Saying Goodbye

I started tearing up today in one of my classes, for no apparent reason. One of the professors asked me if I had a cold. I told him no, I wasn’t sick; my grandpa had died a few days ago, and it was just a rough morning.

Truth be told, I don’t think it really sunk in until this morning that Bill was gone. My mom called me Wednesday to let me know, and I immediately started praying for his wife, Jane. I just hoped she would be alright, and have the faith and the patience to know she would see him again. It only hit me just today – and it’s not that I’m afraid of death, or I feel like he’s gone for good. I very firmly believe in an afterlife. It just hurts, is all. Even if it’s just goodbye for a while, it still hurts.

For the past five years or so, I’ve gone over to Bill and Jane’s house every time I need a laugh. Usually, we ended up laughing at each other. We exchanged irreverent stories about farting in public, or laughing in church (or funerals), or close run-ins with the cops. Bill would make fun of my driving. Jane would make fun of Bill’s memory. I would make fun of Jane’s eyesight. Jane would come back at me and ponder why I was still single. It was all in good fun, and it was an absolute riot. Most days, we would all be sworn to secrecy when I left, for fear we’d all be locked up if anybody else realize how messed up in the head we were.

When I told my professor that my grandpa had died, he said he was sorry, and asked if we had been close. I said, “Well, he’s technically just my neighbor, not my grandpa.” He replied, “So he earned the title, then.”

Yeah. He earned it. I’ll miss you, Grandpa Bill. 


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