What's been happening

Where do I even begin?
The last two weeks have been the absolute hardest of my life. 

Last week, my grandfather passed away.

 I will spare you the medical jargon, the gritty details.
We’ve held hands for many hours, despite the horrible suffering, the endless physical and mental pain. I was raised by my grandparents (my grandmother passed away in 2008 when I was much younger and more sheltered from it all) because I’ve only had a single mother who I mostly remember working through my childhood. She cared for my grandfather the past few years which was very hard on both of them.

My grandfather was the absolute sweetest, most loving and affectionate person I will ever meet. He was a very generous, intelligent and kind man who didn’t have much beside his family. And I was the golden child, until the very last second. He not only accepted Redeemer into the family very quickly but he loved her very much. He used to call her “his doll”. She was with him for hours and hours as well and helped us care for him when he couldn’t even stand on his own feet anymore. 

I wasn’t sure how you call it so I looked it up in the dictionary. It tells me to write “terminal care” here. I don’t know. I think the German “Sterbebegleitung” (companionship for the dying) describes what it felt like a lot better. When a loved one is on their deathbed you will not have the heart to tell them that they are dying. However, when they talk about it, even in their disoriented state and you downplay their situation, both you and them will experience a lot of frustration, fear and maybe even anger. People change when they are about to leave, and you might not recognize them anymore. It’s a confusing and awful time for everyone involved. Staying strong and focusing on caring for them as much as possible is necessary. Having loving family members and significant others – absolutely essential.
But you need to believe in truth. My grandfather fought very hard. He did not want to die, and it was a battle he would eventually lose but he ended up suffering more. On his deathbed he had a lot of visions, most he was afraid of. One day he was talking to himself, maybe someone or something to take good care of me and that I’m such a wonderful, intelligent, beautiful and kind person and I just needed to be taken care of. But after that his visions plagued him and he was truly afraid. I felt pressure and anxiety because he started saying that only I can heal him. I wasn’t angry with him, because he wasn’t in the right state of mind and I was sure he would have never asked for me to do the impossible if it was the grandfather I knew. Redeemer has seen many people die due to her career but she admits she’s never seen anyone fight as hard as my he did.

On that last day, the doctor visited and was surprised how much strength was still in him and was certain he’d make it through the weekend. It was so bad that he’d have to be on morphine though and it reached a point where we were praying for his suffering to end. Around noon I was holding his hand as usual, but I took the initiative to talk to him about something. 

I didn’t consult with the rest of the family first and it was a thing I almost begged others not to touch upon, but something came over me and everything just changed. He was listening very closely and quietly, when before it had been a very restless and chaotic time.
In my mother tongue, the language Jesus spoke over 2000 years ago I told him to feel how strong my hands are that all our family is strong and healthy and he doesn’t need to worry anymore. I would protect us the same way he’s protected us. I then asked him if he believed me and he pondered a bit, when unusually in his dying phase he’d give you a quick and urgent answer, and he quietly said yes. I asked him if he could see the angels. I told him that at the end of all this, things will be good. Being afraid…not being afraid...none of that will make a difference if we believe that things will be good so we might as well just not be afraid at all. I was stroking his face, kissed his hand.

These would be my last words to my grandfather. Workers from the palliative care came in and gave him his medicine that would soon kick in and he fell asleep, snoring like he used to, a sound I grew up with, as if nothing was wrong. He was to wake up in the evening again.

But he died.

Despite us all believing he would struggle even more, after this short conversation he stopped fighting because someone finally talked about letting go with him and not only that – he got reassurance that things will be alright with us because we are so strong. Maybe I did end up “healing” him. 

I keep crying. Sometimes I feel numb, most of the time I feel numb now, but I keep having these very intense crying sessions. I’m not doing so well but I promised him I will be strong and healthy. So, I will be. No matter what. 

I don’t find it hard to reflect but I’m struggling so much to put all these things into words because they would never do what I feel justice even in the slightest nor do they represent just how emotional these weeks have been, yet I could ramble for hours and hours.

The bottom line is: he meant a lot to me. I wasn’t needy – I’ve always been humble. Never liked accepting that little bit of money when I struggled through university even when it was very necessary. I didn’t like him worrying, but he was always busy worrying either way. Not that he had any reason to, he’s just been like this all his life. Always worrying about others, feeling with them and neglecting himself. Our love and respect for each other is probably why we never argued – not even once.
Most, if not all, my childhood memories feature him and my grandmother. With both gone it feels like my childhood has finally found its end.
 

I will never feel being loved as a grandchild again. I will never hear certain phrases and words only a grandparent will tell you in our language. I will speak my mother tongue a lot less and I fear to unlearn things. But such is life and it doesn’t matter if I’m afraid or not so I might as well not be afraid. 

I find it hard to breathe during the day and sleep at night. I’m traumatized by what I’ve witnessed and the care I’ve taken part of. I know time will heal wounds but scars will be there.
I took a break from the internet . I’m surrounded by wonderful people but there are also many out there that don’t like me even when I’ve done nothing to them. Usually I know how to handle this sort of negativity but when it rains it pours and I was sure that these things would get to me a lot more than usual but I’ll come around again and learn not to take it personally. Because the reward of being blessed by good people outweighs any of the bad I might encounter. Following a content creator is also tightly connected with escapism, so I felt conflicted talking about this in-depth. But I wanted to share my story with you after all.

I’m sorry this was a lengthier post. Work will continue as always, and a bit of normality is definitely what I need very soon. I might be on less than unusual the next few days but I need to come back slowly.

Thank you all for your support. I look forward to hanging out with everyone again.
Always stay strong.