I kissed his bristly, slightly swollen cheek, promised lightly to see him in a few months, told him I loved him, and said goodbye. Then in the back of my head, a small voice said, well, this might be it. He is 90 years old, sick, and you won't be back in the states for a while. This might be it. So make it count. So I kissed him again, and bribed the kids to kiss him, and said I love you with all my heart.
Then I got on the airplane and landed with half of my sanity intact thanks to benadril, unpacked, got half out of jetlag, and then took a night off to go swimming with a friend of mine. I left behind an exhausted husband whom I ordered directly into bed.
I got home and he was still up. Because he was waiting up for me with news.
My goodbye was forever.
My grandfather is gone.
I don't have any clever words about full lives well lived and tender memories, although that is true about him. I just have a hole in my heart, and a very unreal feeling about me. Like my head and heart are full but empty at the same time. I'm cold and hot all at once.I want to clean up my whole apartment and curl up on my couch with a blanket.
I just want to say I love you and goodbye one more time.
Just one more time.
Just once more.
I love you, Sabba.