Ever since Sunday Ive been in a state of disbelief. I tell people Im ok. I tell them Im just fine. Im really not.
I miss my Grandfather. I never got to say goodbye and its killing me inside. When I said goodbye it was only to someone I didnt know. That person laying in that box wasnt him. I know it wasnt. My heart broke into a thousand peices that night. I had to leave because I couldnt look at him like that. I hate remembering him just laying there. I wanted him to get up. I kept thinking hes just sleeping he'll get up like always. WHY does it have to hurt so much? WHY?
When a friend mentioned he had seen my Grandfathers obituary in the Calgary Sun, I was hurting all over again. Id been ok all day. But now Im alone. Its quiet and I keep remembering how cold his hands were. Like ice.
I loved his hands. He made me so many beautiful things with those hands. Every birthday Ive ever had hes made me a special card. 20 years of birthday cards and I'll never get another one. My Grandmother told me he would sit in his garage and work on them for hours. He made them to pop up, to slide to the side, everything you could think of. I dont even know if I could find them all. For about 3 weeks before my birthdays I'd wait and wait. I just wanted to see what he would have made. I just dug through every single box and found one of the last ones. It was from my 18th birthday. He always had some goofy some silly saying at the end. A funny way of putting his name down. Maybe he felt it was impersonal to just write his name. Gramie Hazie and Grapie Spike. Im going to miss these things for so long.
Over the last year I spent more time there than I had the past several years. I'd only visit once or twice and ever since I got my truck I could go more often. He knew everything about me and I never had to tell him. He could just look at me and know. I dont know how and I dont know what, but he knew.
A few weeks ago, before he really showed his sickness, he told my Grandmother I'd be coming home. He knew I was coming. He went upstairs to the bed he had made for me and started putting new sheets on it. He put new pillowcases and blankets and sheets. He knew I'd come. I did. I finally came home and he was gone. I cried into that pillow all night and held onto the blankets like a little girl because it was the only thing I could use to be close to him. It hurt so much I should have came home when I felt the call. I should have grabbed my stuff and just gone like I had every single time. I wasnt too busy I didnt have something better to do I just couldnt do it.
He told me the first day he saw my truck that it was a peice of crap. It takes too much gas. He didnt know I was watching from the kitchen window but I saw him get under the truck and poke at everything. I was so proud but all he did was go 'hmph' when I asked him what he thought of her. When winter came and I drove down in the night right before a bad snowfall hit.
He went out first thing in the morning and shoveled the entire driveway.
When I came out to sweep my truck off, and knocked entire clumps on his freshly shoveled driveway, without a single word he grabbed the shovel and went back to work. When I protested that I could do it, he just told me to nevermind. I think ever time he said "just you nevermind" he was saying he loved me. I know it and I dont care what anyone thinks.
Remarkably I found pictures from that day. The 27th of November of 2005.
