Sometimes when you say good bye to someone, you think that perhaps there will be another chance to say hello once again. More often than not, good byes are forever. No matter what promises are exchanged. Nor does it matter how sincere you felt about keeping the promise.
The world is a big wheel. And like all round things, it keeps spinning and before you know it, you're on the opposite side, and the person who said "See ya later" can't see you ever again. It's almost like death in a sense. I relived death this evening. An unfortunate death of a distant relative brought about fresh tears to my already dried eyes. For those who don't know, my grandpa of 88 years passed away this March 22nd, 2008. It was a dreary Saturday afternoon, and the entire family had rushed to his bedside in the ICU. No one, not even the most logical amongst us, could stay focused on what the doctor was saying that day. We could see his lips move, hear the words trickling from them. But understand them, we did not.
The afternoon my grandpa died, I felt something in me die as well. He wasn't the most jovial of souls, he wasn't the family clown who would sit basking in the centre of attention. Julian Arnold Raeburn was a quiet, thoughtful man. He was a man who loved his wife, and loved his children. He was a man who could silence the naughtiest grandchild just by craddling her in his arms. Julian never yelled. He never spoke fiercely at us, he never instilled fear. My memories of my grandfather, and the moments that we all shared still shine through so clearly in my mind. Carefree childhood days of yesterday a quick flashback through time.
Everyone felt the lost of Grandpa. We missed the times when we would go visit and he would bring us for walks at his void decks. We missed the playground visits that we used to have. I cried tonight, out of silly pity for myself. It hurt knowing that he isn't around anymore, and that Granny is hurting in her flat, all alone. It hurts that I can't, or don't, spend enough time with her. I look back at photos of myself taken several years ago and sneer at my childish "i don't care" attitude. The immature thinking I had that was all "me-me-me". Enough of that Liz, I've grown up now. Still, the child in me yearns for the one day we, as a family, will be re-united in Heaven.
The world is a big wheel. And like all round things, it keeps spinning and before you know it, you're on the opposite side, and the person who said "See ya later" can't see you ever again. It's almost like death in a sense. I relived death this evening. An unfortunate death of a distant relative brought about fresh tears to my already dried eyes. For those who don't know, my grandpa of 88 years passed away this March 22nd, 2008. It was a dreary Saturday afternoon, and the entire family had rushed to his bedside in the ICU. No one, not even the most logical amongst us, could stay focused on what the doctor was saying that day. We could see his lips move, hear the words trickling from them. But understand them, we did not.
The afternoon my grandpa died, I felt something in me die as well. He wasn't the most jovial of souls, he wasn't the family clown who would sit basking in the centre of attention. Julian Arnold Raeburn was a quiet, thoughtful man. He was a man who loved his wife, and loved his children. He was a man who could silence the naughtiest grandchild just by craddling her in his arms. Julian never yelled. He never spoke fiercely at us, he never instilled fear. My memories of my grandfather, and the moments that we all shared still shine through so clearly in my mind. Carefree childhood days of yesterday a quick flashback through time.
Everyone felt the lost of Grandpa. We missed the times when we would go visit and he would bring us for walks at his void decks. We missed the playground visits that we used to have. I cried tonight, out of silly pity for myself. It hurt knowing that he isn't around anymore, and that Granny is hurting in her flat, all alone. It hurts that I can't, or don't, spend enough time with her. I look back at photos of myself taken several years ago and sneer at my childish "i don't care" attitude. The immature thinking I had that was all "me-me-me". Enough of that Liz, I've grown up now. Still, the child in me yearns for the one day we, as a family, will be re-united in Heaven.
No comments:
Post a Comment