Rest In Peace Great Grandpa.

Why aren't we mentally prepared to deal with death? We know it's coming. Some even begin to show signs with frequent visit to the hospital. Yet when it happens, we go ballistics! We begin questioning ourselves. We begin to wonder what we could have done different to avoid this very moment. Some even begin to think that it is their fault. Death happens every fucking day...You can't go a day without hearing some one has passed away. It's on you tv screen, it's in newpapers, one of you co-workers come up to you and express their feelings about their love ones dying. We hear about it all the time yet we act as if this is something that forbidden. Damn if it happens to my family!

Well unfortently it happened to my family. Tonight, to be more exact. I still can't believe he is gone. I was literally just with him 2 minutes before it happened. My Aunt, my mother and I went to the hospital to go pick him up because he was being released. I went up to the room with my mother and he was still in the fucking emergency room!! They haven't even gotten him a fucking bedroom! I couldn't even look at him. He looked so pitiful. I hated seeing my grandfather like that. I'm cherish the memories where he was able to walk on his on, where he owned a driving school and was able to get himself anywhere he needed to be and didn't have to depend on anyone. That is how I remember my grandfather. But to be completely honest, he hasn't been that way for a very long time. 5 years to be exact. See, 5 years ago is when my grandmother, his wife passed away and ever since then he hasn't been the same. He would often burst into tears, boo whoo, like a baby in front of any and everyone. He was depressed. And when you're suffering with depression it doesn't only effect your mental state, it effects your physical state as well. He would constantly be in and out of the hospital, for things like his blood pressure being too high or too low. Things of that sort. Things that would have not been consider a big issue if he wasn't dealing with depression. He adored his wife and when she died, I think a he died too. He wasn't the same grandpa we all knew and love. 

But anyway back to what I was saying; We went to the hospital, confused because we weren't sure what room they had put him in; come to find out they never put him in a room and he has been there all day because no one was able to pick him up. Which translate to, no one wanted to pick him up. Leaving that responsibility on my mother. My mother wasn't able to pick him up right away since Nyla was here and at the moment they called, to info everyone that he was being released my mom couldn't go pick him up, she was babysitting. While the others was doing whatever the fuck they were doing. But anyway, (I'm sorry. This story has no structure to it. My mind is all over the place, trying to cover all aspects of the event but as well as inputting my opinions. You may get confused at times) So yeah, there we are at by his hospital bed, he is leaning to the side. My mom bends down to grab his bag and blows her back out. Now she's hollering ouch but is still trying to get her dad dressed up. Now with her back hurting her and she being vexed about having the responsibility put on her once again, my mom was definitely not in a good mood. We eventually settle him into the wheel chair and wheel him out of that shit hole and out to the parking lot where my aunt awaits. It's cold, it's raining and me 100 hundreds pounds along with my mother who is 61 years old are lifting him into the car. He makes no effort into helping us, therefore we're carrying all of his weight.  Finally we get him into the car and we're off to his house. We're talking in the car, laughing and whatnot. The thing about him is that even though he is and elder, he still has all his marbles. Meaning, with everything going on with him physically he stayed in his right mind. He still knew everyone's name, even though as long as I could remember he has called me "niqua" haha, so I figured as long as he is in his right mind, then he is going to be okay.  Not all hope was lost. 

We drive up to his house, my aunt...his youngest daughter meets him downstairs with the wheelchair. She approaches the car, says a couple of words. So my aunt (my mother's oldest daughter) asks her how come she didn't go get her father and her response was "I'm tired" and my aunt response was "aren't we all" then she goes on to say that she should be there for her father considering she is living in his house, rent free. It turns it into a big fight. My poor grandfather there to witness it all, telling the both of them to calm down and shut up. I've never, never,  EVER heard my grandfather say shut up before, mind you. Anyway they put him in the chair, my mother gets in the car and we drive off. Between leaving the house and getting white castles his daughter calls and cuss my mother out. My mother bangs it on her. Now we're on our way home and she gets another phone call, now she is calling to tell my mom that he fell out of his chair and that he can't breathe. My mother freaks the fuck out and he head back over to his house. My mother runs out of the car and I run after her. We get upstairs, run to his bedroom and there he is lying on the floor. His daughter and my cousin giving him mouth to mouth. A couple of minutes after that the paramedics come and begin doing work on him. blah, I seriously thought he was going to be okay. He is always in and out of the hospital. BLAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I really thought if I was to remain positive that he was going to pull through this. He didn't. 

The funny thing is I don't know if I'm more sad or more afraid of death. Because I truly just witness the "here for a minute and gone the next"