Tonight we had a picnic dinner in hospital to visit my Muminlaw. Poppy was the life of the party, leaping off a bench into my arms, helping to rub Nana’s sore feet, and clambering about like a monkey. It is very precious to spend this time together.
We had only been home a few minutes when I received a call that my grandfather has died of a heart attack. I drove up to the hospital to sit with him and people in shock. We did not get time to rub feet, tell stories, or be close. In fact, tonight was the first time I’d seen him in ten years. He was not a queer friendly man and I didn’t need any more relationships that crushed me. When he got sick recently I’ve been behind the scenes, supporting my mother as she struggled to arrange care for him. I planned to visit shortly, but not with Poppy. She’s facing enough sad and confusing situations already.
And just like that, his book closes. I have many wonderful childhood memories of him. Some bad later ones. We last properly spoke at the funeral for my grandmother, whom I loved dearly. It was a rare moment of clarity and connection and I knew it would likely be the last time we were close. He was uncharacteristically tender and it’s a treasured memory. He’s my last grandparent to pass.
Life is strange. His story is neither triumph nor tragedy. He was complex, a devoted man, also a bully. He was lonely. I have been painfully aware of how leaving behind all these people has torn great holes in my life but I don’t think I have realised the holes I’ve left too, that I’m as irreplaceable to them as they have been to me, these people I’ve loved.
I wish everything had been different. I wish he’d had a better last few years, a better death. I wish there’d been more between us. I wish something as stupidly simple as who I love hadn’t been a problem. I waited until my Grandma died to come out at 29. Homosexuals were denounced from the pulpit at her funeral. I never gave Grandpa the chance to lecture me about it. I waited until my Father didn’t know where I lived. I lost my godparents, my cousins, my childhood friends… my conservative little world burned down around my ears for me to survive, and while I’ve rebuilt as best I can my heart is still broken and deeply scarred.
I’ll miss Grandpa. I’ve been missing him for years. These people I love from far away, their lives don’t stop. They get sick, they age, they die. I built my life in the ashes of my childhood. There’s wastelands of pain between.
We sat by him together tonight, telling good stories, laughing at old memories. It was fitting, heartbreaking, dignified.
It’s 2am. I’ve crept into bed next to Poppy and Rose. I have the memory of my hand laid lightly on his still chest. I’ve brought the fourth murderbot ebook for company. The house is dark and quiet. I’m full to the brim with sadness. His life has ended, he is now remembered in stories. I wish there was a better ending. I wish love was easier for people.
One thought on “Death of a grandparent”
would so love to be able to offer a hug.