He is going to die soon. It could be this week, or next week, or the week after. But it is going to be soon.
It is going to be before any of us are ready, because no one can ever be ready for this.
I have never seen cancer up close before. I hope I never have to again. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't share this, that this is something to be kept private, these last moments with my grandfather. But I find it hard to talk to individuals about this. It's easier sending it into the ether.
All men must die. But if this is dying, it is ugly and messy and distressing.
It is not how I imagined death: a calm cold, quiet that gradually falls upon you. This is an upsetting fading. This is my grandad only being my grandad for an hour a day, and being a vacant, elderly man who mumbles and mutters and groans for the rest of it. A man who asks for a piece of the mountain in the picture on the wall, and accepts a bottle top the same colour as the mountain.
Today I told him we love him. And he said he loves us too.
But even men who love and are loved must die.
As someone who has been sending it into the anonymous ether for months, sometimes the only person you can talk to is yourself. I'm so sorry you had to live through this xx
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