Order from us for quality, customized work in due time of your choice.
They covered your precious oak coffin with handfuls of a brown amalgam of rocks, decomposed organisms, and weeds. Yet I refused to take the shovel. I asked myself why I should send you off so dutifully when I hadn’t even had the chance to say my final goodbye. I refused to let go of you. I refused to accept your death. I didn’t see your death coming and now I was supposed to understand that an illness would take the caring, loving, and inspirational man that was my grandfather away from me.
It was just a normal Friday afternoon. The afternoon after you passed away. The eighth of October. The day after your death. I remember it so vividly. Not a memory I wish to cherish, but one that will stick with me. I don’t remember much of that conversation apart from one word. Cancer. I remember it in my mother’s voice as a flood of uncontrollable tears ran down her cheeks.
Little did I know that you, my caring, gentle, and thoughtful grandfather, had been suffering from cancer for the past three years. I was twelve and angry – mostly with myself. My parents wanted to protect me from this complex and debilitating illness. However, when the end inevitably arrived, I didn’t only need to try and comprehend what death was but, more so, why I had abandoned seeing you for the last time. I was angry that my parents deceived me and resentful of my oblivion, I had unknowingly committed a crime that I will never forget. Passing on seeing your beautiful smile for the last time. I would stop hearing I love you lots and lots like jelly tots again.
Only the faint whispering voice in my head can repeat it.
I struggled to comprehend your death and school became my haven. I was away from grieving family members, away from the constant reminder that this cruel and horrible disease that I knew nothing about had somehow managed to claim the life of my childhood idol. I became obsessed with researching the small intricate details of cancer. I couldn’t comprehend how something so small could affect one in three people globally. As I began to consider my future I realized that what I studied in school could allow me to silence the pain I had gone through. I wasnt obsessed with learning itself. I was obsessed with academic perfection. You were a real stickler for education, you always pushed for more. It became obvious in my eyes that by succeeding in school I could redeem myself for what I had done in failing you as a granddaughter in the end stages of your life. I know you would only have wanted me to be happy though.
You were a fighter, a survivor, and the most beautiful person I knew. You radiated poise and elegance. You made me feel loved beyond measure. I consider you, not the most influential person of my early years but of my whole life so far. I couldn’t understand why you had been handed an end to your extraordinary life that was just so unjustifiable.
I lived with my parents a few streets away from you and grandma with very few friends nearby. Long summer days were spent laying on the lawn surrounded by the radiant flowers that you loved to plant in the summer months. Winter days would be spent indoors, by the fire watching films that of course, you had no interest in, but you watched to ensure peace.
I was nine when I began to notice small details which were a little odd, but I didnt understand and didnt question them. My mother told me Spend as much time as you can with your grandfather, hes precious . I couldnt understand. I loved spending time with you and, at every opportunity, I would be with you so why emphasize it? There were periods when I didnt see you. You were simply on holiday without grandma; something that seemed so strange to me. You two were joined at the hip and for some obscure reason at eighty-four, you decided to leave her and go off on your own? Little did I know, you were spending time in the hospital, trying to fight against the disease that they knew would claim your precious life in the end. Little did I know my family was crumbling while I thought you were on holiday.
I visited you: you were not the grandfather I remembered. The piercing, shrill noise of the machines echoed within the four chalky white walls of your empty hospital room. The only sign of life was the copious amount of hideous supermarket flowers you were given. Flowers? Flowers werent going to lift your mood suddenly, they were a reminder of illness, a reminder of impending death. You werent lively, vivacious, or glowing anymore. Instead, you were surrounded by strange people, helping you to take your medication and refilling your oxygen tanks. You lay still, a bag of bones. You clasped my hand. You were cold and frail. You could barely speak. I didnt know this person. I looked into your almost see-through eyes. I knew this wasnt right.
Pops will be home soon, he just has to get better and a bit stronger first, they said.
I reminded myself it was ok, you would get better. You would come home.
Little did I know this would be the last time I saw you. You wouldnt return home. No more summer days spent together. No more memories were made. This was the end and I would pass on the last opportunity to see you.
A Wednesday evening, the evening before your death. I didnt know you had cancer and you were hours away from death. You would be lucky if I even knew what cancer was. As my parents and I prepared to leave for the hospital for one of the last times, the phone rang. My best friend. She asked if I wanted to go round to her house. Of course, I said yes. I would see you again. I could miss this opportunity to see you, I would see you the following evening.
I wouldnt. A memory that would last forever. Mum didnt tell me it would be the last time, I guess it was unpredictable. Maybe I had avoided signs that you were weeks, possibly even days away from death. Your storm had passed, you were in your Nirvana now. The formaldehyde had already run through your veins, you had definitely done dancing. I didnt see it coming and neither did Mum. A decision made so instantly, yet regret that lasts a lifetime.
All that remains now are boxes full of your prized possessions. Tattered brown, dusty boxes are full of pictures, and nostalgia. You dont deserve to have your life compacted into some old boxes which are stuffed into a cupboard; you are so much more precious than that. Your old house lies empty. The windows are lifeless. Dark. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of the African Daisy flowers you would grow and the memories come back. Afternoons spent visiting the shop where you grew up, the raspberry ice cream you would lovingly make and give to us, the birthday dinners you would do for us; all memories which I will cherish for life. A keen chef, you had eventually laid down your knife and fork. Sometimes you dont realize how much you miss someone and then suddenly it hits you. A carpet of dust covers the photos of your life’s best memories: your wedding day, your daughter’s wedding day, and holidays. Sometimes I have to remember that you lived a fulfilled and happy life. It was only in the last few years that the happiness you cherished was taken away from you and the evil concept of death crept in.
Now, however? I realize that although cancer seems invincible and extremely powerful, it is only a mere fraction of your life. You lived a peaceful and contented life. And? One day I will pick up the shovel again and disturb the crows, to plant more of your favorite flowers in your garden, to replace the faded flowers on the side. Your circle of life has closed, but someone elses is only just beginning.
You inspired me. You loved learning and guess what? So do I. I want to succeed because I know how proud it would make you. I know I left you in your last days, I threw away the last chance I would have to see you. I remind myself you are in a better place and now I must make you proud. I can achieve and give something to you that you would have loved. I can still make you proud despite you being gone, and I will make you proud.
Order from us for quality, customized work in due time of your choice.