A Year Ago Today

Today is a year since my grandfather died.

It’s been 365 days. Some days it feels like much longer, some days it feels like it was only yesterday.

Grandad had been sick with cancer for about four years before he died, and it was probably two or three years since we knew it was terminal, and eventually... that would be it.

I was nineteen when he first got diagnosed, and twenty one when he died. Losing Grandad was really the first time that I had experienced death before. I’d had pets die, a second cousin who I’d only met a handful of times, but that was it.

Even now, there’s times when it doesn’t really feel real. I still go to refer to my grandparents collectively- as Grandma and Grandad, and then I have to stop and remind myself that “no, it’s just Grandma.”

It’s still a slap in the face when I see get a card from my grandmother, now just signed “love Grandma.” The hole is still there, and I imagine it always will be.

My Grandad was always so proud of his grandchildren, and he helped define my childhood in a lot of ways. We’ve always had a greater sense of family on that side- my mum’s side, probably because we saw my cousins more often and because we saw my grandparents less, it was always a treat to get together and spend time with them, and they always made our visits special.

When I think of Grandad, I remember the bone crushing hugs he would give us every time he saw us, as a “hello” and a “goodbye”. And I do mean bone crushing, usually uncomfortably tight that as children we just wanted to breathe, but once he was sick, you longed that he’d have the strength to give you just one more.

The “goodbye” hug was always accompanied by a wet kiss and a whisper. I can’t speak for my siblings or cousins, but for me it was always “you’re beautiful” or “love you lots”. Until not that long ago, my grandfather was the only person who called me beautiful- which my lovely friend Julia has been determined to rectify ever since I told her that about a year and a half ago, and she now makes sure I hear it every opportunity possible. Including a YouTube video which is still one (if not THE) greatest gift I’ve ever received.

Grandad always told me I was his “favourite second-eldest granddaughter” (conveniently), and he had this extremely comforting presence. I can’t describe it, just that I always felt safe with him. Whenever he and Grandma came to visit,  we’d know he was here, because there would be a whistle at the door. I can’t describe the whistle, my siblings and I just knew it as Grandad’s.

Whenever we came to stay, we got spoiled. Grandma would (and does actually!) make jelly for us to have as dessert, along with yogos and cheese sticks/triangles (the only cheese my sister would eat). we got to pick our favourite meals, and they always made sure to have lemonade (my favourite) in the fridge.

I can’t even tell you the number of second hand bookshops my grandparents happily took me to every visit I had with them, knowing my love of reading. My grandma is a big reader, which I’m forever thankful for because it was her that introduced me to Anne of Green Gables, Trixie Belden, the Tomorrow series (although that was because my older cousin had read it in school), and all these classic books I still love today. Grandad was less of a reader, but still happily came with us, because it was spending time together.

And the milkshakes. Oh, the milkshakes. Grandad had many gifts, probably more than I’m aware of, but if there was one thing he could do, it was make a milkshake. When we were going to stay at Grandma and Grandad’s, we knew that meant one thing for sure- milkshakes for breakfast. He didn’t use a milkshake maker, or a blender or anything. It was just him shaking a covered cup of milk and topping. And they were light and fluffy and bliss.

After he died, my cousin revealed he had never had one of Grandad’s milkshakes. The rest of us all felt appropriate sympathy for him.  It may seem strange, and maybe you might try one and say that it wasn’t that great, but we adored them.

One of my favourite things about Grandad was how much he loved my grandmother. I remember when he was briefly moved into a hospice between hospital stays because he was too sick to come home, and he was devastated because he wouldn’t be home with my grandmother ever again. He always said the thing he missed most was lying next to her every night. They’d been married for 53 years when he died.

So, he died Saturday February 25^th, 2012.

As I said, we knew it was coming. But nothing actually prepares you for the moment when it actually does.

We had rushed up to Newcastle not long before Christmas the year before, because the doctor had told Grandma that was probably going to be it. So the entire family went up to say our goodbyes. My uncle flew down from Queensland.  On some level, I was actually really happy to have all the family together, especially when I hadn’t seen my aunt and uncle in a while, and it was my first time seeing my eldest cousin and his wife and daughter since they had moved back New Zealand shortly before.

So we were told on this day to say our goodbyes, which was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. In the movies, it’s always this moving moment with big speeches and both parties come out of the room at peace.

That’s a load of crap.

