A Pinnacle Shattered
I've seen my grandfather... Or rather, what's left of him. It's a strange sensation to feel like crying, and not feel like crying, at the same time. I know that he's with God now, in the City of Blinding Light.
Of course, he was in tough shape when he arrived at the mortuary. The embalmer had to use a great deal of cosmetics to make him look presentable; the color's far too bright. He was always dirty, and he smoked cigars all the time, so his face, his hands, it all had a brown quality to it. It wasn't that he was a dirty person... That's just how he was. Brown. To see him look anything other than brown just doesn't look like him.
Little details keep emerging, like a photo that's slowly more recognizable as it develops. The dump truck pulled out in front of him, and he couldn't stop in time, and he hit it. The helicopter started for Metropolis, but his condition deteriorated so rapidly that it was no use, and they diverted to College City instead. He'd been working to fix the kitchen sink, and needed washers for some part of it because someone hadn't put them on at the shop he'd gotten it from. None of it means much, really; all that matters is that he's gone.
Seeing him, laying there in the casket... I don't know. His head was bigger than I remembered it. That and the skin color are all I can think about, really. Well, not really. I keep thinking little things, remembering little things that happened with him. I remember little things, or even big things that he did. He's the one primarily responsible for funding my college education. He's the one who helped me change my oil. He's the one who helped me remove my old fender and install my new one when I was in my first, and hopefully only, car accident. My parents have always provided for me, but whenever he was able, he took care of me. I remember locking my keys in my car after we worked on something, my car, or my truck, or his truck, or something, and he drove me all the way home to get them and then all the way back.
Now I have to change my own oil, and I have to do it by myself. I don't have him to help me; I have the memory of what he did, and how he did it, and what he taught me, but I don't have him. An enduring symbol of strength was wrenched from my life, almost without warning, and it's difficult to even comprehend.
I may write more about this later. Right now, I need to go read. Maybe I'll pick something up off of the pages, maybe I won't. I don't know.
Of course, he was in tough shape when he arrived at the mortuary. The embalmer had to use a great deal of cosmetics to make him look presentable; the color's far too bright. He was always dirty, and he smoked cigars all the time, so his face, his hands, it all had a brown quality to it. It wasn't that he was a dirty person... That's just how he was. Brown. To see him look anything other than brown just doesn't look like him.
Little details keep emerging, like a photo that's slowly more recognizable as it develops. The dump truck pulled out in front of him, and he couldn't stop in time, and he hit it. The helicopter started for Metropolis, but his condition deteriorated so rapidly that it was no use, and they diverted to College City instead. He'd been working to fix the kitchen sink, and needed washers for some part of it because someone hadn't put them on at the shop he'd gotten it from. None of it means much, really; all that matters is that he's gone.
Seeing him, laying there in the casket... I don't know. His head was bigger than I remembered it. That and the skin color are all I can think about, really. Well, not really. I keep thinking little things, remembering little things that happened with him. I remember little things, or even big things that he did. He's the one primarily responsible for funding my college education. He's the one who helped me change my oil. He's the one who helped me remove my old fender and install my new one when I was in my first, and hopefully only, car accident. My parents have always provided for me, but whenever he was able, he took care of me. I remember locking my keys in my car after we worked on something, my car, or my truck, or his truck, or something, and he drove me all the way home to get them and then all the way back.
Now I have to change my own oil, and I have to do it by myself. I don't have him to help me; I have the memory of what he did, and how he did it, and what he taught me, but I don't have him. An enduring symbol of strength was wrenched from my life, almost without warning, and it's difficult to even comprehend.
I may write more about this later. Right now, I need to go read. Maybe I'll pick something up off of the pages, maybe I won't. I don't know.
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