My memories will ache for just a bit, till some small moment down through the days, I realize I remember something about him with a slight smile instead of a tear.
My Grandpa died over 25 years ago and I still miss him, the pain is not as intense as it was the first few years. I live with the hope that some day he will be standing there to greet me when I pass from this life. I can close my eyes and see him standing there in his coveralls and dark hair askew across his forehead, watching him run his hands through it, fixing it, just smiling and waiting for me. I’ll be the one running to him, while he stands and waits for me. I know there will be tears.
It started with a single tear, and they became a thousand more.
I have fresher wounds of family and friends that have fought this cancer battle and have died since Grandpa’s passing. I know there were others before him, where the word was whispered in a sickeningly hushed tone, under someone’s heated breath, “cancer”. No one ever seemed to be able to say it out loud. Grandpa’s cancer was the first that I remember hitting me and wondering, why this had to happen to him. He was 80 years old, but looked like he was 50, until the cancer took hold. It was the most horrible time of my life, until my own cancer hit and that of my Mom’s.
I have always been a crier. My heart is firmly planted close enough to the surface to cause it great pain, not only at my own sorrow, but of other’s sorrows as well. I cry over movies, so you can imagine what real life does to me. I would go to the hospital to see Grandpa. I didn’t want to go, knew I should, didn’t want him or anyone else to see my tears, so I wore my sunglasses the whole time I was there. It served as a wall between me and him. Somehow made the pain a little less. These days it no longer matters who sees my tears. We need those times to share with others who are hurting.
I miss all of these loves that have touched my life. The wave of melancholy hits and comes at uncertain times, when I least expect it. A song on the radio maybe, but sometimes a certain scent and the tears will quickly escape and rush down my cheek. The smell of burning wood brings memories flushing through my head, happy and sad rolled into one giant wave, washing through me and over me. I hold on to these memories. In most cases it is all I have of my loves. Someday, someday. they will all be there to greet me, when my time here has ended. Amen and Amen.
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