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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 as where her dead mother was even though she begged them not to. The apartment didn't have any spare rooms and my grandparents didn't want to let her in their room. Later, when my half-aunt was an adult and needed a place to stay, they refused to have her. After she got on her feet, they then started demanding that she gives them money regularly. She did and sent it via her son the first time. When he came up to my grandmother while she was with her friends outside her apartment, she just grabbed the envelope from him and didn't say another word. He refused to deliver it in the future. My grandfather's mother was a petite and extremely beautiful. She was an extreme alcoholic though and died young, never telling anybody who my grandfather's father was. Before dying though, she remarried to a somewhat wealthy man who ended up raising my grandfather. One day, when the wealthy man was very old and close to dying, my grandfather, grandmother, and my mother decided to pay him a visit, which my grandfather had never done before that. Much to their disappoint, he had remarried to some gold-digger. He left all his money to her. My grandfather didn't die of any illness or anything specific. Right before death he was in fairly good condition. One day though his body just gave up and he rapidly declined. He couldn't walk without help anymore. Later, he just collapsed and was laid to bed. He even had to be rolled around to be washed. He eventually became responsive again, but quickly lost all his senses. He asked to be driven to their old house, which was demolished years ago and other such things. On that bed, the last thing he asked for was to be buried in a really expensive suit. A week before dying, he was invited to some important party. My grandfather hated parties and always looked for any excuse to avoid them. I guess he held true to form. Tell me about your dead relatives ubuu.


>Tell me about your dead relatives ubuu.
i barely know my family at all, not to mention the dead family.




My great grandfather fought Japs in the Philippines. If I can remember, he got hit the face with the butt of a rifle from a Japanese soldier. He came back after the war and became an active member in my hometown.


My grandfather came to this country at 4 years old. His parents died when he was young and he ended up marrying the girl that would give him food out of her lunch. This was during the Depression, so she must have really wanted the D.
He served in Korea, never heard any stories out of that but the Navy wasn't such a big deal as it had been in WWII so who knows, he might have never seen combat at all.
When he came back, him and grandma started getting hammered and churning out kids, I don't know why they bothered, neither of them were good Catholics so might as well wear a rubber. I'm not even baptized, so maybe I ought not to criticize.
They settled down in California, then they settled down in Ohio, then they settled down in Michigan. All of their kids are losers, for fuck's sake the eldest son (my uncle) was their drinking buddy.
My grandfather liked to taunt his daughters for having small tits, and paid them a dowry for getting married. His son got paid to go to college, and my mother got jack shit because she was a girl that went to college instead of getting married.
Terrible parents, my grandparents were, but they were awesome grandparents. They had a house by Alpena where we would summer, so we got to paddle boat hike, fish, and play games. It was where my grandfather showed me Civilization II, sparking a lifelong appreciation of history in me.
They were generous with gifts, told me stories about a number of things, and were stern at times when I really needed it. My father was off raping women somewhere and my uncle was drinking himself half to death on the other side of the country so grandfather was the only man in my life growing up. When he died, I lost quite a bit of my grounding in the world. At the funeral, everyone got a shot of scotch, we toasted sláinte and all that. I was 14 so I got my first taste of hard liquor. Boy did it burn.
Every summer, grandfather would help run the local Highland Games, and we would get to shop and play games. I got to toss a mini caber one time. That was a thrill. He made sure that we knew where we came from, and the trials our family had endured in the old country. His brother had moved back to Scotland, and between the two of them they were able to trace our line to within two generations or so of our traditional ancestor, Raibeart Ruadh MacGriogair. I picked up on this work and have gotten a rough lineage going back to a King of the Iverni named Sin, back in the time before Caesar. It is nothing to publish yet, but by 2030 I should have the tree around the line filled out.
I hope my work for our family will honor him, and I hope when I have children that my work for my family will shame him.


I was always jealous of people who have clannish families. My family virtually cut off all contact with our roots after leaving the .su.
>I don't know why they bothered, neither of them were good Catholics so might as well wear a rubber.
Cause it feels better.


That sucks man, maybe they were running from someone in the family.

But hey, have you looked into your ancestry? Maybe you don't have contact with the family back home but you can know the history, and feel the pride.

I hate my family, but I love my clan.


No, they just hated living there. That's the worst part. It wasn't out of hatred or malice or anything negative. It was pure apathy.
>But hey, have you looked into your ancestry?
I don't know where to look. I'm part Romanian, part Moldavian. I place greater importance on last name than ethnicity. That's what I meant by clan.


I feel you on that. I've noticed that the Eastern Euros over here don't place the weight on heritage like the rest of the whites. Except the Silesians, they've got their own dialect down in Texas and everything.

Local libraries usually have some genealogy resources for public use. Things get kind of weird the closer you get in Europe to the steppes, so many more people moving around, last name is probably all you've got to start with. Britain has much more natural barriers and more isolation, made it easy for me.

I know how you feel on the clan/nation thing. It's complicated. Good luck to you :)


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The only thing I know about my heritage is that my father's mother has some ancestry in Italy. The only family member of mine who has died during my life (so far - I'm 24) was my great grandfather, who, annoyingly, died the day before his 101st birthday. By the time I was born, he was pretty much senile. He lived in the same building as his daughter (my grandma), but in a separate "apartment". My grandma would shave him with a straight razor, cut his hair and nails and bring him a bottle of beer and food every day. For some reason, he used to collect the bottle caps on a plate in front of his door. We never did much talking. All I ever remember him saying to us kids was that we are spoiled because we hadn't experienced war. He was born in 1906. When he died, that was the first time I'd ever seen a dead body. I'll never forget the moment the hearse was driving away with him - I didn't feel anything at all except empathy for my grandma who spent a large part of her life caring for her dad. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me for feeling nothing.
For a long time I thought I must be a psychopath or something, I was never able to really connect with anyone and never really felt any emotion (I did cry at the end of Shawshank Redemption though). Recently my cat I've had for some 16 years died, which destroyed me. At least I know I'm human.


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Not only did I not feel anything when my grandfather died, but I didn't either when my pet frog did too… An aquatic frog that I couldn't even touch or interact with in any meaningful way is probably harder to bond with than a cat, but still.


Ach, your cat was so cute. If I could hug you over the internet I would.

Welcome to ubuu, btw


wow, what a great story. reading this feels like having a cozy beer with a stranger at the bar.

i wish i could post about my dead relatives, but i'd be afraid of someone recognizing me from it.


Thanks, glad you liked it :)
Well, if you ever find yourself in Metro Detroit, hit me up. I've got other relatives I can rip on in exchange for beer.


My grandad was a really prominent doctor in my hometown in Siberia, a lot of the doctors there still remember him since they were his students, his portraits still hang on the walls of the city's main hospital.

He really liked money and was a serious capitalist even before the 90s, he would often sign up for risky jobs that paid a lot, like working in Soviet-occupied Afghanistan.

When I was 2 he took me and my parents to a third world country where he was offered a high-paying job as a foreign specialist and then he just passed away unexpectedly. My whole life was basically ruined right from the beginning because my idiot parents decided to remain there instead of going back to Russia or at least some first-world country.


>My whole life was basically ruined right from the beginning because my idiot parents decided to remain there instead of going back to Russia or at least some first-world country.
Those are some top-notch maternal instincts. Seriously though, that really sucks.


>my idiot parents decided to remain there instead of going back to Russia
In hindsight, not moving to Russia might not have been the worst choice after all.
Also how do you sage here, am I doing it right


Why sage?


because he's posting in a 5 year old thread, nearly 6

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