I was just going through old stories and ramblings of mine, and I came across this little story I wrote the summer that my paternal Grandpa died. I had turned 14 that year, and it was the year that everything really went downhill for me...it's nowhere near a "perfect" essay, but bear in mind I was quite young :)
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On November 1st, 1999, I was told that my Grandpa, Donald, had cancer. It wasn't until May 14, 2000 that I realized just how serious it really was.
You see, when you care so much about somebody, the thought of losing them seems so unimaginable. I guess you could say I was in denial about the whole thing. Whenever I visited him, after find out, I wouldn't sit there and cry, but I wouldn't think about it much either. As far as I was concerned - he was all right. If he walked, if he talked, if he did anything normal at all, it didn't amke me worry. Which is good, except it all made me forget. Naturally, the thought was there, in my mind, but it was in the back. It never really surfaced. Anyways, on May 14th, 2000, Mother's Day, I walked upstairs into my kitchen to see my family - Mom, Dad, and two older sister's - red faced from crying. When I asked them what was wrong - was it Grandpa?- they told me what I hadn't anticipated hearing. Grandpa wasn't doing well, and wouldn't live much longer.
That was the day the thought surfaced.
That was the day that I truly realized that Grandpa was dying, and probably wouldn't be here in a few weeks. My Dad and his younger brother, Kevin, went up to see him within two hours, promising to call us if things started to deteriorate. We never got that phone call, so, once again, the thought nestled itself back into what had now become familiar territory - the back of my mind. During the next week, with the thoughts held back, I tried to concentrate on school, and other things, mainly my friends.
I went up to visit him on the weekend of May 19 to 21st, and he honestly didn't look that terribly bad. I think he was starting to realize, more and more, how short his time really was. He kept telling everybody how much he loved them, and cared for them, which made me feel better, if, when in this situation it is humanly possible to. When I left the hospital that weekend, I wasn't feeling much better than the day I found out about the cancer. And, on Wednesday, May 24th, my Mom came and picked me up from school at lunchtime. She didn't have to say anything - the tears in her eyes said it all. After picking up my sister Sarah from the high school, Mom told me that Grandpa didn't feel right that day, and he thought that something was going to happen, and he wanted to see everybody one last time and tell them how much he loved them.
Grandpa didn't die that day, but I'm sure glad he at least gave me the opportunity to see him, as himself, one last time.
Because of what happened the Wednesday before, my family returned to Edmonton the following weekend. On Friday, while visiting Grandpa, I noticed that his skin was starting to yellow - jaundice - and that he looked a man of 74, ten years older than he really was. I left the hospital that night worried, not terribly, but worried nonetheless.
The next day, May 27, 2000 at 5:36 p.m., my beloved Grandpa, Donald Henry Johnson, passed away, with my small hand wrapped in his own. I couldn't believe that he was really gone - how could he be? It was just so fast. I loved him so much. The world could never contain the amount of love I had for him. Ever.
The funeral was held on May 31st, 2000. A bright sunny day in New Norway, the small town where he grew up.
Grandpa's death has brought a stir of emotions in me. It has made me feel detached, and I've cried myself to sleep countless nights. Mostly I've felt depressed.
It may sound horrible to say that something good could ome out of his death, but it has. Grandpa was a strong believer in the Christian faith, and he wanted us to put God first and foremost in our lives, but, you see, me and faith don't really go hand in hand all that well. I wish that I could say I believe in heaven and God, but I can't. I don't think I ever truly have. But I can tell you one thing - On those clear, blue days I can see my Grandpa's face smiling down from in the clouds. With a sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes. That is the gift that Grandpa gave me. The gift of heaven. Because I know that he is up there, watching down on me, and he'll be watching me on all the important days of my life. My graduation, my wedding, the birth of my firts child, even, on my funeral, where I'll be right up there with him, watching over my loved ones, making sure that everyone is okay, and knowing that I loved them. Like Grandpa always made sure he did.
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Reading through that, I am finding it hard to look over the grammatical errors, and poor punctuation, but I left it as is. I may re-write it to give it a "grown up" feel, but I think I will leave it as it is - raw and emotional, written by a confused and grief-stricken child.
Peace and Love,
Jay
I find your writings truly inspiring. Thank you so much
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