Goodbye: finding words

I still feel like I should say something of my grandfather's passing. But while I feel compelled to say *something*, there is nothing in particular I am compelled to say.

I have yet to experience that moment of purging grief. Where you get out all the raw emotion so you can move past the event. I've had moments of sad quiet and eyes pooled with tears, but not that defining moment where I get it out of my system.

It makes me feel a bit guilty. That I don't have more mourning to exhibit. And I know that I'm being unfair to myself, everyone expresses grief and experiences loss differently, blah, blah, blah. But still I feel like my lack of emotional upheaval somehow devalues his life.

And maybe its just because he didn't die all in one day. He's been on the brink for over a year now. There were several times I had to reallign my mindset to accept the possibility of his passing. I had many moments to come to terms with his passing. None really definite. None conclusive. But enough to adjust to the notion.

In my eyes, in my heart, he didn't die last Friday. He died at some indeterminable point between his 50th wedding anniversary and Friday. Sometime shortly after Father's day, I think. During some gradual but not exactly slow decline, stopped speaking. Stopped eating. Forgot how to swallow. Lost control of his bowels. Technically, he was still alive - but the man I knew had passed on, and it was growing clear he wouldn't be coming back - or at least, not for any extended stay.

And there was a period of time, several months into his battle with cancer, that I expected him to make a recovery. He grew stronger. More able. Walked for short distances on his own. Engaged in conversation. Real conversation. More so at times than he did before the cancer started. Even as his strength slipped, there was still hope.

But after the celebrating (as much as he was able to do so) his 50th wedding anniversary, his health deteriorated rapidly. He had looked bad then, and I was told it was a 'good day' for him. I chose to say goodbye then - hoping it might not actually be the final goodbye, but accepting that it probably was. I wanted to say goodbye when he was able to say it back - and I wasn't sure he'd be able to do that again.

And it was a good goodbye. I asked for a big hug, and he squeezed me tighter than i thought he should have been able, in his frail state. And that show of strength gave me one last fleeting hope that maybe we one have another goodbye.

I wish I could say that had been our final moment. Sadly it wasn't. I called the house on Father's day - hoping maybe my father had called there and left a phone number recently (long, irrelevent story). I figured, as long as I was on the phone, I should take the opportunity to wish my grandfather happy father's day. Great idea, yet really not a very good idea. Even when fully cognisant, Grandpa didn't hear very well. My last moments with him involved me trying, wiht no success, to explain that I was wishing him "Happy Fathers Day", not "something bothers me" and certainly not "you are bothering me". My last moments were spent asking him to give the phone back to grandma, leaving him wondering why I had called to say that he bothered me.

I can take some small comfort in being sure he didn't retain that memory for very long. I kind of hope I don't either.