My grandpa died a few months ago. He was a fairly prominent choreographer in the USSR. The last time I saw was when I still in a crib, so I have no memory of him. We don't speak the same language, so I also didn't get the chance to talk to him even once. I was sad about not being sad. My grandpa was very… eccentric. Since decades ago, both him and my grandmother obsessed about his health. Even while my mother was growing up, him and his physical well-being were always the top priority. Every time he so much as had a cough both of them would start worrying about it and go to the doctor. There's a saying that goes something like this: you shouldn't have a complicated relationship with your doctor. Well, he did. He at one point was a shoemakers apprentice, but after being drafted from some war he gave up on that. He actually left the draft by faking appendicitis. After that he decided to be a dancer, and he was pretty good. I'm nobody to judge him, but he wasn't what most would call a good person, and neither was his wife. For a while, my mother, her mother, her father and her aunt all lived in the same place, in some tiny shack. My mother and her parents shared a room. Sometimes, during winter nights, my grandmother would nag him incessantly for hours on end about absolutely nothing. He's eventually get so fed up that he would strangle her while she called for her sister to help. This didn't just happen once, and it was all in front of my mother. Normally my grandfather wasn't abusive or anything. He never harmed my mother. Other than those times nothing else would really happen to my knowledge. My grandfather was actually pretty cowardly. They eventually moved to an apartment closer to where everything was going on. One time, at night they heard a woman screaming outside and my grandfather was absolutely terrified. Pretty weirdly, when my grandmother shouted at the voice to go away it suddenly came to an abrupt stop. Pedophiles would try to lure my mother into their houses while she was walking to her home in that neighborhood sometimes. My mother had a half-sister on her father's side as my grandmother was his second wife. My grandparents, especially my grandmother, treated her awfully and that could best be described by one event. When my half-aunt's mother died, before the funeral her body was kept in my grandparent's apartment for some reason. No casket, no nothing. An exposed dead body. They forced my mother's sister to sleep in the same room asPost too long. Click here to view the full text.