My grandpa died.
My parents just happen to be staying at my house this weekend, so when I woke up this morning, my dad walked over to me and quietly said, “your grandpa passed.” I cried. I cried on him. Then I cried on my husband. A lot.
He died out in Arizona. They go there every winter. For years, I haven’t been happy about my grandma bringing him out there anymore. With the way his health has been, I just had this feeling that one of these times, we would say goodbye to him in the winter, and then he would never come back. And it finally happened. I sat on his couch and talked to him in early December. And now I never get to see him again.
And my grandma isn’t planning on coming home early. So there isn’t going to be a funeral. She said maybe she would plan a memorial when she gets back. In a month. A MONTH.
I’m so sad about him dying. But I feel even more upset that there won’t be a funeral. I want to say goodbye. In that way. I want to be around my family, in that way. And we won’t get that. Not now, when we need it. When I need it.
It feels so strange. He died. Died. And now we’re just going to go on with our lives. It feels wrong. I’m mad.
I told my parents maybe I would go out to their house to visit again soon. Just to be around them more. But it still just doesn’t feel the same. Doesn’t feel like enough. I’ve imagined getting this news several times before. But I never imagined I wouldn’t get to say goodbye.
I love you Grandpa. I’ll miss your jokes. Your silly sayings. Your fierce love for us.