My grandfather is dying. He's been sick for years, and by years I mean "since the Reagan administration." However, this time we all know. We just don't know when. Within two weeks, we think.
We were in HH last week/this weekend, and there he was, my grandfather, who is 6'6" and the largest man in the world, somehow fitting into a twin-sized hospital bed and looking so very small. My mom took care of my grandmother and talked with him about what would happen After - After being that time when everything changes but we can't actually say how out loud, because that's like admitting it's going to happen, and no one can handle it yet. He'll be cremated. We'll send him to sea somewhere in the West Indies. My grandmother will be destroyed.
I've agreed to write the obituaries for the papers, and the eulogy. Somehow I got the role of the Family Writer, which makes me both proud and incredibly depressed. Why couldn't I have been the Family Cook, or the Family Birdhouse Builder? Anything with less emotional asskicking, as I said to a friend earlier.
I'm 27 years old and I've never been to a funeral. I have all my grandparents. I don't know how to watch someone die.
Posted in: on 7/05/2006 at at 10:19 AM