Unbreak my heart

This white box has been sitting here with the cursor blinking accusingly at me for the better part of three hours.  I don't know how to write this post.  There are so many thoughts and feelings swirling around inside of me that I don't know how to slow them down long enough to catch them.

My grandfather passed away yesterday morning. 

Mom called Saturday while we were out of town.  He had gone from a prognosis of being moved to a regular room and going home in a few months, to taking a turn for the worse overnight and being on 100% oxygen/morphine with the doctor saying it was "just a matter of time."  Mom had said she wasn't going because she didn't want to see him like that; she did end up going to the hospital because Nick and Taylor were there and she wanted to be there to support them.  I originally said I didn't want to see him like that, either.  As the day wore on, my feelings started to change.

Mom called again later that night and told me about her experience at the hospital with the "family" who chose to judge and condemn us without ever asking to hear our side of the story.  She was asked (nicely) not to go in to see him: he had suffered a third heart attack and his heart was so damaged that doctors worried the slightest excitement - good or bad - could cause him to have another, and his heart just couldn't handle another attack. 

Logically, I know I would've been told the same thing.  However, I've felt guilty as hell for not at least trying.  At the same time, I did not want to be the cause of another scene or more upset: I didn't need that on my conscience.  Talking to Mom on Saturday night, I felt judged for not going and like my feelings were being overlooked and discounted because I hadn't been there.

I'm sad.  I'm hurt.  I feel lost knowing I have no grandpas left.  I feel guilty.  Today, I seem to have moved onto angry: I feel pissed off at the world, because it's so much easier to be mad than to be sad.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I can honestly say that I have an honest to God regret: I regret being so angry that I couldn't give him the benefit of the doubt and wasn't more receptive to him when he approached us last summer.  I have maintained for the last year that Gramps probably didn't even know it was me: he just saw an opportunity to make a sale.  It wasn't until Chebbar picked me up from work when we got the first call that it came up that he could tell by the look of trepidation on Gramps's face that he knew exactly who he was approaching.  

Yesterday afternoon, we went up to the cemetery where my great grandparents are buried.  I asked them to apologize to Gramps for me - to tell him that I've missed him and that I love him. 

I have missed him.  Terribly.  I didn't realize how much until this past week.  I've heard things about how he missed Mom and I.  It's hard not to get caught up in the what-ifs and the guilt - there's a lot of guilt in my heart and it's weighing me down.  I'm trying my best to remember the good stuff so I don't drown in regret.

My grandpa taught me how to brave when he'd push his dentures out of his mouth and tell me to shove 'em back in.

My grandpa showed me how far you can see when you change your vantage point by letting me venture up on the roof with him.

My grandpa showed me the beauty of a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

My grandpa gave me my love of the Canucks.  (They're totally going to win the Cup in his honour this year.  I'm just devastated he won't see it.)

My grandpa left me with a final lesson - a gift: to let anger go before it forms a grudge and to at least try to remain open and receptive.

Rest in peace, Grandpa.  I'll miss you.