When I was six, my Grandfather died of lung cancer. I had a very special relationship with him: he was gruff and cross with everybody except me. I used to draw for him and make him take up a bucket and spade and play in the sand with me.
When he was very ill, as his life was ending, he asked to see me.
I was told he was wearing a mask to help him breathe. I'd just had four teeth out, and had gas through a horrible-smelling black mask to make me go to sleep, which was one of the most dreadful things that had ever happened to me in my life. I was too frightened to go to see him.
I had no idea what it would feel like when he was not there any more, and nor did I understand how much it would have meant to him to see me as he lay dying.
I have never forgiven myself for this, the heartlessness of being young.
I sort of know where you're coming from. One of my grandpas died when I was eleven. I was too scared to go to the funeral. As an adult I regret that, but I wasn't an adult when I made the decision.
ReplyDeleteI think you're being very hard on yourself. You were only six years old and you were frightened. If you were close, as you describe, then he'll have understood that. Be sad, but forgive.