In Memoriam

Preface: This is not in any way, shape, or form meant to get sympathy from any of my readers but merely to express my deepest feelings of loss in regards to the passing of my grandfather, Alonzo P. Greer, Sr. and hopefully encourage others to avoid making the same mistakes I've made: 

After a long battle with cancer, my paternal grandfather finally gave up his fight yesterday morning. He was surrounded by two of his three sons and his devoted wife Mada as well as his extended, hospice family. Due to a series of events that, in retrospect, obviously happened for a reason, in addition to my own procrastination and indecisiveness, I was still at home when I got the text from my father and uncle stating that my grandfather had just expired. My first reaction was utter fury at the fact that they both thought it was acceptable behavior to text me that kind of information. My second reaction was panic in knowing the time and the fact that I had exactly enough time to get to work if I'd walked out the door right then and there. The final thought, after I'd sent the enraged text response to my father reprimanding him for texting me such sensitive information, was to call my father to make sure he was okay...he was not. I asked him if he needed me there and, suppressing tears, he answered, "yes".

I notified work and my mother of the situation and, although my mother had analyzed the level of grief in my voice and graciously offered to come get me and drive me over my grandparents house, I decided to drive myself. Driving has always been cathartic for me and I just had a feeling that it was going to be the only way to settle my nerves. After a silent, reflective, fifteen-minute drive, I arrived in front of the house where my father and uncle were stoically standing. I got out of the car and walked straight up to my father; my biggest, purple sunglasses shading my eyes from the bright sun and hiding my bright, right eyes. I fell into his arms first before proceeding to my uncle and the other relatives on the porch. Then, I asked the big question, "is grandma inside?" They nodded and I walked up the big, stone front stairs and into the house.

Never in my life, have I been in the house where a person has just died. This was only the second time in my life that I've ever seen a corpse that was not embalmed and, ironically, the first time was when my maternal grandfather passed away. But upon entering the house where he'd lived and died, I didn't feel weird or creepy or anything at all for that matter. I entered knowing that the funeral home had not taken him away and that his body was still in his room. I grabbed my grandmother and hugged her. Before I let go, she whispered in my ear, "are you ready to go see your granddaddy?" I nodded as best I could considering my chin was pressed awkwardly into her shoulder, a result of folding my body down to meet hers as I towered over her in the stilettos I'd worn to the house in the event that I was called away to work.

I stood up, put on a brave face, and walked into the room where he lay "sleeping" in his bed. It took a few minutes to survey the scene; his gaunt face, his sunken eyes, the thinning hair in which he'd taken so much pride, the hospital bed, the medical equipment, his favorite things and creature comforts, the white curtains blowing in the breeze coming from the window my grandmother had opened to "let his soul fly out".  I held it together while my grandmother stood with me in the room. When my father entered, she suggested that he stand with me for a while and I let go. I cried out from the bottom of my heart, "there's nothing left of him!" His face was there but he'd become so thin that it looked as though there wasn't even an ounce of fat left on him. He'd always been  a slender man so, I guess, he didn't have much to lose; what little he did have was gone.

I'm ashamed to say that I couldn't bring myself to visit him in the years while he was sick. I wanted to remember him as the lively man who picked roses for me on Sundays after church; his strong, brown hands reaching behind him to pull a pocket knife out to snap the thorns off of the stem before he placed the prettiest bloom on the bush into my tiny hands. I wanted to remember the smile he gave me when he played his recording of me singing Stevie Wonder's I Just Called to Say I Love You. Stupidly, I waited, thinking that it would be easier to attend his funeral than to watch him deteriorate. As with most things that have happened in my life, I had little control over what God wanted me to see and so I saw what was left of him in the very end. I missed my last chance to hear him say, "see ya later alligator" and respond like always "after while crocodile". 

Don't miss your opportunity to call someone just to say you love them. Don't miss your chance to tell them how much you care. Call everyone you love and tell them how much you love them and mean it from the bottom of your heart.