‘I mourned the loss of my Grandfather in 1991, when my Nan died. For me, he hasn’t been the same since then. He was awful to me as a teenager, after her death and damaged our relationship beyond repair. As heartbreaking as that is, I am able to be stronger and more supportive to my Mum as a result. I feel quite emotionally removed it all. I am able to separate my feelings and stay calm’.
Those were my words. That was my plan. I thought I had all my feelings locked down. I thought I was calm and emotionally removed – I was wrong.
My Gramps passed away 2 weeks ago on 7th May. He suffered a massive stroke 2 days earlier and the consultant advised, he had 48 hours left. Devastatingly accurate.
The silent stand off between my mother and I, has now entered a temporary cease-fire. Earlier this year my requests to see my grandfather, in his care home, had been denied. My mother didn’t want me to see him ‘like that’. Like that, referred to his dementia driven bad days, that were getting more and more frequent. From January to April, visitation rights were revoked, for my protection. Now I was facing a choice. I had a small window of opportunity, to see him one last time. He had 48 hours and I was all too aware, he could have all of that time, or none of that time. I was in the car and on route to his bedside, without a moment’s hesitation.
At the hospital, there was an awkward hug-type thing, between my parents and I. Grief is weird. We made our way to his ward, his room, his bed…
He was laying there, so frail and gaunt. His heart monitor beeping loudly in the corner of his room. Every few minutes, his heart rate would shoot up, his body would shake and alarms would be going off. No nurse would come, as this was all apparently normal. I thought if I could just hold his hand or if he could just hear my voice, then he would respond in some way. He didn’t. His eyes were closed the whole time and he was unresponsive to everything around him. For a few moments, I was scared to touch him because for a few moments, I was scared of him.
I wanted to stay for as long as possible because I knew, that once I left that room; I would never see him again. Eventually, my mum walked me out. I was holding it together so well until I was out of the ward. Then I broke down in my mother’s arms. I cried freely, not caring who saw me or heard me. This was really happening.
The next two days, leading up to his death were very emotional. I cried over everything and nothing. Looked through many old photographs and listened to hours of old songs. I cried more knowing he was going to die, than I did when he actually passed away.
The loss is profound and rather isolating. People experience and deal with death very differently. In the days following his passing, my brother went to ground and my Mum and Dad closed their doors. I was asked not to call or visit, as they were not up to it. Even in bereavement, my family couldn’t seem to come together.
My poor husband, is about as tactful, as a cricket bat to the face – I was on my own. Well not entirely. I had wine and Frank Sinatra.