Today my grandfather died.  He fell and hit his head this morning and suffered a subdural hematoma.  He was rushed to a hospital and put on a ventilator.  Not long after my mother arrived from Indiana, they let him go.

I’ve been crying all day long, or near to it, anyway.  I woke up this morning after a very long sleep and felt completely refreshed.  My papers were done, summer was in the air, and I felt good.  I actually sang in the shower this morning and spent a hella-long time on my make up.  Then, just as I set to straightening up my room and preparing for a professor meeting to talk about breadth exams, I got the phone call.

My grandparents’ dying was something that I’d discussed in some of the Samhain exercises.  Whenever I thought about it, I’d get that tight feeling in my throat and stomach.  It would go away after awhile.  It’s not going away now.

My grandfather was the kindest man I’ve ever known, and he was one of only a few people in this world who I know loved me unconditionally.  I could do no wrong in his eyes.  I knew this, and I tried to make him proud of me.  He would have been so happy to hear that I ended my term well and that I’d done a project that *I* could be proud of.  I should have called them yesterday like I’d intended.  I can’t stop beating myself up.  One.  Day.  That was all I had with him.  And now its gone.

Grandpa, I love you.


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