You had a lot to say,
A lot locked behind all the walls of your losses,
Heavy half-truths, unexhumed feelings, and prejudices.
A doomsday prophet, razor-focused on the end.
So absorbed with abstract death, present miseries eluded you,
That was, until they burdened you, and wore you down.
The last eight years of your life were some of the strangest of mine.
We needed each other, but I couldn’t always depend on you.
You were the last person I would trust with anything personal,
And in my lowest moments, I hate to say, your words only hurt.
I couldn’t be your grandson, though I pretended to the end,
Hiding everything about myself as I tended to your needs.
And when you were afraid to die, I stayed beside you,
Comforting you with the same love you had for me,
The unconditional, but seperated from real empathy.
The truth is that we could never accept each other
For who I am and what you believed.
For all the years we spent together, just ourselves,
Every day was a little painful, with all the tension I concealed.
It was all for you, and now you’re finally burned and buried.
It hit me hard, knowing our interactions are done.
Your voice is embedded in my mind, your words and persona.
I miss you, and it’s bitter, even though I’m glad you’re gone.
Goodbye Grandfather, I’ll remember all you taught me.
I’ll remember because I’m unable to forget.
You taught so much and still learned so little.
The end of the world is surely coming, even though you missed it.