I Didn't Know Then
If I'm being honest, when I found out my grandpa had died, I didn't really show a reaction. Not because I didn't care, but I didn't understand then the space he filled, even 3,000 miles away. I was too naive to soak up the time with him. I was too naive to think there was more. I was too naive until that “someday” became “never”. I was trying to be brave, and I really tried to look strong. But nothing will replace that guilt I felt. I don't even remember most interactions with him; I was too young to savor it, but conscious enough to miss it. It felt like I was crossing the street, seeing an ambulance speed by, brushing it off, taking a couple of steps, then getting hit by a car. My mom always thought he had nine lives. He had pneumonia at least twice after the age of 80. Suffered a stroke. Heart attack. But worst of all, his wife. He would stay by her every day, as she slowly became unable to put a name to his face. That day, I realized, there definitely is something sadder than the movie Interstellar, the deep hole in one's heart dug by death. While he watches all of us from heaven, I'll make sure to keep my elbows off the dinner table. Then came the funeral. I'd never been to one, and I was hoping I would never have to. People arrived dressed in black, holding white flowers. Our family was big, but we no longer had power. But the Barbary doves let go, why can't I? So there I sat crying, looking at my screen, writing something nobody will ever see.
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