(no subject)
So yeah.
I didn't post it before, I just realized, but my father's father had passed away in mid-May.
I wasn't very close to him, I didn't even go to the funeral because I was watching my brother. So I wasn't grieving very hard.
Tonight at around 8:30, my mother's father passed. I was...so close to him. It hasn't even been a month since my other grandfather had died.
Part of me just wants to leave this entry as it is,
So. I was watching something on youtube on the laptop in my living room, and my mom was across the room watching TV, when the phone rang. Unknown number.
I was kind of into what I was watching, so I didn't really notice that my mother had answered untill her voice began to shake a little and she muted "Everyone Loves Raymond".
I looked over to see my mother looking ahead of herself, phone pressed tight to her ear, trembling, "Denise...Denise, what happened? Just tell me what happened!"
She later told me that Denise was saying, "C-Can you get a ride up to St. Clair?" And wasn't being very clear.
I was on the recliner, and my cat was at my feet. He shifted in his sleep.
My mom gasped loudly and let out a wail, squeeling, "No! NO! How did this happen...?! Oh my GOD, NO!" She proceeded into loud, obnoxious sobs. She was heaving so badly that it sounded as if she were laughing, and it threw me off a bit.
I sat staring at her, wide-eyed, already guessing what happened but denying it.
My mother started screaming and wailing, "NO! NO! MY DADDY, OH MY GOD, MY DADDY!"
Denise was probably freaking out, so she asked for my father.
Mom, with her hand on her face, jerked the phone from her ear and handed it to my dad, who already knew just by her reaction. He took over, calm and frank as always. No emotion.
I still didn't fucking know it. They hadn't said it. Not knowing what to do, thrown off by my mom's hysteria as she sobbed loudly, highly, into her hands, I clapped my hand over my mouth and strained to hear what my father was saying.
After half a minute, HE DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING YET, but my mom, rocking back and forth a bit, blubbered, "Grandpa died, oh god Laura!"
My eyes were so wide. I was in complete...shock. It sounds cheesey and fake, but it just wasn't sinking it. I began to breath a little harder and my mother looked so lost and alone and vulnerable crying on the couch, so I leapt from the recliner to hug her.
She clung so tightly to me that I'll have bruises on my back from her fingers in the morning. She sobbed, sobbed, sobbed, and I began to get choked up.
No, not Grandpa, I remember thinking. I'm his little butterfly, his shadow, his everything. He's not gone. He's here. He's not GONE.
My mom, in a breathy, forced voice pushed me away a little and screamed, "I have GOT to calm down!" And went into the kitchen.
My head was fuzzy and I didn't want to be in the commotion, so I made my way upstairs.
Once I got to the top of the stairs, it really started to hit me, and I screamed something incoherent, crying finally. I stumbled down the hallway and went into the computer room instead of my room by accident, and I clung to the wall, supporting myself. "No, no, no!" I remember crying that. It was a variation of "Oh god," and "No, NO!" As if wailing would reverse time or something.
I remember sinking to the ground and clutching my stomach, my mind flashing back to the countless times he's taken me to Coney's, or he's played 500 Rummy with me, or called me his "Schmederling". Schmederling was the first word he taught me in German, when I was 4. It ment butterfly. I can remember that, too...
He had taken me by the shoulders, his blue eyes so blue, saying, "You're my little schmederling, you know what that means?"
I had giggled, shaking my head. "No, papa, whaaaat?"
"You've got to say it first: Schmederling."
"Shhmederlin!"
"Butterfly. You're my little butterfly." He smiled, I smiled.
I called Stephanie and she answered to me sobbing to her, which scared her because I DON'T cry. Rarely cry. I told her twice because she didn't understand me the first time, and for a whole minute I screamed and cried and screamed, and she stood on the line, listening, letting me have my moment.
I was going to hurl. I told her I had to call her back, and she demanded that I do when I was done. I hung up and clutched my stomach again. I was on my bed now. It took me a while to calm down. I had those second grade hiccuping sobs that could eventually turn into dry heaves. I didn't want that.
I called her back, good as new, and we talked about anything but my grandfather. She understood that I wanted to be distracted.
Since then I've only cried a little here and there, for the longest maybe 5 minutes.
It was strange, all of that coming out of me earlier. It startled me.
God. I'm going to miss him so much. Life won't be the same.
