I'd grown indifferent over time. My anxiety over that day was left behind with my younger self. I was now old enough to understand that it was not him that day but a confused mind in his body. I'd been afraid of men for a while after that, but somehow found someone special to help ease my fears. Years of removal from that day taught me that he didn't understand what he was doing, and I forgave him.
His confusion grew over time, formed in unkind words and threats. It was as if his body was attacking his mind, and the weaker lost the battle. He threatened actions that forced us away.
I was a generation removed, so the pain didn't sting but for a prick of a pin. The pain that lacked in me weighed heavily on my mother. She never saw the man he once was or could have been. He'd come home from the war with half his head missing, half his personality a casualty of that war. He was cruel and vindictive, so my mom, her sister, and their mother depended on one another for survival. Time may not have healed the wound of his head, but it eased his temper. With each new child that later came, his heart lightened. My mother saw glimpses of the boy he once was.
Once the children were grown and gone, the man with the missing head returned. Then my grandmother, the saint, passed away at a very young age, and his hold on this earth slowly slipped away. Eventually he turned everyone away. The hurt it caused my mother will always reside in my heart. I grew up not understanding him, having been forced away.
With the fading of his memories, his anger began to subside. Then in the end, without recollection of his own anger, he let us in. I spoon fed him and wiped his chin as mom held his hand and listened to his endless words. The blood that we all shared slowly warmed again.
As painful as it was to see him revert to infancy, it was somehow a gift. In his gentle state, we gained affection for a man who had been difficult to love. I gained a connection to my past. Mom was granted moments of endearment in the eyes of the man she'd spent her life trying to please. The night before he passed, she and I stood there next to his bed for a couple hours, caressing his arm, stroking his hair, and holding the one hand he still moved. Touch was his only relation to the world around him, and we tried to communicate our love through our hands.
I'm grateful for the gift of last night, and for our last enduring touch.
Rest in peace, grandpa.
Labels: farewell
...and things can be fixed, troubles, and when that happens, it´s triple the satisfaction. Triple the goodness. Like a big misunderstanding cleared out and wounds healed. The sun comes out gently and warms us, and then everything becomes completely other thing. Even better than before. It evens becomes a good things that we go thru really difficult times. Nature it´s roughles, tough, and beautiful, at the same time. . It´s my experience talking in this kinds of matters. I hope this helps. We have to live to make some kind of acceptable art, and living involves the whole spectrum. As we are not afraid, we go far and wide, to bring something to it. To tap into smothing. Am gonna stop commenting now :-D . I just hope you feel better.
Am really sorry about your loss. But if you permit me, sometimes troubled times bring enormous wealth (spiritually, in understanding, in growth) So maybe seeing everything so pitch black is not the answer. I mean, there can be sad days, sad and troubled seasons, God knows, but is in our nature to sometimes feel sad and gloomy. There is to learn organically thru expirience resilience. Toughness. I hope you feel better as the week progresses.