One Month: Grandpa

Today marks one month since this world lost my Grandpa;  a man this world would have been much better off keeping.
I say it's only been a month, but I have to check my iPhone calendar to verify that's correct.  It feels like forever that I was hovering over his body, thanking him for the last 28 years of amazing memories, telling him so deeply I loved him and how badly I would miss him.  It feels like forever ago that I held his hand and gave him one last kiss and told him goodbye.

My world has not been the same.  Thankfully, I've been able to keep incredibly busy with house hunting, packing, and moving.  It's kept my sadness at bay.  But when I lay down at night, when it's just me and my thoughts, the emptiness and pain take over.  I'm completely ridden with sadness and the tears begin flowing.  I miss him so badly.  It's as if the darkness of night also brings in the darkness of my heart.  I can't shake the thoughts.

I knew things would not become easier with his passing for a long while.  But I didn't expect them to get harder.  The calls and texts from friends checking in on me has stopped and it's left me feeling even more empty.  At the same time, I wouldn't want them to continue to harp on my sadness.  It's a lose-lose really.

I just want to talk to him.  I want to share my life updates.  He always loved hearing about our Navy adventures.  It's so hard to call their house and not hear him answer "Yellow?" (He never said Hello").  Or to call, talk to Grandma, knowing I won't end our conversation with my usual "Can I talk to Grandpa?"  I will admit, and am ashamed that I did not call Grandma for a while after I returned to Pensacola.  I was an awful granddaughter.  On the surface, I told myself it was okay because she still had some many family members in town.  But then they left and she was trying to adjust to normal life.  I didn't call.  It took me two weeks to call her after leaving St. Louis.  And it was 100% selfish reasons.  I was scared to call.  Scared to call and get their answering machine, with Grandpa's voice still on it.  Scared to call and talk to her, knowing I would not be talking to Grandpa like I've done the past 10+ years when I call.  Scared that I wouldn't be able to hold it together while talking to her.  The last thing she needs while dealing with this is to comfort me.  So I held off.  For too long.  She needed me.  She enjoyed our phone calls.  I finally realized I needed to suck it up and call her.  Thankfully she answered and the phone call wasn't as hard as I thought.  I did tear up a few times, but not the bawling I thought would occur.  And hearing her sadness eased my mind.
I'm happy to say that since then, I've gotten over my fear to call and talk to Grandma often.  Our conversations brighten my day, especially to know she's doing fairly well, given the circumstances.
But when the conversation ends, I'm stricken with sadness of not talking to him.

Some say, "You can still talk to him".  That's very true.  And I do.  Often.  But it's most absolutely not the same to hear his excitement when I update him on our lives.  It's not the same to hear his encouragement and advice.  It's not the same.  At all.

I miss him.  It hurts.  So badly.  I try to tell myself that it hurts so badly because he was such an amazing man.  Because he was so close to me (and all my family.)  But it doesn't really bring me comfort.  It just angers me that he was taken too soon.  I wanted more time with him.  I wanted my children to meet him.  I didn't want him to just be a story and photos.  I wanted more time with him.
I do realize I was lucky to have him for so long.  But 28 years was not enough.  Honestly, no time would have been enough.  He was truly the best man I knew and no amount of time would have been long enough for me.  It's like that Train song "Forever would never be long enough to feel like I've had long enough with you."

I'm not sure how this healing process should happen.  My grandfather is the first person I was THIS close to pass. I lost my (paternal) grandmother when I was a senior in high school.  But I was prepared for that.  She had been sick almost all of my life.  We had many months and possibly even years of her declining health.  Not to mention, I was nowhere near as close to her as I was Grandpa.  Nowhere near as close.  So this is my REAL first loss.  (Don't get me wrong, I love my Grandma Sally dearly. And I miss her. A lot.  But I cannot deny that I was much closer with my maternal grandparents than my paternal grandmother.)  Being my first real loss, I don't know how to cope.  I don't know what's normal.  I don't know if my constant aching is normal.  I don't know if my constant tears are normal.  I don't know if this pain and nausea from missing him is normal.  I just don't know.

All I know is I miss my hero.  More and more each day.  Each day feels like it becomes harder than the last.  I want him back.  I want to hear his voice.  I want to hug him.  I want to hear his silly jokes.  I want to just sit with him, doing nothing.  I want more time with him.

It's been one month.  Undoubtedly the hardest month of my life.  I miss Grandpa more with each passing minute and he's always on my mind.  Almost everything reminds me of him.  Sometimes it doesn't seem real that he's gone.  But phone calls to Grandma quickly reinforce my reality.  I have never, ever felt a pain and emptiness like I feel now.  I just want my Grandpa back.