not knowing oneself

This is not a trivial matter.
If one does now know oneself, one cannot have a definitive and explicable opinion. Having an opinion you can make tangible to others is a hallmark of being an adult. Better yet, it is a clear sign of acquired intelligence, of sentience. If you cannot explain yourself, you presence and thoughts are relegated to the "dumb-animal" class of existence.
And you should be able to explain yourself.

Grandma was the iconic semblance of everything grandmothers are supposed to be: she cooked wonderful, soul-fulfilling foods, was soft spoken most of the time (except when absolutely required otherwise), and was always ready to comfort a child with a warm and sincere hug. I was thirty-two when I discovered my grandmother was actually my step-grandmother. It threw me for a loop. There were deep questions to answer regarding the experiences I had collected with her. Did they they somehow change because of this sudden (yet supposed) change in our relationship.

Not one bit.

If anything, the lesson to learn here is that it is possible to put too much weight on blood lines. Should you be forced to maintain a relationship with that drug-addled uncle just for the happenstance of him being your father's brother? What about the first cousin that has visited every member of the family by way of two weeks on everyone's couch?

When I view my relationship with my step-Grandmother, I see a welcome exchange of services. My need for lots of hugs and her desire to deliver them. My insatiable hunger for food (let's face it, of any sort) and her willingness to prepare it for me. We were two people serendipitously brought together by fate to help each other out. We were two people put together for a purpose. We were symbiotic. We both benefited from each other's proximity.

I miss her.

After reviewing this post, it appears I know how I feel, but I cannot yet put it into words that succinctly explain how I feel. More growing up is called for, it appears.

-nn