I can't stand to leave.
The viewing was on Sunday afternoon, and the funeral was Monday morning.
The last time that I will ever see my grandad was sunday afternoon at 3 pm when they closed the casket lid for the last time. I was certain that the one thing I didn't want to do was see him dead. Aside from this irrational fear I have of dead people, I didn't want to see him as anything but alive for the rest of my life. As I walked through the lobby of the church, I happened to glance into the sanctuary where my mom was and I saw him lying there in the casket and I almost threw up. After we had picked up the rest of my family and returned to the church, I stood outside the door for at least half an hour just shaking because I couldn't decide what I wanted more... to see him one more time, or to spare myself the reality and continue on like he was just in the hospital or 800 miles away as per usual. I finally decided to go in and after finally building up the guts to look at him, I realized that it was the last time I would ever see him and I couldn't bear to leave him. I just stared and cried for what seemed like forever, and eventually we had to leave the sanctuary so they could close the lid.
I remember looking at him and thinking that he looked so peaceful. I mean it had to be better than how he was in the hospital right? No one wants to be hooked up to so many machines with blood coming out their eyes and mouth. Who wants to be lying there on medications that do everything possible to keep your liver from poisoning you? I guess no one. He told my nonnie that he was ready to die, and that phrase will haunt me for the rest of my life. I can't imagine that level of pain, discomfort or sadness. Not a hasty decision made by a heavily depressed person about to commit suicide, but a well considered decision to have the oxygen mask removed from your face, and the drugs keeping you from dying a terrible death stopped.
I know I'm not that strong, but I wish I could have taken that burden upon myself. I hope he wasn't scared. I'm scared. My faith isn't as strong as it used to be. I can't imagine facing death so imminently and not being completely petrified of what I don't know.
I remember walking around the house looking at his things, thinking about how much care he took with his computer, his car, his movies, everything aphabetized, nothing out of place, warranties filed according to dates of purchase. None of these things make one bit of difference now. His car could be dirty. His computer could have a virus. There could be a dvd in the player, one on the floor, and one in the kitchen, and it would make no difference whatsoever. He's still gone, and no one cares about any of this. All we care about is him.
I'm having a hard time accepting that he's gone. When I go to nonnie's house I expect to see him sitting in his recliner watching basketball, telling us to take our shoes off so we don't track in dirt.
He told me and jeremy about what he had gotten nonnie for her birthday and how he couldn't wait to get home so he could give them to her. He'd picked out some earrings, and a musical DVD and the look in his eyes was that of a guy picking out his clothes for a first date, hoping and wishing that she would like them, like him, and maybe he could get a kiss at the end of the night. I've never seen him love her so much in their 50+ years of marriage.
The picture sitting on a stand next to the coffin was one taken several years ago when he was much healthier, and I can't picture that man lying in a coffin, so small that you can see his ribs through his suit jacket. He looked so small. That couldn't be the man who held me when I was born and came to see me for every single birthday of my life. The man who convinced me that my blankie would only talk to him couldn't possibly be that man lying there with his life over.
It seems like there were 2 grandads. the one who was sick in the hospital, who needed to die for some relief, and the grandad who was completely healthy and grumpy and a little obsessive, who didn't deserve for any of this to happen to him. The latter of the 2 must surely be sitting in his chair in Terre Haute right now planning his annual trip to Gulf Shores.
Nonnie asked me to sing "On Eagle's Wings" at the funeral. Against better judgement I agreed, as I couldn't possibly say no to her, especially after what she's gone through. Monday at the funeral I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I stood up there next to my grandad and I sang his favorite hymn. I can't imagine what got me through it, but I'm glad I was able to.
Silly old people kept walking up to me after and telling me how beautiful it was, but I guess they didn't realize that I wasn't concerned with the beauty of my voice so much as the strength it took to do it in the first place. I don't know what this sentiment is exactly, but it seemed misplaced, and undeserved.
Although I was at the hospital with him a few days before he died, I never actually told him goodbye. I was afraid that if i did, it really would be goodbye, and I couldn't face that truth, so I never got to. At the cemetary I told him goodbye, and I'm ready to try and accept it.
