The dream about my grandmother made me Google her name and where she died, just for shits and giggles. I didn't expect anything to come up other than her obituary since she died in 1985. In doing so, I found out that her son Ronnie died last year.

I hated him for many of the same reasons I hated my other uncle. They had an occasional sense of humor, but otherwise, they were mean little bastards. They were very defensive and quick to anger. I know I can be that way too, but I'd like to think I play fair compared to the way they were. Sure, I picked on innocent classmates in first grade, but as an adult, I never bullied, shoved, or threatened anyone without what I felt was a genuine reason. Ronnie always hated me, and I never knew why, nor do I care.

Anyway, he made it to 83, three years longer than my mother lived, and he had a son I never knew about. Guess he really got around. His marriage to Mary didn't last any longer than his marriage to June. The last woman he was married to was named Pamela. Who knows how many other wives or girlfriends he had in between, or how many children he may have fathered.

I was a little surprised that my mother was mentioned in the obituary (despite her name being misspelled) and Larry wasn't. They don't usually mention siblings, and out of his nephew and two nieces, he hated his nieces but adored his nephew.

I really think both of my uncles hated women in most ways. I don't know why Marty turned out the way he did, but knowing how Nana was, I can see why Ronnie became the person he was. He snapped at me a few times and even shoved me once. He was rude to his wife in front of his daughters and me, and he was rude to me as an adult.

He did absolutely nothing when I broke my finger in the gym. He also did nothing but sit and stare stupidly at us when my wonderful sister gave me a bloody lip—or maybe it was my nose.

The obituary talked about the exterminating company and how he was a veteran who supported his local police by giving them water while they were working outdoors at various locations. I can definitely see him doing that. He probably thought it was cool to befriend cops and was likely a wannabe of sorts. Funny how he would hydrate his local pig department, but he wouldn't have done a damn thing for his niece if he had stumbled across her dying in the street. Then again, neither would I if the tables were turned.

I wasn't surprised to see not a single comment on his obituary. Oh, I'm sure people left comments—just not any that passed the moderator's approval.

I also looked through some old photos on my computer. One of them was from my father's 50th birthday party, where Mom hired a belly dancer to come to our house. When I looked at all the people sitting in the living room, I thought, "Wow." After it being just Tom and me for so many years, it's hard to imagine being in the same room with three grandparents, two siblings, two aunts, two uncles, cousins, and family friends. Nor would I want to, given the way most of them were. So whenever I think it's too bad that we don't have family, I remember what they were like, and that helps.

Family really is the other F-word.

It's true that the people who are supposed to love, support, accept, and protect us can sometimes be the most toxic and damaging people in our lives.