This is something I haven’t exactly had to endure, yet. But I doubt I could tell my own experience of it so well.
“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o’er wrought heart and bids it break”
“Just do this one thing for me” my father asked me. “I know you’re thinking you don’t want to do it, but you’re thinking about yourself. Think about your grandfather. He wants to see you”
And now he’s said that, I know I’m going.
“I’m just warning you, it can be very confronting”
I say nothing, and the next time I open my mouth is to greet my Aunty at the hospital. As we walk up the corridor, the doors of each room are open. “don’t look in the rooms” she says, but inevitably my gaze finds its way inside them as we walk past. A young guy at a bed side, hunched over with his head in his hands, an old man splayed out on the bed like…
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