Love and loss

My dad passed away on June 11, 2007. He was 53 years old, and I was a mere 17 and SO not ready to lose my father. I think about him frequently, especially since Max was born. My dad, while he had his faults, was fun and loving and would have made the perfect grandpa for my son. I can't help but feeling robbed of this, and feeling that my son was robbed as well. Robbed by whom, I don't know, and I don't blame anyone or anything, but it's hard not to be bitter.

Anyway, my grandmother (my dad's mom) passed away on Friday morning. She was 90 and her quality of life had diminished significantly, both physically and cognitively. Ever since my dad died, Grandma rarely remembered that he was gone, especially in the past year. Max and I had been there about 3 weeks prior and she refused to get out of bed. She loved the baby so this was totally out of character. Then, last week, she looked in a corner told my aunt that "they" were waiting for her. When my aunt asked who, my grandmother told her that [grandma's] parents and brothers were there. Grandma then whipped her head back to the corner. My aunt asked her if someone else was there... and my grandma said, "yes, Steve!"

On Monday night, after clinical I decided to go to my grandparents' since I knew Grandma was not doing so well. While driving, I tried to call my mom, whom I have on speed dial. She didn't answer, so I was scrolling down my contacts to find her house number. Usually, I would open the slider and press the letter, but since I was driving, I figured it would be better to have a hand on the wheel. All of a sudden, I noticed it had stopped scrolling, so I glanced down to see what the heck the deal was. I looked and gasped. All I saw was "Dad". I had inadvertantly clicked on his number, which after four and a half years I still keep in my phone. Instantly, I knew Dad was with me.

I know my dad is out there, or up there, or wherever. But he is there. No one can tell me that he was not present in the car that night, or that he wasn't with my grandma a few nights before. It is bittersweet to have this knowledge... knowing he is so close but unable to hug him, to hand him his first grandchild, to laugh at his dumb jokes.