Sidepork.
Of all the things about you, all of the memories I have of you, side pork starts me crying.
The thought of side pork cooking in the oven, that sweet, fatty smell.
It's what opens the floodgates, the tears falling now.
As I start to fall apart in the stacks at work.
And everything else comes tumbling after.
Weekend early mornings at the cottage.
The days when I was small and could be out of bed before 6:30.
Up and reading on the couch in my pajamas.
Or staring at the other me in the mirror, fascinated.
Smiling as you'd come downstairs.
"Helping" you in preparing bacon and eggs for everyone.
You'd call me Johnson...have always called me Johnson.
...who will call me Johnson now?
I am unravelling, coming apart at the seams.
I will catch the late bus; just the thought of it pulls me together.
Will go and see you...see you in that hospital room.
The room that you will not leave alive.
The growing sense of finality as my shoes echo in the hallway.
You are so small now...
I've been taller for years; but you've never been small before.
Always so big, my grandpa.
A big happy man.
A man who could do anything.
And now I could lift you, without effort
Cradle you as a child in my arms.
I hope that you do not suffer.
That the doctors and their medicine are keeping the pain at bay.
I wanted you to be strong, I wanted you to be healthy.
But now I just want you to die with dignity and no pain.
Safe in the knowledge that we love you, and were loved by you.
And that your wife will be all right.
I want you to die...so that you won't hurt anymore.
It is a harsh thought.
An honest thought.
It doesn't make me feel better.
But it is honest.
...
May you hang among the brightest stars, for your life was good.
I love you Grandpa.