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What My Grandfather’s Passing Taught Me.
Death and the grief that follows leave us with a lot to learn.
This isn’t the sort of thing I typically write about. But then again I’ve never been through it before now, and I can’t shake the urge to, so here I go.
In the days leading up to my Grandpa’s death last week, I could see that it was coming.
He was at the hospice facility for a week when I was finally able to go see him, and he could barely speak. He smiled at me when I squatted down at his bedside, touching his arm and giving him a kiss on the cheek when I said hello.
Working in a nursing home, I knew it was going to be soon. Coming to terms with that reality over the next few days on the other hand, was an entirely different thing all together. Even as he slipped away and I noticed his skin beginning to mottle, I kept convincing myself there was no way he wouldn’t be there when I returned the next evening.
But the last day, for whatever reason, my heart seemed to know things were different.
He was so peaceful, but entirely unresponsive. No more squeezing my hand, or opening his eyes even for a moment at the sound of our voices when we whispered to him.
