Dedicated To You

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I miss you.

Submitted: October 28, 2009

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Submitted: October 28, 2009

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“I remember when he said yello, instead of hello,” my brother said, in his attempt to be sad. It’s rather frightening. Everyone crying, while my brother just stands there and repeats this phrase over and over as if it’s implanted in his mind. It makes me mad.... but Ican't be mad at my brother. He's family and family is your support system. No! I'm allowed to be mad at my brother... but not here. My mind keeps running back to my uncle’s face.

He said a Latin phrase, though I take Latin, I didn’t know what this meant. I knew by his face… I swear I knew. “He’s dead,” he said. Three minutes, that’s all it would have taken. If I had walked faster getting out of school, or if Mrs. Cook had enacted that new rule to let the kids out at 3:15 instead of 3:18, then we would have made it. He might not have been conscious, but we still could have said good-bye. But we can’t now, because he’s dead.

When my grandfather first got kidney cancer, I thought that they would just get it out and he’d be fine. After the surgery, he didn’t seem fine. He seemed tired a lot, but the test results of his first X-ray looked good. The cancer didn’t appear to have spread and he looked… okay. He was still healing of course, so it was only natural for him to still be feeling pain… or so they thought.

Then, at Olive Garden (I remember this specifically because I remember spitting out pasta), my dad told us that it had spread. He said that chemo wouldn’t help. That the doctors didn’t think they could give him much help at all. That he was going to DIE. Death. Dead .Gone. Poof. Adios. I’m not meaning to be disrespectful, but those are some of the adjectives I was thinking. I remember.

The week before he died, we went to see him. He couldn’t walk very well; my uncle and my dad had to help him. He was so thin. That’s something I remember. He was thin, and his tan, wrinkly, surprisingly comforting skin was taking a shade paler than I would have liked. We ate ice cream from Dairie Queen, because he and my grandma loved Dairie Queen. One more thing that I will forever associate with them.

The day we got there, the day he was dead; my mom said that he was waiting for us. He tried. And it’s our fault that he didn’t succeed. My cousin, Brandi, she was holding his hand. And my other cousin, Bo, noticed that the that little motion in your chest… the up and down breathing movement… well he noticed that my grandpa wasn’t doing it. He died. It still hasn’t fully hit me, even though the tears have. Some people say that losing a grandparent isn’t as bad as losing a parent or a best friend. They say that grandparents are just like substitute parents. But I can’t fill that seat that he left empty. I can’t ever fill it, not ever again. I say: “That’s bull.” To those people who ignore their friend’s grandparents dying. It’s a life ENDING. Forever, it can’t be undone. I don’t understand it, though my fingers appear to; because they’re the ones typing. Walls…

Just the fact that I knew him was a fact enough to make me sad, but the fact that I loved him made it all the worse. I’m trying not to cuss by saying bull. My granddaddy was a minister and really good one at that; he didn’t cuss and he hardly ever got mad, never at me. He never yelled at me. He had a deep voice that could carry on for miles. It made you want to listen to him. He had dark hair, black when he was young and it grayed as he got older. He had dark eyes, and a white smile. He joked around a lot, and was the funniest person I have ever met. He was always there for me and my brother when my parents couldn’t be. He wore glasses, thick ones. He didn’t like smalls spaces, but he went through chemo, even though the doctors didn’t think it would help him. He was a fighter, he had to try. He was tall, towering over everyone in our family. He was quiet and thoughtful sometimes, but most of the time he was like my dad: loud and HILAROUS and sooo kind. He loved everyone, and was incredibly close to God. He believed in the goodness of family, he loved everyone. He had a firm handshake, and could bear-hug like no other. “You know why I can’t eat sugar, Caitlin?” I would just shake my head, but I knew why. “Because you’re grandmother tells me I’m too sweet already.” I would smile, and laugh, but I can’t tell you how much I miss that one line; the one joke the thing that I remember. But the thing I remember best about my granddad is how much he loved.

And this is dedicated to him, because I love my Granddaddy. I know he’s with his son and his mom and God in Heaven, but somehow this doesn’t give me as much comfort as it once had when I was little. When my great-grandmother died, I was too young to really understand. Now that I’m older, and I know. I know that my granddad died. And he’s not coming back. Only in dreams, those tantalizing things. They stick something you want right in front of your nose and then SNAP! It’s taken away. I guess dreams are better as opposed to night-mares.

This is not a story. Its real life and I wanted to dedicate something that I could to him. And this one is for my Granddad. I love you.


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