In reality, it’s super awkward. You don’t know what to say, you’re in a freaking hospital, and Grandma and mum had told us before not to get upset because Grandad didn’t want tears.

Well, I am a crier. I cry at everything. I cry watching The Lion King, I cried just the other week (in excitement) after I booked tickets to see Idina Menzel at the Sydney Opera House in June. So, asking me not to cry when I think I’m saying goodbye to my grandfather? Not going to happen.

And then of course, if you don’t come close to crying, you feel like a horrible person. Why don’t I want to cry? Am I that heartless? Why can I cry when Sirius Black dies in Harry Potter, but not when my own grandfather is about to die?

So that was December 2011. That year, I finished my Diploma of Education. I’d dreamed of being a teacher since I was seven and it was finally happening. And Grandad had told that to every nurse, doctor, whoever that entered the room when I visited him in hospital from the time he was first diagnosed.

I was lucky enough to be offered a job rather quickly for 2012 in Quandialla- a tiny little town in Western NSW (Quandialla is about an hour from Young, if that helps anyone). This meant for a year, I would be living four hours away from family and friends- and I don’t as of yet drive, so it’s not like I could make weekend trips back home to visit Grandad.

We entered 2012 and Grandad was still with us. I was moving in January, so about a week or so before I left I caught the train up to visit Grandma and Grandad. Some part of me knew that this could be the last time I saw him, unless he was still going to be here come April when I came home for school holidays.

I was doing really well at keeping it together that day. And then when Grandad hugged me goodbye- not quite as tight as he used to, and kind of awkwardly as happens when one party in a hug is lying down- he whispered in my ear the usual. I was beautiful and he loved me. And then he added that was proud of me, and I was going to be the best teacher in New South Wales.

That was when I lost it. I managed to hold it together until I left the room, but that was pretty much it.

The last time I spoke to Grandad was the Thursday before he died, the 23^rd of February. But honestly, I try and keep that day in January as my last memory of Grandad, because on the Thursday he couldn’t stay awake for very long and wasn’t really coherent.

I was super excited that weekend, because the assistant principal at the school was going to Sydney to visit her daughter and had offered me a ride so I could go home. It was my first trip home since leaving, and I was really excited at the idea of seeing my family and friends. I made plans with mum to go to the movies on Saturday night and see The Vow and it was going to be a great weekend.

That was the plan.

It was Saturday afternoon and I was hanging out in my room with mum, when my phone rang and it was my grandmother. At the time I thought it was kind of a weird conversation, but I didn’t really think about it. I answered, she said hello and told me about a book she was reading that I was welcome to read after her, and then she said goodbye.

About a minute later, Grandma rang again, on mum’s phone. Mum answered and after a moment said “it’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Then she left the room.

I went and immediately got my sister, who was the only sibling home at the moment, and we just hung around outside mum and dad’s bedroom door until they opened it and confirmed what I knew the minute mum left the room. It had happened. Grandad was gone.

Not long after that, I must have gone back to my room and cried, but I have no memory of that. I remember feeling really numb. Five minutes ago, I’d been having a conversation with friends on twitter, and planning to go to a movie that night. And suddenly, I had one less grandparent.

I remember being numb. I remember having a million different thoughts swirling around my head and unable to really isolate any enough to focus on them. I remember thinking ‘well, I guess we’re not going to the movies anymore’ and being disappointed about that because I’d really been looking forward to spending time with mum and seeing The Vow. And then I remember feeling horrible for being disappointed about not seeing a movie when this had just happened.

And I remember staring at my computer screen, and watching the conversation continue on twitter without me. People talking about completely normal things, the world was turning, their lives were moving on as usual. And mine had completely stopped.

I remember pausing, because how do you explain what just happened? Finally, I typed “My grandfather just died and I don’t know what to do.”

I sent the tweet and shut down the computer. I am always on my computer. It is my lifeline, my one item I would save in a fire, it’s everything. But I couldn’t even think about tweeting, or writing or doing anything in that moment. Because how could I just keep living my life as if it was just any other day? It seemed wrong.

Eventually I think it was Dad who came into see me. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring into space. My throat was completely blocked, I couldn’t even speak. He (we’ll just assume for the sake of this post that it was Dad, because again, I honestly have no memory of parts of this day) told me that he was taking mum and picking up my other sister from work, before taking them to meet my aunt and uncle at Sutton Forest, who were coming back from the event they’d been attending in Canberra to be with my grandmother. Then my aunt and uncle would take them up to Newcastle to be with Grandma.

