The Day the Couch Was Empty

Grandpa died yesterday morning. It's ironic that I almost mentioned him in my first entry but chose not to for the sake of privacy, and here I am..

My mom had already told me to come home because he wasn't doing well, but he was already gone. She just didn't want me to be alone when I heard the news. Unfortunately, I found out he'd died from my aunt's WhatsApp status while I casually scrolled through WhatsApp. I was so shocked I didn't even cry till I found a friend.

I'm at home now. After rushing to a friend's room and breaking down, I managed to pull myself together until I was able to leave school.

I looked expectedly at the couch he always sat or laid down on when I walked into the house, almost expecting him to be there. The usual exclamations of pleasant surprise didn't fill my ears. I'm not going to hear his voice again. He's gone. Death is so scary to me. It's actually my biggest phobia. I walked into his room, opened the wardrobes, and stared at his things. They have no owner anymore. Just like that.

Grandpa was 93. Everyone knew it was coming sooner or later, but I'm genuinely shocked. My cousin always jokes that he seemed invincible, and he really did. Until he got sick in July, you'd never think he was in his 90s. He walked just fine, up and down the stairs with no assistance. Fed himself, dressed himself, barely got a cold. But all of a sudden, it was like his body remembered he was 93, and he became less and less independent.

I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't spend a lot of alone time with him in the last few months.

I actually avoided him to an extent. It was unsettling and frustrating to see what old age could do to someone. You could see him get frustrated too, when he couldn't remember where he left something or when he made a bit of a mess serving himself food because he wasn't as coordinated anymore.

Just like when my grandma died, I was in school when he died, and I hate that.

He died two days after I went to school, and that saddens me. I wish I'd been here to see him one last time. As I walked out the front door on Sunday, I told him goodbye and said I'd see him soon. I planned on coming for my mom's birthday in about two weeks, so I was going to see him then. My last memory of him is a bit hazy because I was late and in a bit of a hurry. I wish I'd slowed down, held his hand, or hugged him.

"My diamond" is what he called me when I saw him in the hospital before he had surgery, and his diamond I'll remain.

Goodbye, Grandpa.

Love, your diamond.