Why does fucked up shit happen to good people and scum bag mother fuckers win the lottery and shit?
The day before yesterday my grandfather was alive and well. No real health problems to mention. We just celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary a few weeks back. All together out for dinner, my brother, parents, cousins, aunts. I was joking with my husband that I couldn't imagine another 47 years living with him. We giggled about how I never do the laundry and how he never remembers to feed the cats. But really by the time we got to 50 years I don't think we would care about anything but eachother, that's all you would know, waking up beside that person morning after morning.
The day before yesterday my Nana did wake up with my Papa, and it was an ordinary day. Then my Papa tripped on the carpet and put his head through the glass front on the oven. He shook it off. No visible cuts or bruises, felt fine. He grabbed the broom and dustpan and cleaned up the glass. Got my Nan into the car, drove downtown and bought a new oven, came home and joked about it over dinner. He went to bed and a few hours later he woke up with a terrible headache and called my mom, when she got there he was falling asleep so they called the abulance, he never woke up, and he wont.
He is being kept alive by machines so that we can help others stay alive. Organ donation seems like such a wonderful thing when you sign that card and put it in your wallet and have all the best intentions 'just incase' but it really is the hardest thing in the world when a person who had a huge hand in raising you, a person who you saw almost on a daily basis, a person who taught you to play chess, a person who would say 'tut tut' if I had my elbows anywhere near the table while there was a plate on it, a person who would call when he hit the wrong button on the remote convinced his TV went kaput, a person who's voice I can hear saying my name right now, is never coming home...
The day before yesterday my grandfather was alive and well. No real health problems to mention. We just celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary a few weeks back. All together out for dinner, my brother, parents, cousins, aunts. I was joking with my husband that I couldn't imagine another 47 years living with him. We giggled about how I never do the laundry and how he never remembers to feed the cats. But really by the time we got to 50 years I don't think we would care about anything but eachother, that's all you would know, waking up beside that person morning after morning.
The day before yesterday my Nana did wake up with my Papa, and it was an ordinary day. Then my Papa tripped on the carpet and put his head through the glass front on the oven. He shook it off. No visible cuts or bruises, felt fine. He grabbed the broom and dustpan and cleaned up the glass. Got my Nan into the car, drove downtown and bought a new oven, came home and joked about it over dinner. He went to bed and a few hours later he woke up with a terrible headache and called my mom, when she got there he was falling asleep so they called the abulance, he never woke up, and he wont.
He is being kept alive by machines so that we can help others stay alive. Organ donation seems like such a wonderful thing when you sign that card and put it in your wallet and have all the best intentions 'just incase' but it really is the hardest thing in the world when a person who had a huge hand in raising you, a person who you saw almost on a daily basis, a person who taught you to play chess, a person who would say 'tut tut' if I had my elbows anywhere near the table while there was a plate on it, a person who would call when he hit the wrong button on the remote convinced his TV went kaput, a person who's voice I can hear saying my name right now, is never coming home...
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I am so sorry for your loss.