It’s amazing how something you’ve expected for so long still
can still have the capacity to shatter everything you had so carefully built up
around yourself to protect yourself from it. I knew when I left for Russia that
I would probably never see my Gramps again, and since I’ve been here no one has
put me under any illusions that he would be well enough to make it through. Yet,
caught up in the everyday reality of living here and surrounding myself with
people had almost given me the power to deny it, even when I was getting news
proving how real it all really was. This week, I knew he had little time left
when I heard that the family were on constant shifts at the hospice, day and
night. I jumped at every text message, dreading the worst, but when I heard
nothing, somehow the physical distance created in me a capacity to detach
myself from the truth.
Now, confronted with the reality, I feel like I’m hearing
the news for the first time and am completely and utterly winded by it. The
shock was almost like a physical blow and I could feel myself gasping for
breath, fighting the nausea that was making me need to vomit right there in the
street.
When I saw Ben approaching from the other direction, my
relief at seeing someone I knew, someone who I could just cry on unashamedly
for just a few minutes, was indescribable. I don’t remember his exact words,
all I remember is being so glad that there was someone there who understood. We
were still on my road so I let myself be led back home, confused as to what on
earth I should do next. To be around people would be painful, but to be alone would
be even worse. I decided to clean myself up and go to the fitness centre open
day as planned. With this turmoil going on inside my head it would be hard to
behave normally in front of strangers, but even harder in front of friends who
would surely notice the change. And just imagining spending the afternoon alone
in my cold little room was unbearable.
As I went out onto the street for the second time, an
elderly lady who had seen me take the phone call approached me, full of
concern. She asked me what the matter was and as I explained my voice began to
shake and I began to cry again, as though each time I said it out loud made it
more real. The lady told me not to cry and that it was a mercy that he was no
longer in pain. Of course I know this, but what about all the pain he’s left
behind? He was loved so, so much. How are we going to manage without him?
Somehow word must have got around about what has happened
because by mid-afternoon I was getting texts and phone calls from concerned
friends wanting to show their support. I knew I wouldn’t want to see anyone but
just knowing that I had such kind, caring people around me made me feel less
isolated and alone. When I returned to the flat and told Lyudmila, she told me
the same as the lady on the street and about how she had lost her parents. She
told me that birth is the first step towards death, which is true but doesn’t
make any more sense out of death itself. But her words were well-meant and she
was doing her best to comfort me. She hugged me and told me it was ok if I
needed to cry a little. I took a long shower, hoping that the sound of my
crying would be buried beneath the hum of the water.
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