I read through the previous post and I found it utterly useless and ridiculous.
Ranting with despair isn’t going to help anything, so I deleted it.
The aftershock subsided a little after a few day,
but it still felt like someone has punched me in the face.
For all my wildest imagination I never expected something like this.
It never occurred to me that grandpa was suffering from some incurable malaise that was soon going to consume him.
And to think that we only knew the truth until it was too late.
The mutated cancer cells have spread throughout his system,
and not even chemotheraphy can save his life now.
It’s bone cancer at its last stage, and all endeavours to reverse the process are futile.
The old man kept the news from all of us.
For 4 years he kept his condition under wraps, not even that woman and her sons knew of his illness.
For God’s sake grandpa, why didn’t you go for therapy?!
For all your richness why didn’t you seek treatment? WHY WHY WHY!
Guilt kept pounding on me like a hammer.
When was the last time I saw grandpa? Did I even look at him when he came back?
Did I notice how skinny he was during those very brief moments of our conversation? His sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, did I notice any of those?
No I fucking didn’t.
I could still remember vague memories of the past,
where I adored grandpa.
He would be horsey and I’ll be the cowboy.
‘gidiyak gidiyak gidiyak’
I would ride his knees, gurgling in laughter, and he would hold me in his strong arms.
Then, as I grew up everything changed.
I barely see him.
He’s always away, never home.
And then I knew why, he has never belonged to us.
His constant absence at home had become a norm,
and I’ve learnt to live with it.
When he does come home we barely spoke.
He would sit by the window with a lighted cigarrette, puffing rings of smoke into the air.
Sometimes he would ask, “nicklet, can you bring me an ash tray?”, and I would happily oblige.
I prayed so hard to the goddess of Mercy today I didn’t notice myself crying.
I don’t care now whether he chooses to come home to us or stay with that other family he has,
all I want is to turn back the clock.
To do the things I haven’t done and say the words I never got the chance to say.
To let him know that despite everything he’s done,
I love him, and that I miss him, and how I wish that everything had been different.
God, please don’t take him away.