I still haven't accepted it yet.
I didn't post it before, I just realized, but my father's father had passed away in mid-May.
I wasn't very close to him, I didn't even go to the funeral because I was watching my brother. So I wasn't grieving very hard.
Tonight at around 8:30, my mother's father passed. I was...so close to him. It hasn't even been a month since my other grandfather had died.
Part of me just wants to leave this entry as it is,
So. I was watching something on youtube on the laptop in my living room, and my mom was across the room watching TV, when the phone rang. Unknown number.
I was kind of into what I was watching, so I didn't really notice that my mother had answered untill her voice began to shake a little and she muted "Everyone Loves Raymond".
I looked over to see my mother looking ahead of herself, phone pressed tight to her ear, trembling, "Denise...Denise, what happened? Just tell me what happened!"
She later told me that Denise was saying, "C-Can you get a ride up to St. Clair?" And wasn't being very clear.
I was on the recliner, and my cat was at my feet. He shifted in his sleep.
My mom gasped loudly and let out a wail, squeeling, "No! NO! How did this happen...?! Oh my GOD, NO!" She proceeded into loud, obnoxious sobs. She was heaving so badly that it sounded as if she were laughing, and it threw me off a bit.
I sat staring at her, wide-eyed, already guessing what happened but denying it.
My mother started screaming and wailing, "NO! NO! MY DADDY, OH MY GOD, MY DADDY!"
Denise was probably freaking out, so she asked for my father.
Mom, with her hand on her face, jerked the phone from her ear and handed it to my dad, who already knew just by her reaction. He took over, calm and frank as always. No emotion.
I still didn't fucking know it. They hadn't said it. Not knowing what to do, thrown off by my mom's hysteria as she sobbed loudly, highly, into her hands, I clapped my hand over my mouth and strained to hear what my father was saying.
After half a minute, HE DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING YET, but my mom, rocking back and forth a bit, blubbered, "Grandpa died, oh god Laura!"
My eyes were so wide. I was in complete...shock. It sounds cheesey and fake, but it just wasn't sinking it. I began to breath a little harder and my mother looked so lost and alone and vulnerable crying on the couch, so I leapt from the recliner to hug her.
She clung so tightly to me that I'll have bruises on my back from her fingers in the morning. She sobbed, sobbed, sobbed, and I began to get choked up.
No, not Grandpa, I remember thinking. I'm his little butterfly, his shadow, his everything. He's not gone. He's here. He's not GONE.
My mom, in a breathy, forced voice pushed me away a little and screamed, "I have GOT to calm down!" And went into the kitchen.
My head was fuzzy and I didn't want to be in the commotion, so I made my way upstairs.
Once I got to the top of the stairs, it really started to hit me, and I screamed something incoherent, crying finally. I stumbled down the hallway and went into the computer room instead of my room by accident, and I clung to the wall, supporting myself. "No, no, no!" I remember crying that. It was a variation of "Oh god," and "No, NO!" As if wailing would reverse time or something.
I remember sinking to the ground and clutching my stomach, my mind flashing back to the countless times he's taken me to Coney's, or he's played 500 Rummy with me, or called me his "Schmederling". Schmederling was the first word he taught me in German, when I was 4. It ment butterfly. I can remember that, too...
He had taken me by the shoulders, his blue eyes so blue, saying, "You're my little schmederling, you know what that means?"
I had giggled, shaking my head. "No, papa, whaaaat?"
"You've got to say it first: Schmederling."
"Shhmederlin!"
"Butterfly. You're my little butterfly." He smiled, I smiled.
I called Stephanie and she answered to me sobbing to her, which scared her because I DON'T cry. Rarely cry. I told her twice because she didn't understand me the first time, and for a whole minute I screamed and cried and screamed, and she stood on the line, listening, letting me have my moment.
I was going to hurl. I told her I had to call her back, and she demanded that I do when I was done. I hung up and clutched my stomach again. I was on my bed now. It took me a while to calm down. I had those second grade hiccuping sobs that could eventually turn into dry heaves. I didn't want that.
I called her back, good as new, and we talked about anything but my grandfather. She understood that I wanted to be distracted.
Since then I've only cried a little here and there, for the longest maybe 5 minutes.
It was strange, all of that coming out of me earlier. It startled me.
God. I'm going to miss him so much. Life won't be the same.
I still haven't accepted it yet.