Tales about Death (1/2)

Because I'm spending a lot of time on cemeteries nowadays...
I'm kidding, I'm not that creepy emo kind of girl

Every person deals with death. Not only once in his life, at the end obviously, but several times. And it'll never be easy. Or it never was easy. As a child, you have fewer experience. Sometimes you don't really understand. That's why I was wondering, when I was like 5 years or something, why the little baby bird in the nest that was blown down from the tree wouldn't just wake up. That naive question wasn't my first encounter with death, but one I can still clearly picture today. Fortunately, we forget things. And our mind changes our memories. For the better, not for the worst (science, bro). So in logical conclusion, death is the worst in the moment it happens. For the people around, I mean.

Time passes. As you start to grow older your parents and your grandparents and your neighbours, your teachers, your friends - everyone gets older, too. Logically, if they've started earlier than you on the race track of life (they were born in the 60s not in the 90s for example), they will reach the finish line before you. It seems like an "unfair" race, cause only time not force or endurance counts. But if you try to look forward, behind the finish line, you'll see something you may don't wanna achieve at all. 

My paternal grandpa was the first who died in my family (since I've been alive). It may sound mean, but I didn't really care. He was never "into" kids so he never really cared about me either. Sometimes I wonder if we could have grown closer together when I would have become older... He was more into books than into kids, I guess and I love them, too. In addition to that, I loved the "house full of books" how I used to call it -the house which was an extension of the company building he founded. 

And when I say "house full of books" I mean it. I heard that he had already collected about 10 000 books when they were mostly destroyed by water damage in 1968. He made a new start and by his death the amount of his collection was about 100 000 books. (I know it exactly because my dad was pretty engaged with managing the heritage of this "bunch of books" and there's even a Wikipedia entry about him - I guess as a kid I just found it normal to have a grandpa with some thousands of books... Who hasn't?). But ok, back to the story. Maybe we would have been become friends if I had been older ("would have"s never lead to anything, especially when you talk about death, remember that kids!), but well, he died. So...Yeah. We just never had a special connection. Every birthday present was a book, a fact that  my brothers didn't appreciate as much as I did. ;)

The point I was trying to make is, my first experience with death wasn't a really challenging one. Neither was the second (my other grandpa, to whom I had a slightly better connection, but he lived through two wars, and I was a bit too small to understand). These experiences were early, I know that many people of my age still have all of there grandparents around and I can just say: Spend the time together you have left! Don't abandon them or just "put" them anywhere and never visit them again. They are family. They have stories to tell. And the reason for that I'm saying such things is for my grandma. I only had one. The one and only. (Because the other died before my birth). She was like the granny of your dreams. She used to give us candy all the time we'd visit (at least one time every week!), she made us "afternoon coffee" which meant delicious cake, coffee for the adults and chocolate for the children. We played board games, we went swimming, we played around in the garden, she told us stories and she always was patient with us candy-craving, hyperactive, funny little fools. 

When she died, my world broke into pieces. I learned what it meant. That word. "Death". That word I learned to fear. And I also learned what are the greatest regrets in life. Or at least mine. 

Because I used to visit my grandma every Sunday. As a little child I loved it, obviously. But I was at this (hilariously f*cking stupid) rebellious phase at the moment (I think I was like 12 or 13 years old) and my older brother was already an "adult" in my eyes (what means he just reached puberty). He was like: "It's lame being with grandma. I don't wanna go there." 
At first my parents were like: "F*ck you, too. We don't give a sh*t about what you want to do. You come with us". I mean they didn't say it like this, of course. But then they just thought that urging him to visit my grandma would neither make her nor him happier. So they just let him stay at home or hang out with friends sometimes. At some point I was envious. Secretly, (although it was very uuuncool) I enjoyed having "afternoon coffee" at my grandma's, but I was envious of his freedom. Of doing what he wanted. So one weekend, I decided "not to go".

A part of me was feeling guilty, but the bigger part was satisfied with my decision: "You made it, look how adult and free you can act!" 
Two days later, my grandma died. I missed the last chance to see her, just because I was wanting to be cool or whatever for no particular reason. I know, she wasn't mad at me. She'd never be. But in my head and in my heart some voices kept telling me: "She may didn't even know that you loved her" "She was surely so sad that you didn't came to visit her. That's her last and bad memory of you" "You could have told her what she meant to you. But you f*cking stupid asshole, pretending to be cool or something had to stay at home!"

I know that none of this is true. I know that she knew how much I loved her. And I really really hope that she had only good memories of me before she died (if she even thought about me before dying). And I still regret that I didn't visit her. Because she meant so much to me. And she was ought to know that, I think. So, in a sad and regretful way, I found out the first truth about death: It's the only line that is final. If those were the last words you said to her, they were the last. You can't change anything. You can't make excuses. You can't explain yourself. It is like death answered all of the questions. 



To be continued