my head hurts.
it aches and throbs and screams.
it wants something.
it wants you.
i am trying so hard
not to remember you like that.
with your ribs so defined it seemed as though they were trying to break out of your skin.
your arms and legs so brittle with no muscle to shield their bones from a too-fast movement or an awkward twist.
the way you could barely talk, only whisper.
the way you couldn't breathe on your own.
i am trying so hard not to remember how cold your face was when i kissed you goodbye.
how your jaw was locked open.
how you still had stubble. nose hair. untrimmed eyebrows.
how you'd looked so sick for so long it was almost normal. how i almost expected you to wake up.
i am trying so hard to remember when you were still living at home.
when you could walk and talk and eat real food.
avocado and banana on toast with black tea and the local paper every morning.
dark chocolate on the couch.
more toast for lunch.
more dark chocolate on the couch.
beef stew for dinner.
more dark chocolate and at least three beers on the couch.
i am trying to remember how i would squeeze my four year old body into the space between your chair and the wall.
i am trying to remember how you'd give every second piece of chocolate to me. every second sip of beer to me.
i am trying to remember when we would walk jezabel to the bat caves.
that little pocket radio you'd bring with you and the 50s music channel you always turned to.
then we'd sit in the cave and sing nursery rhymes that echoed off the roof.
those tiny plastic monkeys that joined hands that hung from the window curtain above the table.
how all your pills were placed casually in the same spot as the salt and pepper.
how one chair at the table was always stacked high with newspapers you were planning to read.
how whenever we brought the dogs over they had a special spot on the end of your bed.
how i would sing you beatles songs for hours.
your slippers and flannelette pyjamas and how you always made sure i wore your medals to the anzac day march.
chocolate covered biscuits and how you would always make me cordial.
i'm trying hard to remember the person you really were but i don't know if it hurts more to imagine you sick or healthy.
i know i'll never get that back. i'll never go on another walk with you i'll never sing you another song i'll never steal another swig of beer or bite of chocolate. i'll never get to buy you another choc top from the ice cream van and you'll never show me the funny comics in the paper again.
i'm never going to see you again and right now the good memories hurt more than the bad.
every time i close my eyes i see you.
i don't know what to do.
i've never lost someone close to me before.
a switch keeps flicking in my brain between being in denial and realising you're actually gone.
i just hope that wherever you're going you'll be with jez, penny, macey, your brothers, barney, and the ridiculous amount of dachshunds you and nanna had.
love and miss you forever grandad
caitlin
