Undefined.

When my grandfather died a week or so ago, the general reaction was that of shock--- shock that I even had him in my life, though the truth was that he was not in any way a blood relative.

Friends from school and work point out to me accusingly that I never told them he was ailing, and much less did I invite them to come and pay their respects. But how can you just work into a conversation that my adoptive grandfather was at the hospital ICU with scores of tubes and pipes stuck into him? "Hey what's up?" "Oh my grandpa's at the ICU, probably fading."

I find it often exhausting when I'm forced, even expected to parade family agonies for all to see. Pity is the last thing I want to evoke from people. We all walk through life wounded,your pain is no worse than that of another. Ok so I told people over the phone and Facebook that he was gone, but still that left them all shocked.

I'll admit I still haven't cried. It's not that I'm cold-blooded or anything like that. Maybe it's because the deceased and my brother and sisters and I never had much of a grandfather-grandchildren relationship with him. Maybe it's because of the fact that I know that when I was born he rejected me to the point of not acknowledging my existence for so many years.

I lived most of my childhood away from my grandparents, so I was spared much psychological trouble. He always preferred his adopted daughter and her children, whom he spoiled silly and who were to cause him much trouble. My sisters and I, although we did better at school and respected our elders, were just in the background, extensions of our dad who could not understand that no matter what he did or we did, the old man just wouldn't take the time to take a second look at us.

It was worse when we lived together as an extended family for some years. We clashed over a lot of things especially child discipline because my cousins (should I call them that?) were living with us and the old man spoiled them silly to the point that they were so dependent on him. To the point that they stopped respecting him. My parents didn't want that for their children, so things came to a point that my immediate family and my grandparents didn't eat together, although we lived under the same roof. It was better that way. The years just passed and soon they moved away. We visited them at times, although it was more out of duty than out of anything else. Then the old man suddenly was abandoned by his favorite grandchildren, and yes, we took him in.

I know I shouldn't be feeling like this, but then at least I'm honest with my feelings. Papa doesn't blame me or my sisters, because like my mother said over dinner one time "Well, the old gentleman never made an effort to get close to your children anyway." I really don't know what I'm feeling right now exactly, but for the most part I am ok.

Wait, I AM NOT OK. I lied. But I have still yet to cry over the whole thing. Maybe someday I will. Maybe I won't.