There's nothing quite like... death knocking on the door.

A little to abrupt perhaps?

Anyway.  My grandfather in Singapore is not doing well. After suffering a stroke of some type, he developed a fever, and as of two days ago has been taken off solid food.  He's 98 and doctors prefer to lean towards less aggressive treatments and more towards the "let it be" approach.  There I was, mind drifting aimlessly around what it would be like when the time finally came to say goodbye, the 'end of the era' in the Chee household seemed appropriate. Before I could think further I was stopped cold in my tracks by another's voice that was matter-of-fact:  "people die, grandparents die. I don't see why people get worked up over it."  This very idea was so... foreign to me that it distracted me from whatever thoughts I was having.  I did take time to think why it was that it would matter so much.  One could argue that my grandfather is 98, has lived a good life, and in some ways has not lived 'his life to the fullest' considering he has stayed inside his house for the better part of the past 40 years since he retired in his fifties.  He has seemed content with spending each day simply by waking up, having breakfast, reading the papers, watching TV, having lunch, and spending the afternoon leisurely reading or enjoying a nap. His children and grandchildren frequented the house daily.  In his later years he'd occasionally sneak out of the house to play cards with his buddies, but they too passed away.  Was he truly content during all these years with his lifestyle?  I don't know because I never asked. 

My grandmother is 94 and ailing. I think it would matter a great deal to her if my grandfather passed away. He has always been protective of her, and for someone who is otherwise conservative with his words and action, I never doubted the great love that exists between them. I could see from the way he looks at her that he is truly, truly fond of her.  I remember celebrating their 75th wedding anniversary a few years back, one of the few occasions my grandfather willingly left the house for, and we watched a slide show put together by a few of my cousins of black-and-white photographs of my grandparents in their youth, when they first met, and photos of their children. The slide show was sentimentally backed up with Dean Martin's rendition of "That's Amore", and the atmosphere was, amongst all the family members, one of good cheer and nothing short of romantic. We "wooed" and "ahhed" and giggled at funny photos of our parents, and at the conclusion of the slide show, my grandfather asked that it'd be played again...

It feels strange to be 'recalling those times' as he's laying in a hospital bed in Singapore somewhere, not talking because he hasn't had food and lacks the energy.  But he's still alive. Would I be writing about my grandfather if he's sitting at his familiar spot at the dining table, noisily and happily chewing away at his food (which he does)?  I don't know, and that may be what's unfortunate.

This is why it would matter if he passed away:  it would reinforce my fear of someone I loved dying.

I had few fears as a child, the sound of my beating heart in the dark was one, because I didn't know that's what I was hearing.  The other was of anyone I knew dying.  I had no fear of my own death. I have no fear of my own death. I'd entertained thoughts of ending my own life years ago but what teen with exaggerated angst hasn't. The 'woe is me' part of one's life. At this point I'd like to say, if you haven't experienced such a stage or have ever felt that low, I'm sorry for scaring you, and I promise I would never do something as wasteful and as silly as ending my life. I got over myself years ago.  :::smile:::

Anyway, despite the fact that I never see him because he's across the ocean, I love my grandfather. He's as connected to me as the air that I breathe. He, being 98 years old, is a constant. He is the anchor to my family.  Does it mean I'm more afraid of change? Of time passing?  I don't doubt this, but he's much more than just an idea, a distant figure, just a grandparent. He's funny, stern and endearing, and he is respected and well-loved by all of us. How could this NOT be deeply affecting?

So, why am I not in Singapore right now?

Because I recognize that what I do makes no difference. He is no more and no less whether I am here or there. My presence would not make him better or worse. My presence would not make me feel better or worse. My presence would not make him more meaningful to me or any less meaningful.  I'm not afraid of letting go because it isn't up to me or to any of us.

But at the end of the day, I rather he lives.