What Sarah Said

I have yet to let this sink in and to compose my thoughts, but I had to write.

Tonight I said goodbye to my grandfather. We cut his Livestrong t-shirt in half down the back and placed it on his thin arms and over his bony shoulders in the hospital bed in his living room. As the scissors sliced through the bright yellow fabric, I knew there was no going back.

My grandmother wanted him in blue, to match his eyes. But she planned on putting him in the Livestrong shirt when it came to be the end, and so it did, and so we did.

I held his hand, and I prayed over him, through my tears, sobbing all the while. The only words that escaped my lips were prayers of thanks.

"Thank you, Lord, for giving us Len. Thank you for letting us be a part of his life. Thank you for sending him to my grandmother, and for the wonderful times they had. Thank you for sending me this man who loved me, even though he didn't have to. Thank you for letting his family share him with us so openly. Thank you for allowing us the honor of being at his bedside at this precious moment."

I cried for hours, until my ears were bleary and my throat raw. I cried noisily over a little blue book called "And then you were gone" telling us the signs of impending death, and ending with a poem, of death, and its being like a ship, which is sailing away from you, and then it is gone. But the ship is still somewhere, just not with you, and someone waits for it with open arms on the other end. 

My head aches, and my heart hurts, and I am getting into the bath that awaits me. It is after midnight, and the day of my grandfather's death is done. But the pain is only beginning.

I drove home listening to "What Sarah Said" by Death Cab, for these words, which had been ringing in my ears all day: "Love is watching someone die."