As a child, I always wondered how people appeared to deal with death so easily. I didn’t understand how they didn’t just cry constantly and never stop, how they continued on with their day to day lives as though nothing had happened. Until I was 16 years old, death was a completely foreign concept to me. I’d never come anywhere close to dealing with death, until I sat by my dying grandfather’s bedside as cancer overtook his body. Then, I understood everything.
If you’ve never had to say goodbye to someone for the last time, take a minute right now to thank God. You are very blessed, always remember that. If you’re unsure what it’s like to sit by a loved one’s bedside and tell them goodbye, here’s a quick summary of how it feels.
It. Sucks.
My brain can’t seem to come up with any other words besides these. It sucks. There is nothing happy, spiritual or reliving about it at all. It sucks. I’m sure you can try and imagine it, but trust me when I say that whatever image is in your head right now is nowhere near as hard as it actually is. It’s tougher than anything that can be explained in words. I still remember it like it was yesterday, and I have a feeling that I will never forget it. I still remember the words I attempted to get out, the memories that flooded my head, the sound of his breathing, the way his fragile and warm hand felt in mine. I remember every single detail. And it sucked.
As far as constant crying goes, I now understand that it just doesn't work like that. It’s a much deeper pain than that. It’s the type of pain that gets caught in the back of your throat, the lump that forms when you are about to cry, but can’t. You go completely numb, and I’m not sure that feeling ever quite goes away. It hits you suddenly, at the most random times, and you can’t help but burst into tears. Usually, you don’t even know what it was that made you get emotional, but the random crying spurts never end.
At first, everyone is extremely supportive, sometimes even too supportive. People bring you meals, call and check in daily, and constantly tell you how sorry they are and that they’re thinking about you. After a while, you probably want to slap most of them across the face and tell them to shut up because they’re not helping. I get it, they don’t know what to say but they want to try and help. But really, it just makes it worse.
Flash forward a month later. You’re still grieving, probably even more now than before. Now that time has passed, you’ve begun to get back into your daily life, but something is missing. A piece of your heart is gone, and suddenly doing everyday tasks become ten times harder because if it. The world around you keeps going, but you’re still stopped in time. Everyone around you has moved on. They have other things occupying their lives and they’ve forgotten that you’re still grieving. That’s when it truly gets hard. The world expects you to carry on with life, to smile, be social, and pick back up with your happy life. People don’t offer support and sympathy anymore, they don’t understand when you just don’t feel like going out, they don’t understand anything. It’s not on purpose, but it sure makes everything harder.
It’s been almost two years since I lost my grandfather to cancer and not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. I still expect to see him when I enter my grandparents house, smiling and giving me a big hug. I still expect him to answer the phone and say hey honey when I call their house. Sometimes, I call when my grandma isn’t home just so I can hear his voice on the answering machine. Before he was gone, I never gave much thought to what it would be like to lose him. It definitely wasn’t anything like I expected. No one can prepare you for what it’s like to lose someone close to you. Whether you know it’s coming and you prepare yourself or it comes suddenly, there’s absolutely nothing that can prepare you for it.
Until then, hold your loved ones tight. Tell them you love them, spend as much time as possible with them, and don’t ever let them go. You never know when it will all disappear. They could be gone tomorrow.
Hold them tight, and never let them go.
