Tuesday, 1 September 2015

There Goes My Hero ... - Foo Fighters


I need to open this blog by apologizing for the lack of blog in August. I hope that in this blog you will discover why I was unable to blog last month.

In two and a half years of writing blogs, this is the hardest blog I have ever thought of writing.

On August 5, which is also mum's birthday, I got a text message from mum that basically said I need to come to her place. I put on a load of washing, had a shower and made my way to her house. Thinking it was just a mother wanting to see her only son on her birthday, I didn't think anything negative at all. When I got to her place, she made me coffee and she stopped me outside. Then mum said something that was probably one of the hardest things for her to do. On her birthday, she had to tell me, her only son, that her father was on his death bed, thanks to freaking cancer. I'm just going to say it now: cancer is a moron! I spent the rest of that afternoon/evening at mum's place trying to get my head around it and trying to be there for my family as best I could.

Two days later I was meant to have a medical appointment but that was cancelled, so I went back to mum's place to see my grandfather. That day I saw my aunt cry for the first time. That felt like a kick to the heart to see that. We were told the afternoon of the 7th he had a week to live. I tried to go to youth, but to be honest, my mind wasn't letting me stay there so I went home. I somehow managed to get some sleep that night, which is a relief because I wouldn't get any for the next two weeks.

The next day, at 12:57 pm, I got a call from my aunt: I think you should come now. I had a shower and went as quick as I could, both because I saw black clouds overhead and because I knew the urgency in what she was saying. By the time I got to mum's place, my grandfather had died 30 minutes earlier. I still hate myself for that. If I had a shower first thing in the morning like a normal person, I could have left straight away and would have seen him one more time. The rest of that afternoon/evening my family and I just sat at mum's place looking absolutely shocked, numb, sick. On Saturday August 8, 2015, the best man I had ever known had passed away.

It feels like someone has taken a huge chunk of me, seriously. Some days I'm functioning and getting things done and not letting my emotions get the best of me. Other days, like today, I can't get out of bed until after midday, am not hungry and really don't care for social interactions because everything just sucks.

He taught me how to treat a female as more than their bodies. He taught me that Jesus loves me, no matter what happens in this life or what I do or don't do and lastly, he is the one responsible for my simple sense of humour. He told me when I was a young kid that I need to learn to laugh at the simple things in life because with the situation God has put me in, I will get depressed if I can't at least laugh a little bit.

I can move on as best I can knowing that great man is in heaven, with his wife and a healthy body again. Apologies if this blog is all over the place and doesn't make much sense.

There goes my hero ...

Giving up is not an option,