On the Couch

When my Dad died people I knew made such a fuss, flowers, cards, phone calls etc. So much support from every angle and people saying how I was going through something none of them could yet understand. It was nice, but misplaced and it made me feel guilty. Guilty because although I was sad that he died I knew even then that after the tears at the funeral I wouldn't miss him. I think about him from time to time but it's hard to miss someone that you never really knew. We were never close, I saw him at most for a week a year and spoke on the phone maybe three times a year. I never felt homesick anywhere except when I stayed there. The last time I saw him was because I made the effort after nagging from my mum and ex boyfriend and my dad was so dismissive of me that I said I was not making the effort again. Now my Grampa has died and I feel the way other people thought I should have felt then. It's been three weeks and I still want to cry, shout and beat my fists. There is a big hole where he should be.
I'm not sad for him, he was 90, the end was quick, without pain. But I'd give anything for another chance to see him. See, I saw my grangparents almost every day of my life until they moved away when I was 17. They looked after me when my mum was at work and I not at school. They celbraated my acheivements with me and comforted me in my failures. Now my grampa has died and I'm watching dementia slowly take away my Gran.