave them the benefit of the doubt like she did white males.

And I mean that. White males got the benefit of the doubt. Females didn’t. Non whites didn’t. She’ll assume you’re in the wrong up front and you have to change her mind.

The amount of fight was…

I’m glad she’s gone.

I’m glad I have one less person to battle. Because she was as difficult to deal with as my father when it comes to equality. Yeah, the man who said “Let’s kill them all.”

He said that. Like last week. That was his answer to the protests. There is no way to persuade him. You’re better off talking to a wall. At least the wall doesn’t hit you.

My grandmother would act like the sides were equal. As if her thinking blacks didn’t deserve equality had the same merit as me saying everyone deserved equality.

“But, but, but.” Her exclusions were all lies handed to her. She believed them because they came from white men.


She taught me there are a lot of people who will NEVER listen to you. If they look down on you, they won’t listen. So I have tried to find people who look up to me. If I find them maybe I can find listeners.


This isn’t worth it at all. All I end up doing is fight. I fight to exist. I fight to earn my rights. And I still lose them.

How can I truly come out as trans? How can I truly come out as pan or asexual? How can I truly find someone who’ll listen to my medical history without immediately saying I’m crazy? Especially when my mother just agrees that I’m crazy.

There is no one I can lean on. And Cyro leans on me. I have no support. I’m trapped in the well, and Lassie is never coming back. Because no one listens to a dog either.

And the poem that prompted this journal entry (that no one is really interested in):

Bye Bye, Grandma

it’s depressing to think
i’ll never hear you tell me
what a horrible person i became
or that you think blacks are less
or females can’t live
easily and readily on their own
as if that’s how life is

as much as you were
difficult to deal with
and bad with many
and a “product of your time”
i will be missing you
but not a whole lot
i’m better off without
you in my life

bye, bye grandma
you’ve had a good life
everything seemed to fall
close enough to be alright
you never understood
the pains i suffered with
either because society was easier
or because you refused to think
my body hated me more
even at the end

you never believed me
when i said i was in pain
you ridiculed and complained
whenever i made some statement
i wasn’t allowed to be me
i wasn’t allowed to be sick
it was all a lie to you
a trick to make others think

but still you were the one
i could lean on
when times were tough
especially with my parents
it only made me realize even more
how much you were racist
or sexist or hateful to those like me

i’m glad you moved on
i’m glad your pain is gone
but your words will never leave me
so i’m most of all glad
you can’t hurt me anymore
let me be free
by all those most hurtful
die and leave me be
i’m in enough pain
even before you add people

[Cat Hartliebe’s Poem Books] [Cyro Hartliebe’s Poem Books]
[About Cat Hartliebe] [Poetry Archive]

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