I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
-Simone and Garfunkel
Hey guys;
Originally, this entry had been planned as some kind of pre-Boston feature. I was planning on making two lists (the subject of said entry), one on fantastic one-liners that ended a film (a discussion we had last week in a bar, think Gone With The Wind's "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" or Das Leben Der Anderen's "Nein, es ist fur mich," which was my personal favourite) followed by a list of things I absolutely want to see in Boston and New York (which I may still put in this entry, providing I actually go to NY, which is somewhat a mistery). If anything, this entry may serve as a clear lesson to myself: Procrastination is a bad thing. Because I had planned to write this entry for weeks, and I wa sort of looking forward to it.
And then my grandfather died.
Now, some perspective is in order. My mother has been married and divorced three times on the record, and along with those three marriages, she's had two long-term partners. I've never once blamed my mother for anything. She's an incredible woman who has spent the bulk of her life caring for a large family which was subject to change. My mother did everything she could to make sure me and my syblings would never want for anything, no matter what it took. As I was the oldest, we never really connected. She was working or taking care of the kids, and I was on my own more often than not. We never really connected, and I'm okay with that. I love my mother, and I have nothing but respect for her and what she did for my and my brothers and sisters.
But, as a result of those marriages and long-lasting relationships, I have quite an extended family. Vake, as I used to call him, was my sister's grandfather, the father of my mother's second husband. I hadn't seen him in years, just twice since he had a stroke some 10 years ago. We weren't related, but like Herman, his son and my sister's dad, he took care of me for years. He was always kind to me when I was still a child. There's no logical reason for any of that. I was not his grandson. I was just this little kid, who happened to be Maitë's brother, and he took care of me regardless. He was kind, and when my mum divorced his son, we lost all contact. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry we saw each other just twice after all of that went down.
He died yesterday. He went to play a game of petanque, returned home, sat down at the table, told Moeke he wasn't feeling to good and dropped dead, right there at the table. I was at work when my mother called me to let my know, and I just didn't know what to think. I informed my boss to let them know I might have to cancel a shift due to the funeral, and that was that. I just didn't know. And then I sat down and cried. Maybe for a good 10 minutes, while I tried to eat, I cried and then I was okay. Except I really wasn't. I finished work, went out to have a drink and tried to pretend everything was fine, but it really wasn't. I just couldn't believe Vake was dead, even if he had suffered a stroke a good 10 years ago and had been hanging by a thread ever since.
Just last week, I was talking to my dad (my real dad) and told him how I wanted to meet up with my mum's second husband, Herman. He had always been so nice to me, treated me like his own son. Compared to others, he was so gentle and just so great. Looking bad on it, I'm almost sorry he never had the chance to really raise me, have been there in my teens. A part of me even wonders how I would have turned out. He was just so unselfish, and so kind. And when he and my mother split up, we never spoke again. I told my real dad I wanted to call him, meet up with him and thank him for everything he did, tell him how much I appreciated it. And three days later, I was calling him to wish him my condoleances on the death of his father. Three days later, I'm the one consoling him.
I've spent the last several years traveling. Ever since I turned 18, I've spent a good chunk of my time abroad, either teaching surfing or trying to start a new life. During that span, I ruined the only healthy relationship I ever had with a woman, alienated my syblings and built a dam between me and my friends. I know I f*cked up--hell, I remind myself every day. At the time, I thought I was making all the right choices, because millenials are idiots and I'm a prime example. I've since somewhat turned my life around, gotten a decent job and have actually maintained regular contact with the people closest to me. But no matter how you spin it, I've been a bad sybling. A bad brother, a bad son and a bad friend. I've always known this and taken it as a necessary evil. But now, I suddenly realise I've been a bad grandson as well.
This isn't the first grandparent I've lost, nor the closest. I've lost blood relatives before, and it hurt like crap. But perhaps at the time I wasn't old enough to realise what it meant. And maybe now I am. Because this man did everything he could to make sure I was safe, and now he's dead. This man spent so much time looking out for me and keeping me safe, and now he's dead. And like Dominic and my great-grandmother, he died not knowing exactly what he meant to me. And I'm not okay with that.
I'm really sorry. I'll try and update this blog ahead of Boston and New York to give y'all some kind of update on what I'm looking forward to, something positive for a change. But right now, I just can't.
Take care, and if you're someone close to me, please understand how much I love you. I really do, even if I don't always show it.
Song of the Day: Ween - Buenas Tardes Amigo
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