I remember being slightly offended that I wasn’t invited to go up to Newcastle too, and then again, feeling like a horrible person because that was really not what mattered in this moment. I do remember this part. Dad asked if I wanted to come for a drive, and I said no. Frankly, I wanted to curl up in a ball and stare at the wall some more. That sounded like a great plan for the next month at this point.

I think I was in shock. Mum told me later my face was gray and they were a little worried about me, so they insisted on me coming along. I barely spoke the entire drive. I couldn’t even form words. My sister’s best friend was coming over to be with her while we were gone, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything after sending that initial tweet. Because once the words were out there, it was real. And I wasn’t ready for that.

After we got to Sutton Forest and everyone left, Dad suggested we go into MacDonald’s and have a drink. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty, but I had enough brain activity to remember (thank you Harry Potter) that chocolate is supposed to be good for shock (well, in Potter universe anyway, and that’s good enough for me), so I made myself get a hot chocolate and chocolate cake.

Dad went to the bathroom while we were there, and by that stage it had been about an hour and a half, and I thought I should call my best friend Kristel and tell her. As soon as she picked up the phone I was in tears. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.  They literally got stuck in my throat before I finally forced myself to say them.

So, I’m sitting in MacDonald’s on the phone crying. Dad doesn’t comment, and when we’re leaving he asks if I want to drive (I’m on my L’s so- hours!). I have no idea why I said yes. And it was one of those moments where I couldn’t believe it seemed like a normal day- but it wasn’t. In hindsight, I guess Dad wanted to give me something else to focus on, but I swear I could have crashed the car. I have no memory of that drive, I was on complete auto-pilot. We decided on the way home I wasn’t going to go back to Quandialla the next day, it wasn’t worth it when I’d have to come back somehow for the funeral.

So when we got home, I had to call my Head Teacher and the Assistant Principal and tell them. I cried during both phone calls, and they were both understanding about it and told me to take all the time I needed and not to worry about school.

And then I called my friend Nat, because I’d been talking to her only that morning about Grandad. And she left her boyfriend to come sit with me, which I appreciated more than I think I’ve told her. And I talked. Somehow. Words still weren’t really coming, but it was better than crying. I felt so empty and still numb.

But talking helped to focus on and sort out the millions of thoughts in my head from the time we got the phone call.

At some point, I checked twitter, and I had heaps of tweets from all my friends sending their love, prayers and condolences. Which helped and didn’t help. It was great to know they were thinking of me but...

“I’m sorry.”

That’s the most common response you get when someone dies. Or when something bad happens. And it feels like the right thing to say... until you’re on the receiving end.

Do you have any idea how insignificant those words are? “I’m sorry”

Why? You did nothing. You can’t apologise and make it all better. Or the people who add a :( to an “I’m [so] sorry” (the “so” is optional). A sad face emoticon does not even begin to describe how I’m feeling. Why is there no emoticon or symbol for indescribable grief? For numbness? For feeling like you’ve been kicked in the stomach?

I don’t mean to sound unappreciative of everyone who sent me a tweet, or a message or a Facebook post or whatever, because I really did appreciate them and it meant the world to know that they were all thinking of me; but it’s just... the words “I’m sorry” grate on me. Even now.

Now, I’ve promised myself that when something bad happens to a friend, I won’t say “I’m sorry.” I haven’t yet landed on an appropriate substitute, but I’m trying.  

So that was a year ago today.

That was an incredibly hard week. Going to church the next day and seeing everyone- those who had heard, and having to tell those that hadn’t. Going shopping for something to wear to the funeral- because I’d only intended to come for a weekend and had nothing appropriate with me. That was the worst shopping trip of my life. You’re buying something for an occasion that you don’t ever want to attend, and you have to make sure it’s an appropriate colour and style, which isn’t always easy.

And then to top it all off, it rained pretty much the whole week, which lead to flash flooding in rural areas, including Quandialla, so I was just hoping I’d come back to a dry house (I did, just FYI).

And now a year later, I’m back home. Unemployed.

I’ve been struggling for the past few weeks, between being unemployed and knowing today was coming.

I decided I had to write this, not only to try and get some closure on that day, but also to really focus on my good memories of Grandad, and not of him being sick or the day he left us.

I love you Grandad. And I miss you.

Not a great photo,  one of the last taken with Grandad before he got sick.  February 2007.