So, today I woke up to a text message letting me know that my grandfather had passed away. He was born in 1928 so he surpassed 90, which is definitely pretty good going. However, when any person who is in any way affiliated with your life, let alone a member of your family, dies – it does bring about a variety of emotions.
When I first read the message from my dad, the immediate response was shock. I was not at home either, as I have been spending some time with a new…I don’t know, romantic interest? So bless him for having to be the first person I passed this news onto. Dude wasn’t prepped to react.
In that morning, I went about my day running various errands I absolutely had to do although, albeit, in quite a dazed state. As a scenic backdrop to the array of emotions I was experiencing, the sky was a very sombre gray and black, the rain fell boldly and the streets looked unfriendly, depressing, and bleak. It was not really the sort of weather I needed on a day like this. But then again, maybe it was perfect?
We sometimes act as if there is a set template for our emotional reactions to significant events. We spend a lot of time debating hypotheticals; ‘Wow, if that happened to me, I’d be so happy!’ and ‘Aren’t you absolutely devastated? Have you had a good cry?’. Those templates, if we engrave them into our ‘should be’ selves, can be really damaging. Alas, the first of my four grandparents passed away. I loved him dearly and now he’s gone. He was breathing several hours ago, and now he’s not. How should I feel?
However I need to feel.
I think it’s really important to fully ride the wave, wherever it takes you. The wave can be caused by any significant events, be it external or internal. As in order for us to fully understand something major that has happened, to heal from and process it, we must allow ourselves to feel exactly what we need to feel.
For me, it was a overriding sadness that followed me around. It was guilt that I was in the UK and not in Bulgaria to be there for my family. It was love for how lovely and gentle my granddad was. It was numbness, from how exhausting life can be. It was a philosophical curiosity at how things that have begun will inevitably end. It was sympathy, admiration and love that after he passed, the ambulance brought him home (Bulgaria can do things a bit differently…) and my nan and uncle redressed him and, until his funeral which was the very next day, there he lay. It was pressure, to do something – to send money home, to send flowers. It was warmth, towards my grandma, in front of whom he died in the ambulance; for my dad, who would definitely drink himself into a stupor amidst this news; it was sadness, for my stubborn uncle who shared a roof with his now deceased father until he died, and never forgave him for, over 40 years ago, having been an alcoholic.
I made the phone calls to my grandma and dad. I spoke to my brother who still lives in Bulgaria and checked on him. I arranged to send money home via his account. I attempted to order flowers from an acquaintance in the town, who got back to me with a very short response and never followed up. I felt annoyance too, at the blasé response of someone I’ve known for years, in response to my sharing my granddad had passed and asking to order flowers through his business and getting no words of condolences, nor an appropriate follow-up to the ‘I’ll let you know’. Thanks dude. Then again, that’s me projecting my own common decency template onto someone else? Ah fuck it, I’ll stand by that one.
So here we are. The funeral has been and gone. People have come with words of condolences and food. My family have said goodbye, and I have thought of them from a distance.
I had my little cry yesterday. I thought fondly of my sweet granddad who I didn’t really know that well but I knew his love and gentle nature well enough. I knew that he was a very intelligent, highly literate and articulate man. I know that he gave up the booze, which has been a destructive substance worldwide, but also in my family, and kept it that way for the second part of his life. For that, I am immensely proud of him. I know that he would buy me books and strawberries when I was younger, and I know that he would give me hugs bordering on Lenny of Mice and Men vibes. Not as deadly, but that love flowed out in the strength with which he hugged his first grand-baby. I’ll remember him for how strong and sharp he remained, at 90! How he said goodbye to me, just in case, every year for the last ten years and how he was always wrong – until now. I’ll remember and cherish when, after our family dinners, I’d go and sit with him on his bed so we could have a proper conversation. His hearing was terrible in the last 10 years and it meant he was completely isolated during our family dinners and the conversations we had. Well, he sort of missed the arguments in that sense, so it’s all good granddad. You know how petty shit could get with the other men in the family and you clocked out of that noise. During our little chats in his room, he would hear me perfectly, as I enunciated like a mofo, spoke clearly, calmly and boldly, looking him in the eye. He’d laugh and smile with me, and he’d always hold my hands in his. And every time I think of that, including as I’m typing this, it brings tears to my eyes. Best of all, that Lenny squeeze was expressed in how he’d hold onto my hands in those moments.
Thank you granddad – for just being. You needn’t have been any more or any less than you were. You helped raise me when I was young. You loved me and were there. I grew up away from you all, but I always returned to see you. Thank you for sticking around for as long as you did.
And thank you especially because although I am so sad that you’re no longer around, and I mean really fucking sad (if you somehow can hear my words, if that’s a thing, sorry – your granddaughter swears, a LOT), I am grateful for you and any and all times we’ve shared together. As a result of this, as well, I am already starting to appreciate everything around me that is still alive – my youth, my strength, my family, my friends, the earth, the trees, the fire in my spirit. Shouldn’t have needed you to remind me of these things, but I humbly thank you for doing so anyway. I contemplated many of these things, as I went for an awesome rainy walk last night and, interestingly, my train of thought ran as follows – ‘Life is really tough but ultimately’…and then I stumbled upon this message. No word of a lie.
To all of you who’s parents and grandparents (biological or whatever!) are still alive, give them a ring would ya? I’m going to be – a lot more frequently from now on.
С много любов Дядо Кольо…Почивай в мир. Благодаря ти за всичко.
Peace and love.
Nik-y-Vida 