grandpa is dead

[In celeste-land fashion, my eulogy grew out of this blogpost, and this blogpost grew out of my eulogy]

Of course it was like a movie scene, what part of my life hasn’t been the past half year? I know you, Mom. You never ring twice. And when you do, I pick up immediately

“grandpa is dead”

Those were the only three words you got in before my phone died. Five thousand miles away, I sit stumped in my cubicle. I sob like a child when I feared I wouldn’t.

And I immediately know all those sorry aphorisms were true: I should’ve just come to visit, even when I had no reason. I should have spent more time with you. I should’ve said goodbye. I should have meant it. I had no idea it would be the last time.

My friends ask what you were like, and in my talking I realized I was just talking about dad instead, how he would cope with you being gone. In a lot of ways, you died seven months ago.

It was supposed to be a routine scan, they had to take you off your blood thinners, and a clot choked your brain of oxygen for a minute too long. They were fast enough to save your life, yet too slow for you to ever be the same again. The knife of modern medicine cuts both ways

You too, refused to settle for only doing one thing at a time: a bartender, a football coach, a landlord, a dove racer, a teacher, a friend. They even wanted you to be a politician at one point, but they didn’t put you at the top of the list, so that was that for politics.

A man whose vulnerability was only apparent in the obvious attachment to his pride, now in diapers, paralyzed from the waist down. You weren’t a guy to sit still for seven months. But my dad cared for you, he made those moments livable. He cared for you a terrifying amount. I thought it may kill him first sometimes.

And one July night, it just happened: Slowly, and then all at once. You feel a bit nauseous, and the next day you feel even worse, and ask to be brought to the hospital. You’re not a guy that asks to be brought to the hospital. My dad must have been fighting his complacency on the drive there, after all, this is not the first time for him.

And when you arrive you’re revealed to be just a pile of accumulated DNA errors like the rest of us. Your heartbeat at 130, fifty-five breaths per minute. I wonder what you thought then, did you ever realize that this is the end? Your organs gave out three hours later. The doctors said it didn’t hurt, but when have they ever not said that.

“That one is special” you said, until the very end. I never knew why, you never said this about my brother or sister. You believed in me before I did. I’m glad you got to go out feeling vindicated.

My mom told me this was the age she lost her dad. Lung cancer. I heard you threw that cigarette pack against the wall and never opened it again when it happened to your dad. I always thought that was so fucking badass. And I knew then that you were like me and I was like you. I knew that I had inherited not only the impulsivity, but the stubbornness as well.

But despite all my carefully placed adjectives and my perverted earnestness, I look for the ordinary kind of feelings, and find only the very kind of regret my dad warned me about: every lunch break I took for granted. “I didn’t say it enough”, “I didn’t even come visit.” That time is spent now.

How many League Of Legends games I must have played with you mere meters away from me. How I wish I could have that time back now. How I wish I could give the people dear to me the time I still have. But some things never change, we all know I won’t do that.

Oh how I would love to have those hours back. How I would love to sit here and say: “I have learnt my lesson, I will cherish the little time I have left with those I hold dear”. But I’m not going to stand here and lie to you: I suck at that. I’ve always sucked at that. And 8000 kilometers only makes it harder. All I can promise is that I’ll continue to try.

But the ruler of everything moves on, punctual as always. It cares not for the bad news stacked on top of each other, nor who it leaves behind, nor the ruthlessness of vast distance. All mere planks in the Ship of Theseus I call my life. 1

Nothing in my world feels secure, and everything changes so fast. In that rapid change, I at least find comfort in retreating to you.

In my memories you make me the finest fries from fresh potatoes
In my nightmares of missed busses you drive me to my exams
In the background of old pictures of old football games, you’ll always be there.
My grandpa who still could.