Last February my Opa died from cancer...we were with him when he went...we knew it was coming....but it didn't make it any easier when it happened...Growing up he was always coming up the hill from his barn where he stored all of the tools...always holding something in his hand...always telling my dad to take a look at it...so we would go down to the barn and play with the tools and talk a bit...then we would go back up to the house and have some coffee...after he died...it was like the house was half empty...I would look towards the barn half expecting him to be coming up the hill...but he never would...Oma felt so lonesome there too....she would sit on the couch with her husband's favourite cat in her lap...and just cry...last summer me and my brother, Brady, were cleaning up the place to get ready for Oma to move...she was happy that we were there, for then she would have the company....she would always come down to give us water...and then fix lovely lunches for us...it was hard work....but we enjoyed doing it....it was for oma...

I still remember the day Opa died....the word was out the weekend previous to his passing that he didn't have long...just a few days...so we were waiting for the word that he had gone...

I was taking a bath and reading...but apparently the phone kept ringing...with my hearing problem I never heard it...but they called mom's cell phone...just as she was coming back...and she came back to the house and told me...i hurriedly got my jammies on (that was what i was wearing before the bath)..and ran out to the car...hopeing we would be able to make it in time....we got to the house and sat there holding his hand....talking to him...weeping for him...watching the breathing become less and less frequent....then finally it stopped altogether...he was gone...I held my tears back....seeing everyone else cry....and went downstairs...my mom was in there consoling my brother...and i went to them and broke down...sobbing and wailing...as I could not hold the pressure of the pain back...an hour later the mortician came for him...and I remember kissing Opa's forehead...and feeling how cold it was....an empty cold...lifeless...

At his memorial service I read a poem I wrote after he died...my voice breaking at each line...then during the reception people were coming up to me saying that they liked it...and how it made them cry too...and I went to my Oma and told her something I never have told her before I ehld her and whispered into her ear, I love you. She held my face and said Oh Nathan I love you too...I always have...I tell her that more often now...I only told opa that once...after he got sick...on his birthday...never hesitate to tell the ones you love that you love them...those three simple words can mean the world...My best to you both.

there are no goobyes

there are no goodbyes
I think as I see you lying there
Gasping, struggling for breath
Ruminating over things unsaid
Little things that mean the world
"I love you" "Thank you for the years"
"I always thought of you as my grandpa"
but there are no goodbyes

There are no goodbyes
I think as we hold each other
Wiping our tears from our eyes
Bodies shaking in deep sorrow
Rubbish bins filling with spent tissue
Quivering voices whispering their loss
Whispering farewell to your vacant shell
But there are no goodbyes

There are no goodbyes
I think as I softly kiss your forehead
Feeling the cold lifeless skin upon my lips
My heart trembling at the touch
But I know that was not you
The gods had already called you home.
So many things I wanted to say
But there are no goodbyes.

nt