Mortality... Death... And Love. Below, if it has worked correctly, is somewhat of a lament for my grandparents. Read if you wish, I simply needed to get these thoughts and feelings out. I do not have a journal, but I think perhaps, I should have one, for things like this, since I am feeling this way more and more.
As I get older, I look back on what little I remember in my life. And I find myself remembering times with my grandparents the most.
My Nana, driving me to kindergarten, to preschool. Taking me with her to the supermarket while my Mum worked. My Nana, washing my hair, making my favourite snacks. My Nana, putting my hair in braids because I refused to go to school without them, five minutes before we had to leave. My Nana, making me pineapple fritters when she made fish and chips because they're my favourite. My Nana, more worried about me when someone stole her handbag from the car I was sitting in, than she was for the loss of her bag, when it was my fault we were there. I forgot something at my last day of kindergarten and I was devastated. She took me back to get it.
My Popa, taking my cousins and I to the beach every single school holidays. My Popa, making me a wooden sword because I have always hated guns. My Popa, making me a matching wooden dagger for it. My Popa, keeping them for years so my children could have them. My Popa, always there with a funny Dad joke, always there with the most ridiculous thing to say to lighten the mood. My Popa, taking us to ride on the bendy bus before he leaves his job as a bus driver. My Popa, loving his cat so much he has never had another one since.
But now... My Nana can barely walk a few metres on her own. My Popa is half blind and half deaf.
But they're still them. My Nana still makes pineapple fritters because I love them, even when I tell her not to push herself because standing for too long is painful. My Popa still tells his jokes even though he can hardly hear our responses.
I wasn't ready for them to age. I will never be ready. My Nana still smiles the same, so does Popa. But... Why is it when my feelings are so dull for everyone else, they're so strong for my grandparents? Why is it, that I feel my love for them so strongly I am mourning them while they live?
I am sorry for such a sad post on a miscellaneous Wednesday morning, but it has been eating at me, and I cannot express my feelings to Mum, since she hates to talk of death and mortality.