My grandfather died, two weeks ago tomorrow, at 8:45 AM.
He was sick for a long time, and we knew it would happen. I knew the second I saw my parents what had happened. But it was still hard, it still is. I didn't bawl nonstop for days, I still cry a little every other day, occasionally more than once a day.
The funeral was hard, it was all I could do to not jump up and run out of the room during the service. But the small service at the cemetery was the worst part.
The worst part was watching the two air force officers folding the flag that was over his casket and giving it to my grandma. That was probably the hardest thing for me to watch, ever. At first, I didn't understand what they were doing. But when the officer knelt down in front of my grandma and handing the flag to her, in a moment of utter silence...it was absolutely unbearable. I had seen that being done in movies, at the funerals of the young and brave killed at war. I had never actually experienced that. My grandpa was not young or killed at war, but it was brave. He served in the United States Air Force during the Korean War.
It also hurt having to leave, because the service was at a memorial thing in the cemetery and I never got to see him buried. As I was leaving, the hearse drove away and my grandpa's casket getting put into an ugly white truck-like thing to take him to the grave site. That hurt so much, he deserved better than to be taken to his grave in an ugly white truck that didn't even look like anything but some white metal sheets on wheels.
My grandpa was a strong hearted man, a bit strict and stubborn at times, a man with a sense of humor and a knack for making friends. He was dedicated to everything he did. He had such a strong will to live, he held on for as long as he could. My mother said he held on for one of his sisters, who was driving to town from Nebraska. His other sister was with him when he died, my mom says that he had mistaken her for his sister from Nebraska and decided to finally let go. He died on a Tuesday, and I saw him the Sunday before. The last words I ever said to him was, "I'll see you later, Grandpa." The next time I saw him he was in a casket.
People say that there is a lot of him that lives on in me. And I'm clinging to that like it's a piece of driftwood keeping me from drowning.
I will always remember is the sound of his laugh. The way the sky looked, all big and blue, the day he died. Even though the weathermen had predicted snow and had been for weeks, spring suddenly came the day that my grandpa left this world. And I firmly believe that he was the one who made the sky like that.
Rest in peace, Grandpa. I love you.
In sweet ecstasy while the ages roll
Will you meet in Heaven someday?
