Loss

My grandfather, a stalwart pillar of our family, surrendered to the ebbing tides of time. His departure left a void, a space too big, too vacant to be filled.

That evening of his passing, beneath the cloak of twilight, my weary eyes closed, and the dream unfurled like a painter’s masterpiece against the canvas of sleep. I found myself in our favourite sanctuary – the quaint café where we used to lose ourselves when I was young, accompanied by the comforting aroma of freshly ground coffee. We’d always order our favourite sandwiches there and ridiculously large banana boat ice creams.

Inexplicably, the café was no longer the haven for just the four of us. The tables were occupied by familiar faces, each carrying a hint of melancholy.

Cloaked in the familiar aroma of his favourite cologne, and mints, he appeared as vibrant as I remembered. His large square spectacles rested at the bridge of his nose as his wise eyes surveyed us all. The rumble of his voice sliced through the muffled whispers, resonating with a clarity that sent chills down my spine, “I need to go now,” he said.

My heart seemed to halt at his words, the air around me growing stagnant and heavy. A wave of desperation welled up within me, “You’re coming back, right?” I found myself blurting out, my voice laden with an edge of panic.

His gaze, gentle yet sorrowful, met mine, “I’m not sure, Sammy,” he said, an apologetic smile stretching across his worn features. His words struck me like a lightning bolt, cleaving my heart in two, leaving an indelible scar that seemed to echo within the silent depths of the dream.

Tears flooded my vision within the dream, blurring the sight of my departing grandfather. As quickly as the dream had unfolded, it began to dissolve, bringing me back to the biting reality of the real world. My cheeks were damp, my heart heavy; the dream had transcended its boundaries, spilling its sorrow into my waking life.

My grandfather’s passing was a seismic event that shook the foundations of our family. His absence was a storm I could not weather; it engulfed me, threatening to drown me in its fury. And it did. The grief was a mountain, colossal and unyielding, impossible to scale.

Yet with time, I found solace in the memories we shared, the laughter and love that coloured our years together. Grief, I realized, was not a mountain to conquer, but a river to navigate. It was not about overcoming the pain but learning to live with it, allowing it to flow alongside my life.

Grief is a cruel and unforgiving journey, but it is in the heart of this struggle that we find the strength to look back, not with sadness, but with a fond smile that celebrates the beautiful years we were fortunate enough to share.

I miss you, grandad. You’re in good company now.