The last time that I will ever see my grandad was sunday afternoon at 3 pm when they closed the casket lid for the last time. I was certain that the one thing I didn't want to do was see him dead. Aside from this irrational fear I have of dead people, I didn't want to see him as anything but alive for the rest of my life. As I walked through the lobby of the church, I happened to glance into the sanctuary where my mom was and I saw him lying there in the casket and I almost threw up. After we had picked up the rest of my family and returned to the church, I stood outside the door for at least half an hour just shaking because I couldn't decide what I wanted more... to see him one more time, or to spare myself the reality and continue on like he was just in the hospital or 800 miles away as per usual. I finally decided to go in and after finally building up the guts to look at him, I realized that it was the last time I would ever see him and I couldn't bear to leave him. I just stared and cried for what seemed like forever, and eventually we had to leave the sanctuary so they could close the lid.
I remember looking at him and thinking that he looked so peaceful. I mean it had to be better than how he was in the hospital right? No one wants to be hooked up to so many machines with blood coming out their eyes and mouth. Who wants to be lying there on medications that do everything possible to keep your liver from poisoning you? I guess no one. He told my nonnie that he was ready to die, and that phrase will haunt me for the rest of my life. I can't imagine that level of pain, discomfort or sadness. Not a hasty decision made by a heavily depressed person about to commit suicide, but a well considered decision to have the oxygen mask removed from your face, and the drugs keeping you from dying a terrible death stopped.
I know I'm not that strong, but I wish I could have taken that burden upon myself. I hope he wasn't scared. I'm scared. My faith isn't as strong as it used to be. I can't imagine facing death so imminently and not being completely petrified of what I don't know.
I remember walking around the house looking at his things, thinking about how much care he took with his computer, his car, his movies, everything aphabetized, nothing out of place, warranties filed according to dates of purchase. None of these things make one bit of difference now. His car could be dirty. His computer could have a virus. There could be a dvd in the player, one on the floor, and one in the kitchen, and it would make no difference whatsoever. He's still gone, and no one cares about any of this. All we care about is him.
I'm having a hard time accepting that he's gone. When I go to nonnie's house I expect to see him sitting in his recliner watching basketball, telling us to take our shoes off so we don't track in dirt.
He told me and jeremy about what he had gotten nonnie for her birthday and how he couldn't wait to get home so he could give them to her. He'd picked out some earrings, and a musical DVD and the look in his eyes was that of a guy picking out his clothes for a first date, hoping and wishing that she would like them, like him, and maybe he could get a kiss at the end of the night. I've never seen him love her so much in their 50+ years of marriage.
The picture sitting on a stand next to the coffin was one taken several years ago when he was much healthier, and I can't picture that man lying in a coffin, so small that you can see his ribs through his suit jacket. He looked so small. That couldn't be the man who held me when I was born and came to see me for every single birthday of my life. The man who convinced me that my blankie would only talk to him couldn't possibly be that man lying there with his life over.
It seems like there were 2 grandads. the one who was sick in the hospital, who needed to die for some relief, and the grandad who was completely healthy and grumpy and a little obsessive, who didn't deserve for any of this to happen to him. The latter of the 2 must surely be sitting in his chair in Terre Haute right now planning his annual trip to Gulf Shores.
Nonnie asked me to sing "On Eagle's Wings" at the funeral. Against better judgement I agreed, as I couldn't possibly say no to her, especially after what she's gone through. Monday at the funeral I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I stood up there next to my grandad and I sang his favorite hymn. I can't imagine what got me through it, but I'm glad I was able to.
Silly old people kept walking up to me after and telling me how beautiful it was, but I guess they didn't realize that I wasn't concerned with the beauty of my voice so much as the strength it took to do it in the first place. I don't know what this sentiment is exactly, but it seemed misplaced, and undeserved.
Although I was at the hospital with him a few days before he died, I never actually told him goodbye. I was afraid that if i did, it really would be goodbye, and I couldn't face that truth, so I never got to. At the cemetary I told him goodbye, and I'm ready to try and accept it.