"I just have a lot of feelings..."

(title is a "Mean Girls" quote, in case you were wondering).

Ok so. In my health class on Monday, we had a guest speaker who came in and talked about grieving children and how it usually takes three years to fully grieve, and how death impacts children greatly and everything. And that got me thinking... my great grandmother (we called her Nana) died when I was (I think) in 7th grade. So I shouldn't have been over that until 10th grade. But I think I was "over it" before it even happened. I hate talking like this because I hate even thinking about it. I hate myself for thinking the way I did back then. I look back now and wonder how I could have been so awful. Because you see, I didn't like her. I didn't hate her, but I didn't like her. I never minded her until she moved in with my grandparents. There were times, not all the time, but there were some times when I would wish she was dead so she wouldn't live with them anymore. And then I would feel bad for wishing death, so I would wish instead that they would get tired of her and put her in a nursing home. I didn't want her living with them because it changed everything. My grandparents, especially my grandma, were mine. I lived with them when I was a kid. I lived with them, and then even when we moved out of their house, I spent so much of my time there still. They were walking distance away from my house. My grandma used to watch my sister and I after school until our mom got home, and then even once I was old enough to be home alone, I'd still go to my grandparents house because they're my grandparents and I love them. And she took them. She took their time away from everything else, including me and Nikki. I remember I used to hide from her so I would have to talk to her. God, she thought it was a game but to me it wasn't. I'm a horrible, horrible, horrible person and I wish I could change that part of my past. I used to pretend I was busy so she wouldn't talk to me. I used to try to sneak out of my grandparent's house when I was there so that she wouldn't see me. I used to speak real quiet so she wouldn't be able to hear me. I used to love going to my grandparents house, but when she was living with them, I hated going there. Why the hell was I so awful? Why was I so horrible to her? And then when she died, I didn't care. A part of me, god a selfish, awful, horribly mean part of me was kind of happy in a way. Because I would have my grandparents back the way things used to be. I cried at her funeral, but I remember that I only did because I thought I was supposed to. I was sad because that's what was expected of me. But part of me wasn't sad. Because that meant she wouldn't be living with my grandparents any more. It meant I wouldn't have to babysit her. It meant I wouldn't have to talk to her about things I really didn't care about anyway. It meant that I would actually like going to my grandparents house again. That was the stuff I cared about. That was what mattered to me. Happy is the wrong word. I wasn't happy, exactly. But it was more like I just wasn't sad. I didn't care. I am a terrible person. I don't know if heaven exists. I don't know if God exists. I don't know what I believe. It's too hard to believe in something you can't see. And I know I don't like religion because religious people hate everyone for one reason or another, and I don't like that. But maybe if - and that's a big if - if God exists, maybe he doesn't hate anyone at all and maybe he loves all of us no matter what. That's what I'd like to believe... but it's easier to believe science. It's easier to believe in what you can actually see and that you have proof of. But anyway. If heaven exists, if ghosts or spirits of some sort of afterlife or something exist, Nana if you can read this somehow... I'm sorry. I'm so so so sorry and I wish so badly that I could change that part of my past. I say I wouldn't change anything because then I wouldn't be who I am today, but I would change that. I would change that in a heartbeat. I'm sorry I was so mean. I'm sorry I'm so terrible. I'm sorry I'm so selfish. I'm sorry, sorry, sorry. And I'm sorry it took me so long to realize I was sorry for everything. Is it too late to grieve? Is it too late to feel bad? Is it too late to cry?