Wednesday, January 14, 2015

All the Little Things

My Granddaddy died. This Granddaddy. The Granddaddy of legend. Everybody asks if it was unexpected and I think, "Of course, no one expects a super hero to die."

The first few days were rough and ragged. Everything seemed to sting and since then, it's settled into a dull ache. But it's the little things, you know?

Last night I went to the grocery. For just my house. For the past couple of years, I've shopped for him as well, pushing a mounded up cart and trying to keep straight my cat food and his cat food, my toilet paper and his toilet paper, my orange juice and his orange juice. It takes time to do it this way. Lots of time. A couple of hours usually. And last night, I flew through, wrapping up the trip in a little less than an hour. I will still shop for my Grandma, but this week it just didn't work out.

But I have puzzled over his terrible handwriting on a list for the last time. I have told him to go sit down and let me unpack the groceries for the last time. I have listened to the lecture on how the vegetables have to go into the little fridge and then totally forgotten and put them in the big fridge for the last time.

That's a gut punch. The grocery was so lonely and that seems so silly. It's not like he ever came with me.

The house, though. The house is nearly unbearable. It is hollow. My Grandmommie is there and I feel terrible for not spending more time over there with her, but it's the stupid, empty house. It's his chair. It's the calendar from the company he used to work for. It's the empty, rattly quality it seems to have.

He's always on my mind right now. I think about how much he would hate that show I'm watching. How much he would love that soup I'm eating. How much he would smile at Maren's antics.

I miss him.

I know how death works. I know that every day is a little better than the one before it and soon, I won't think about it all the time, soon this will be my normal. But right now, I cannot fathom a normal without Granddaddy.

I can't even manage to remember him in any coherent way. But you guys understand. And that's why I'm telling you.

I miss him.


Suze said...

Hugs, Jessi. I remember your grandaddy sitting in his chair when we would come over after school.
Sending you lots of love,

Anonymous said...

I'm sorry for your loss. Life is never quite the same when someone you love is no longer there.
Mary Ann G.