My grandpa has been talking about dying for the past four years. He's out-lived siblings, wives, friends, careers, and he keeps saying he's done.
We used to joke about it within the family. "Hey, I talked to Grandpa today." "Oh yeah, how was it?" "Not too bad. He didn't talk about dying for the first ten minutes." *sigh with the optional eye roll*
We all understood where he was coming from. He was tired. He's 89. He's seen segregation, color tv, internet, cell phones, wars, indoor plumbing. He fell in love with a wonderful woman and had to watch her being taken away from him. He raised 9 children and has met multiple great-grandchildren. But, he was in great shape. He's healthy. We couldn't get him to see that.
He moved out to Albequerque with my uncle. He hates it there. My mom has only heard one nice thing he's said about the place. He doesn't want to be here. He told my uncle that God told him he was going to die on Easter. When he didn't, we joked and said he just has to die next Easter. We love him so much. I can't understand why he wants to leave. I see it, but I don't understand it.
Grandpa went to the doctor Monday. He's dying. Quickly. He has prostate cancer that metastasized to his spine, kidneys, and liver. My mom is flying out to be with him. He finally got his wish.
Now, I'm mad. When he goes, I will have only my mom. All the other adults have passed. Both my grandmothers, my dad's dad, my dad. I'm not ready to say good-bye. I'm mad at him for wanting to die so much that it came true. And I'm mad that I didn't take him serious. That it became the family joke. That it is happening at the same time that Dad died. Can God not give me a break? I'm not ready to admit that he is dying. I know he is. I know it's going to be quick. But, I'm mad about it before I can be sad about it.
And then I realized, I'm not through grieving.