My Grandad

For one so young, I have experienced many moments of loss through out my fifteen years of life. The first loss that I clearly remember was when I was in year one, and my best friend moved away to another country. We had known each other for as long as I could remember, and our lives revolved around each other, doing almost everything together. I will always remember the moment when I saw her driving away in her car, her face quivering with tears and fear. That was the last moment in my life I ever saw her. I have also lost my fair share of possessions- from the insignificant like my doll with the straw hat, to the more significant, like my signet ring that I got from my grandparents when I was born. I eventually found the ring hidden in the bathroom, but the few weeks when it was missing, I kept it from my mother, out of fear, as I didn’t know how she would react to the news. 1

One of my more traumatic losses was when I was only six and my golden Labrador was put down. Every day I would wake up to my dog jumping onto my bed and licking my face. But one day, this did not happen. I walked into the lounge room, to see my mum sitting red-faced on the couch, with big fat tears rolling down her face. For weeks after that, I was hoping she would just come running through our front door, wagging her tail furiously. But no matter how hard I wished, I knew she would never do this, and my hopes were shattered. I guess though, that the loss that had the biggest impact on me, happened when I was ten. It was a loss that changed my life forever. 2

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My grandad was always the closest person to me when I was just a little girl. The friendly laugh, the dazzling smile, the warm hugs he would embrace me in, the soft gentle kisses on my tear stained cheeks, the sparkle that shined in his eyes, were the things that made my grandad the unique person he was, and are only a couple of the many precious and significant moments that are planted in my memory about him. My Grandad lived with my grandma in the beautiful area of Toomulla Beach. Every weekend my family and I would go up there to keep them company as visitors to them were very rare. When ever my grandma would take her short afternoon nap, and my mother was enjoying a quiet time in the relaxing, peaceful environment, my grandad would take me down to the beach for a couple of hours. 4

That was my favourite thing to do when ever I visited them. I loved how the heat of the blazing sun would shine down on our necks and backs burning them slightly, and the clear blue ocean waves with strands of green sea weed spread throughout it would flatten the attempted sandcastles that my grandfather and I had previously built. I loved how he would grab me by my delicate, small hands and spin me around in circles until he got dizzy, allowing me to feel the cool, gentle sea breeze rustle through my sandy hair. These moments were some of the best times I ever had with him.5

One Christmas holidays, my family and I went to visit them as usual. But this time, it was for a longer period of time. We did the usual things we did, went for walks; shared the latest goss; and laughed til we had no reason to laugh anymore. Everything was going fantastic, exactly the way I liked it. Until that night came. We were all sitting around the fire that my grandfather had built, by gathering tree stumps from the nearby woods. The air was hot and full of moisture. The sky had darkened down to pitch black with tiny patches of deep blue peeping through. We were all sitting around toasting marshmallows when my grandfather began shaking uncontrobally. It looked like he was having a fit. He fell forwards of the chair, nearly falling into the fire. My mum ran up to him and helped him up. He eventually pushed him self up, and sat back down, knodding to all the questions asking him if he was okay. It was obvious that he wasn’t feeling very well. You could tell that he was in pain on his right side of his chest, though he didn’t want to talk about it. 6

For the next few weeks my grandfather seemed alright, except for the grunt of pain every now and then. Until one night he had a stroke. The ambulance was rushed to Toomulla beach, and had to cut down part of the wall, enabling them to reach him. The trip to the hospital that night felt like forever. It felt as if hours had passed, when actually only minutes had. 7

We reached the hospital about thirty minutes after him, and went to his room. My eyes had searched around the room, and then they had finally rested upon him. A starch-white sheet with another equally white sheet draped over his body. The only part I could see of him was the right side of his face, which was paralysed but nonetheless he had given me a lovely smile. He was barely alive. 8

I had seen the pained expressions of my family in the room. I had tried to give them a smile, but nothing appeared on my face. I remember hearing the faint, rhythmic beating of a nearby unfamiliar machine. The beeping sound had been gradually decreasing, and the slowing down. 9

It had all happened with a blink of an eye. The machine had stopped beating, my grandad had stopped breathing, and everyone else had stopped thinking. It was pain beyond any of us had ever felt. I remember everyone sitting around, heads were bowed, feet were shuffling nervously on the ground, and we were all crying, our cheeks getting stiff and salty from the tears. 10

My family and I stayed close throughout the whole ordeal. We realized that our experience would allow us to reach out to others and make a difference in the life of others who may still be grieving or have just lost a loved one.11

When someone of great significance passes away, it leaves a gap that's impossible to fill. And in all honesty it shouldn't be filled. My grandfather left a mark on the hearts of everyone he met, and that mark draws us together tighter then anything I've ever seen before. The grief brings with it a new beginning, one that he would have been proud to see. 12