On Thursday my grandad died.
This week has been one of the most painful times in my life, but Tuesday had to be the worst. On that day I had to go see my grandad for the last time…he didn’t know my name, or what I looked like.
I stood there in silence until I found the courage to speak…Which he reacted to. He could’t speak that much, he seemed to slip in and out of coherent thought.
I held his hand and stroked it, I didn’t know what ells to do. When my Nan said that I had to go I let go, but he grabbed. I froze.
Even though I know that my hand was forcefully parted from his, and that I said goodbye, in my heart he is still holding my hand, and that thought makes me cry every time.
Seeing him like that hurt.
On the Wednesday I got home from work at 8:30am and allowed myself to feel what had been delayed from day-before, my skin went pure white! I have never had this happen before….so I just got on with my-day; it was kind of like being drunk, but your head still knew what was going on.
I think this reaction happened because my head equated the image of him laying there to an animated corpse. I’m happy that I got to see him, but my inner senses are confused (in short: the brain is dumb).
When he finally did go everyone felt relived, for he went peacefully in his sleep.
I’m still going to miss him.
Rest in piece grandad.