Memory stuff.

The only reason why I am about to write this on here is that i feel as if I shouldn't forget the event for some strange reason or another. Something I can look back on and maybe it will make me remember things, how I was feeling and how I have improved in the future. I would just type it onto word and save it but my laptop has been breaking a lot recently so I will lose it and people may go through my documents. I could also save it on a memory stick but they are all full with school work and cannot afford another right now. I could also write it by hand, but that has the possibilty of being lost, ruined, ripped and found. I could also post it in a stupid note on facebook, but it is not for that and plus I wouldn't want the whole world and it's friends seeing this. So here is the only place I can really write about it, so if you do not want to read about death and shizz you dont have to read on, actually I would advise anyone reading this not to read on if you dont, how shall we say it, react well to that stuff. I would also like to point out, although I am talking to some invisibile person now, this is not an "attention seeking" blog, not that any are, but this is purely to release somethings that have been nothing but a burden and it isnt helping keeping it private. So here it goes.

Thursday 9th July 2009. I knew that this would be a bad day from the moment I woke up. I had that horrible niggly feeling in the pit of my stomach, that is so cliche but very real. I also knew that today, my Grandad was being moved into the Hospice as he did not want to be a burden at home. By this point I knew he was terminal, and did not have long left, months suppoisdly. I also knew that just 5 days ago he was sitting up in his chair in hospital chatting away and making jokes. He had made the decision to come off treatment, knowing that nothing more could be done, and to give him a better quality of life.

This was about 8 weeks on from when he first started having stomach pains and was taken into hospital for some tests. On Saturaday 16th May 2009 we were due to be going out for a birthday meal for my 'other' Grandad. But seeing as Grandad (Gordon) was taken ill a few days before, the meal was cancelled. It was then, a few weeks later, during my exams infact, I decided to visit him. Somthing which I hate doing, going to hospitals. It was this day, that turned out to be the worst day for visiting him. He looked awfully ill, could not speak much and was in bed, had to ask me to pull the covers up for him he was that week. Whilst waiting for my Gran to come back with the family travelled down from his home town (brother, sisters and their parters) I saw the white hospital sheet on his table. I had a look. Acute Myeloid Lukemia. Cancer. All there was too it, I cannot remember exactly what was on the sheet but I remember not being too surprised because the symptoms he had described, and test results were part of my biology course that I was doing and thus, I knew what it meant. Having battled with various illness' over the years I stupidly thought he would be ok. Well about 65% of me thought he would be. There was obviously part of me knowing he wouldn't. At this point in time, everyone else seemed to know what was wrong with him, not choosing to tell me as they did not want to mess up my exams, which I can now say, although being annoyed then, they had a point. My exams were officially put aside, I couldnt give 2 sh*t's about them, and yes I did fail my biology, ironic. But that is not the point. The point was that in the space of his diagnosis, around June, to when he passed away was non stop science terminology, and moving around.

I came home that night and demanded my mum tell me what was happening, so she did and told me he has a good chance of recovering, saying it is one of the easiest ones to treat. I did not believe her, why should I, when I already knew it wouldn't be ok? Equipment came from the hospital, like a bed and stuff. This was set up in their dining room for when he came home. At about here I don't remember much, not at all and I dont know why. I remember going to pick him up for home visits, pushing him in his wheelchair, talking to him and stuff, never mentioning the C word. He had not started chemotherapy at this point I don't think. When he was undergoing treatment, I did not visit him. It is for this reason I believe that it was my fault he passed away. Everyone always said I made him happy, so me not being there made him sad, logically it works. When you are sad you dont recover well. Simple as that. He asked for a picture of me and stuck it on the window by all the cards. I wish I could have seen him more, but I couldn't , I cant do that stuff. The guilt was immense, I would talk to him on the phone all the time, hear him ask to talk to me, and speak with a shakey voice the whole time, only about 5 minutes a time, because he would then start to cough a lot and have to go.

My mind is blank from there. The next time I can recall is the 5th July. He was in hospital getting ready to come home and not go back there. He was sitting up talking, he still had all his hair and everything as it was not intensive treament. He did not look like him, he had developed a huge, lumpy rash all over his chest, neck and face. He was not the same person he was, but it made me love him more. It was at this point I denied it all. He was not ill, the disease would go, I knew it was terminal when mum came home crying after a meeting with the team. I thought he would still be around for a few more months. So then he came home and went into bed on tuesday. He was soley dependent on everyone. He was asleep for 23 out of 24 hours of a day, more or less. He would ask for a bit of iron bru, through a straw watch a bit of horseracing for 30 seconds and sleep again. I remember sitting by his bed and looking out into the garden at the tree we had planted and stuff. I knew the time was near, but no one dare said anything. I remember him crying, out of embarassment, the first time I had seen him cry. Out of pain too, sheer sadness. It was heartbreaking. He could not use the toilet on his own and felt like a compelte burden, he wanted to be alone. So his last request was to be moved into the hospice.

He moved there on Thursday 9th July 2009. I went to school, but walked out of school, I think maybe a lesson, but I did not care. I walked out and walked to the hospice, a normally 30 minute journey took 15. It was not what I expected it to be, I hated it there, full of people in their final stage of their life. Then I saw him, asleep at the end of the ward. I was only there 10 minutes, until I made an excuse about having to do work, which I did have to do, but I didn't. I sat on my floor and pretended to read wuthering heights. Before this, I said goodbye to him, after my uncle woke him up. He showed the most strength he ever had done, he raised his hand and clearly spoke "Bye". He sounded like he always used to, admitidly, he sounded more in pain, but it was like I went back 5 months, even though this was only 8 weeks after he had been diagnosed, and about 9 weeks after we had made fairy cakes. 9 weeks on and I was seeing the same warm, loving man on his death bed. We touched hands and I went home. My mum said a few weeks ago how he went peacefully and how the nurse positioned him, how he moved a little bit, breathed funny and slipped away. My dad came home and told me. I cried a little bit, not much, I was not allowed to be weak. I hid on my bed and we had chicken that night. I ate alone, my aunt was too late to see him before he went and was hysterical. Poor thing. I missed a lot of school from then until we broke up for summer. The school was informed but I had never felt so alone. I was not working, I was not doing anything.

It was the day of the funeral Thursday 23rd July 2009 that I think it started to click. I was strong in the morning, seeing family, although my poem made my great aunt cry. I did not cry at the funeral, I comforted people. I remember looking out of the window, singing in my head so I wouldn't cave. I thought of him at the funeral but done what I always had done since I was small. I did not show my weak side, the service was beautiful. There was flowers of his beloved home town, messages of sympathy, music, people reading and poems. At the wake I went around with my second cousins and took one to the station. I came home and spoke to my girl at the time. She gave me permission to be upset. So i did for 45 minutes. I cried alot. And it didnt help. So this brings me to now. I am hoping this will let me re live some of it, help me try to be 'normal' again. It hasn't I held everything back and now I wish nothing more than to have him back at christmas and do things like we always do, him incharge of the turkey, exchanging gifts and helping him with the decorations. I know it is not possible and I know this will be a lonely time. His birthday is in 10 days and I know it wont be the same. I miss and love him, too much. But at least he is at peace now.