An Open Letter that you will never read

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I write this letter to you today, knowing that you will never read it. You've never met me, but I know who you are. I know that your father was a truck driver for a lumber yard, that you grew up alongside your two stepsister's. I know that your dad passed his name down to you, and that you would pass it down to your son. I know that some people called you "PawPaw Bill", but they'd never met you either. I know that you hard a hard life, and that you probably hit your wife. I know that you put so much fear and hate into your son that I don't know all that much about you. I never called you PawPaw Bill, we never spoke about you. I think I was probably 10 years old before I realized that it was odd we'd never spoken of you. I can vaguely recall asking my mom about you. She couldn't say much either, only that I shouldn't ask my dad about you. You hit my dad, used to beat him. I guess you didn't do the same to your daughter's. I say that because the person who calls you PawPaw Bill? That's one of your granddaughters, my cousin. Her mom must have talked about you to her, and maybe she made you out to be someone you weren't. Maybe it was my father who made you out to be someone you weren't. All I do know is what I can find out about you online. You were a drunkard, you'd been in jail. Oh, and where your buried? Yeah, you aren't buried in the same place that your father and mother are. Where other members of your extended family are. Even your ex wife, the one you probably beat? Yeah, she's buried there. You though, no you were buried in a cemetery across town from them. Why was that? I look at a picture of you, this is one that I found on facebook. One of your nieces posted it. I think I have the same copy somewhere. The boy behind you, is he your son? I don't know. You see, I can't ask my father these questions. We don't talk that often, but even if we did? I know it's not a question he'd answer happily. I'm assuming it's him. I know the picture once belonged to him and now I have it. You were the catalyst that caused this ripple effect. A father who was never much of one breeds the type of man who doesn't know how to be a father himself. That little boy that you terrified all those years ago? He'd grow up to terrify his own daughter. She'd fear him and then eventually leave the home. Their relationship would have a fissure in it, one that only seemed to grow. So now, now that she wished she could know you better, understand you better, and learn more about your own father? She can't. So thank you. Thank you for destroying generations of a family. Perhaps I shouldn't blame you completely. I don't have all the facts, and even if I did, nothing can be changed by blame. Nothing can be changed now anyway. Your Granddaughter,