Some much needed Grandma comfort after a particularly boisterous chorus of "Happy Birthday"
My Grandma died when I was five. She lived in the granny flat attached to our house, we would watch Home and Away together every night at 7:00pm, and she made killer sandwiches, but I wasn't old enough to truly understand that loss. I remember feeling sad for my Mum when she told us she had slipped into a coma as we stood outside of the hospital. She told us she might wake up, but she might not. I did cry at her funeral and I remember feeling confused thinking about what it all meant. It was the day I learned what forever was. I sat in the back of our car staring out the window wondering when the next time I would see her would be. 50 years? 100 years? Back then one year felt like forever but wrapping my head around the fact that an infinite number of years could pass and I would still never see her was a memory that has stuck with me.
Tonight my family and I were lounging around after dinner when my dad got a phone call, before he had even hung up we knew what had happened.
"Deano's Dead."
That was it.
We all sat in silence.
My Dad's good friend had been battling cancer for almost a year, and the verdict had constantly flittered back and forth between optimism and realism. These past few weeks the writing was on the wall and we had been awaiting this very call.
I wasn't particularly close to this friend, but he was a presence in our life as a family and I felt the shift as the news came down.
I teared up when I heard, because at the end of the day, a life is a life. I felt weird about getting emotional. My day to day life would hardly see a difference, but I could feel the pain in those around me. I thought of his family.
The passing of one is often the worst day for another.
It was that feeling of forever creeping back in again. I looked over at my own Dad, never one for emotion, yet obviously lost in his own thoughts, I could still see him, he was still here. Tonight it wasn't my Dad, but it was someones Dad. I thought about how one day it would be my Dad, and how on that day I would be breaking while someone else was thankful it wasn't happening to them. They still had time. I still have time.
"Who wants fruit salad?" My Dad questioned grabbing bowls from the cupboard.
We paused.
"No?"
"I do." My step-mum finally made the first move.
"Me too" I added, as if permission was granted for us to keep living.
I just kept thinking about how in this moment everything was weirdly normal.
Here we were sitting around eating fruit salad and watching Silent Witness which we had done identically the night before but yesterday he was alive and tonight he was not.
Eventually the dog started snoring, breaking the silence.
We all laughed.
My youngest brother tripped running up the stairs.
We laughed again.
Remembering it was ok to do so.
The silence lifted and suddenly we were back discussing what was happening on the TV.
Everything was normal, but different all the same.
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