I remember that day more clearly than any other in my life. That summer morning, I was startled awake by a phone call. It was my father. He told me to eat something and get dressed, then call him back. I was confused and wanted to ask him why but he had already hung up, so I just listened to him. I called him after having breakfast and he finally revealed the fatal blow.
"Sweetie," - he started - "the thing I told you would happen, happened." - he said in a voice that sounded a little too far away.
"What?" - I asked, confused, not connecting the dots just yet.
"Your grandpa," - he paused for a second and I instantly realized what that meant - "he died this morning."
I just felt empty all of a sudden. My ears started faintly ringing, there was a light thumping at the back of my head and I could barely hear my dad's next words.
"Take a minute, calm down a little and then your godfather will drive you to your grandparents' house. Your brother, cousin and aunt are already here." - that was all he said before hanging up, leaving me to my thoughts.
My godfather arrived shortly, hugged me and asked how I'm doing but I just started crying in his arms. We got into the car and I calmed down a little, opting to just stare blankly through the window, watching the familiar landscape blur in front of my eyes. Then we got to the main road, just for me to start crying again because I've never seen a bigger traffic jam in our hometown and my cousin, Emma, was texting me, asking where I am, saying that she really needs me and I really needed her in that moment too. Unfortunately, we stayed in place for at least fifteen minutes, trapped behind an enourmous line of cars.
When we finally got to the house, I noticed four familiar cars parked in the driveway. The first one was my older brother's and as soon as I saw it, I just wanted to jump into his arms and feel safe in his embrace as I so often did when I was younger. The second was my father's. I didn't know how to feel about it. I needed him, but he isn't great with words, which often lead to him saying the wrong thing or more rarely, saying nothing at all. The third car belonged to my aunt Anne and her husband John. I felt a wave of relief wash over me knowing that Emma was still there. The fourth car took me a little longer to place, it belonged to my dad's cousin, Eric, whose wife, Nella, is a nurse who looked after my grandpa the past few days since he got back from the hospital.
My godfather parked the car and after entering the house, we went upstairs. He went to my grandpa's room but I just couldn't make myself go see him, knowing it would be the last time and knowing that I couldn't say goodbye to him, so I went to the living room. There I was immediatly embraced by Emma, who looked like she had just calmed down, but as we hugged eachother, the two youngest granddaughters, we both broke down again realizing that our grandpa would never hug us both again and give each a kiss on the forehead when we came to visit him. When she went back to the sofa she was sitting on before greeting me, my father appeared in front of me. He just pulled me close without saying a word and I was grateful for the silence. Still in his arms, I looked around the room. I've never seen such sadness and sorrow on the faces that belong to the people I love.
First, I spotted my grandma sitting at her usual seat at the table, it was the first and only time in my life that I saw her crying, occasionally glancing at the empty seat across from her. Turning my head slightly to the left, I saw my aunt and John hugging Emma as they sat next to eachother on the sofa. Then, turning my head to the right, I saw Eric leaning on a chair next to the empty fireplace staring blankly in front of him, while Nella was rubbing slow circles on his back in support. When dad let go of me, Eric and Nella embraced me briefly, whispering: "Our condolences." and Eric quietly added: "You know, your grandpa was my favourite uncle, out of all of them. He was the most gentle, honest and righteous, always ready to help in any way needed, no matter how much it costed him. The only one I could truly laugh and cry with."
My grandpa had three brothers and three sisters, he was the youngest out of the seven of them. Now only two of his sisters remain with us, with their families.
Then I went over to my grandma, putting my hand on her shoulder and hugging her. She just put her hand over mine for a second and then let go. My aunt was the next to embrace me and I asked her where my brother Rick and uncle Barty were. She just looked towards the balcony door, which was wide open, letting the sunlight in through the thin curtains moved by the light summer breeze. After she let go of me, I went out on the balcony seeing Rick and Barty smoking together looking over the old, worn, stone fence to the garden below, which grandpa used to tend to. As they faced me, I noticed their red rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks. My uncle hugged me and told me everything would be alright. When he let go, my brother also hugged me and gently tapped my back in a secret code we used as children to ask if I was okay. I just hugged him back tighter.
When we let go of eachother, I remember thinking to myself, if anyone else hugs me today I think I'll be sick. I stayed on the balcony with them, and Emma joined us too. We just sat in comfortable silence. My father then announced that he has to call the mortician so now is our last chance to say goodbye to grandpa. Emma tapped my shoulder with gentle, shaking fingers and asked me to come with her and althought I thought I wasn't strong enough to see him, I didn't want her to go alone. We entered his room and saw him laying there on the bed, looking as peaceful as ever, like he is just sleeping. We sat down on the floor next to his side of the bed and she spoke first.
"Grandpa, I already miss you a lot, I can't believe I won't see you again." - she said quietly.
"Grandpa, I can't believe you won't be here to hug us on our birthdays, to cut down the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, to see us at our weddings." - I added.
We continued sitting there, reminiscing our favourite memories with grandpa. So many of them were flooding my mind, him teaching us how to play cards, picking mushrooms and olives together, sitting by the fireplace while he he was telling us stories from his childhood or his time in the army. I remembered that time when my mom asked me to get some firewood from our shed on a cold, rainy winter day and grandpa got up, without a word, stopping me gently, walking out of the door without a jacket. Soon, I heard the sound of an axe slicing through wood over the rain droplets hitting the ground. He came back fifteen minutes later, soaking wet, from head to toe, clothes and hair dripping, arms fulled of freshly cut firewood covered by an old piece of cardboard. I remember how each time I came to my grandparents' house, he would sit at the chair closest to the landline, newspaper in hand, two pairs of glasses on his head, one in his hair, one he was actually using. I remember hugging him, him kissing me on the forehead and me asking him to scooch over so that I could fix the date on the calendar above his head, which was always set on one or two days before. Emma and I always used to joke that grandma and grandpa liked to pretend they were living in the past, and now, we wanted to pretend to be living there too. Our train of thought was broken when the mortician arrived and our parents rushed us out of the room.
I guess it's a part of growing up, understanding that someone you love isn't here anymore and choosing to believe or not to believe that their life goes on in a better place, or that they stay watching over you. I had a final thought before going to sleep: "Whatever happens, life will go on. It won't be the same, but it will go on. And it is easier to go with the flow of the river we call life than to fight trying to swim against it's current. " And with that in mind, I fell asleep, dreaming about seeing grandpa again, in another lifetime.