Not Yet

I never knew watching someone die would be so tiring. 

Being on alert for their mutterings and mumblings, to respond to their half-crazed conversation. 

My grandad used to read my blog. Once I think he even sent the link to The Telegraph because he thought it should be published. 

I have many and more memories of my grandad. He was a lot of fun when we were kids, but he was strict too. He couldn't abide crying. But he mellowed with age, and in the past two months I've seen him cry more than I ever did the previous 25 years of my life. I'd cry too, if I was given a death sentence.

But this is my grandad now, in his final days. This elderly man who talks to people only he can see about things that aren't happening. This man who looks at me, but doesn't see me. Who tells me I'm lying about who I am, but calls out for me when he's distressed. 

This man who tries to call people on his catheter, and needs new boots to see the captain tomorrow. This man who has been husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle. This man so well loved, will be so sorely missed. 

But not yet.