I Could See His Face

We were laughing. How quickly we are to take these moments for granted. My mother, my father and I were laughing so hard our stomaches hurt in consequence. In walking to back to my room that drunken feeling of happiness was all of a sudden shattered by my mother's cries. I turned and saw her on the phone helplessly crying looking as if she couldn't even breathe. I asked what was wrong, but I knew. With complete sadness, my father with nothing more than a whisper answers... "your grandfather is gone." The rest is chaos.

He died at home with his wife and oldest son by his side. By the time we arrived, they had all ready taken him. On the way over all I could think of was, what if he's till there? what if they hadn't come for him yet and he still ly there?.....motionless. Will I still not have the courage to say goodbye? He never got to see me, never got the proof that I cared. I was too late.

The morphine was still in his fridge along with all the other medications that would dull him from the pain. His sheets were still in the bed...his favorite blanket remained untouched since they'd taken him. I could feel him all around me...but I couldn't see his face. I wanted so bad to see his face, but I was too late.

Papa used to whistle to me when I was a child. I used to tell him to sing to me but he used to whistle instead. It was like a humming whistle though kind of different......I loved it. On our way back home, while my mother and father talked and even laughed about how great my grandfather was, I sat in silence on the backseat. In that hour, I imagined I was five and my grandfather sat and whistled next to me. I could see his face...how it was then..... I could see his face.

I love you.

A terribly sad,
Darleny