My brain fluttered in a million different directions as I tried to focus on my English homework. My mom's voice in the distance flew murmmers across the room making it hard to write the poem we had been assigned. "I will come down as soon as possible." I heard her say. It was at that moment that it officially sunk in. He was not going to last much longer. He was dying. As my mom stood by the computer mumbling an occasional "How is mom doing?" She wept and so did I.
I proceeded to finish my English poem when the song "Waiting on an angel" by Ben Harper played on my online radio. Right then, I guess all he was, was waiting. Waiting on an angel to come carry him home.
That night I cried myself to sleep. Thinking of the times at the pool together. And when he was teaching me to drive the golf cart. Or when he tricked the cousins and I into snip hunting. All of those were gone. No more pool parties, or family renuinions. At least with him there. And without him they'd never be the same.
I managed to go to school on Tuesday morning, but still wishing I could have gone with my mom to Florida. The day seemed to whiz by in a matter of minutes, and I was grateful. Homework fulfill most of my time after school, but those few empty seconds got me thinking about my mother and my grandpa.
Phone calls were recieved with updates. He was now home from the hospital. The doctors said there was nothing more they could do. Despite already knowing he was slowly leaving (well maybe not so slowly after all) I still cried at the news.
The next morning I awoke to falling snow. And heard the newscaster say that school was closed. But since awaking I was unable to fall back asleep. The day pressed on, and I did a small tedious tasks that still wouldn't full take the attention off my grandpa.
My mom seemed to be enjoying the last final days with him. Her two brothers and her sister were down there, now awaiting for her other two sisters to arrive. I tried to find more tasks to fill the snow day we recieved. But every once in a while, a tear would drop down my face.
I was able to talk to my grandpa on the phone. He asked about cross country, and I responded with a usual, "It's good." He went on to describe the meets back in the day when my mom ran for her school. How he would cheer her on from the side of the course. If you listened carefully you would notice he sounded as if he was a healthy grown man. But no, he was lying in his death bed, waiting. The conversation transformed into chatter about perseverance. How my mom always had it and that I did too. And to carry it with me all my life. But as his voice on the other end of the phone faded, a bed of moisture surrounded my body sending a shiver down my spine.
It was Friday that brought a school day, and my two aunts to the place my grandpa was slowly leaving behind. My mom had predicted he would go shortly after their arrival. But the day carried on without a care in the world. Nothing had stopped or paused for my grandpa. It has simply kept on going in a repetative motion. That night came, and I cried msyelf to sleep again, knowing his passing was sooner than I thought.
It was Saturday morning at 10 o' clock that I got the call. The call I hoped I would never have to take. The call I feared for all of my life. And I couldn't help but respond with emotion of distress and anger. It was then true.
I like to think of my grandpa as a war bird (the plane he always admired). Out for something special, never afraid to go get it. Fly on!