A long time ago, or so it seems now, I lost my Grandfather to cancer. He had prostrate cancer and had it for over 25 years, which meant he had it even before I was a twinkle in my parents eyes. I never knew he had cancer, it was never discussed or mentioned. I came from a family that believe children's minds shouldn't be troubled with such heavy matters and you would never have known my Grandfather had the illness. He was a wonderful and kind hearted man. There were 25 other grandchildren besides me but he still managed to make you feel like you were the apple of his eye. I remember sitting on the steps that led up to the white house with the big wrap around porch, eating giant ice cream cones from the local restaurant. It was his special treat on those hot summer days, sending us down to fetch some ice cream. He would sit on the step and wait for us to return with our treats and his favourite cone of all, Vanilla. We would sit on those steps and savour the delicious ice cream, chatting about anything and everything while trying to manage the copious drips of the melting ice cream. I swear I licked more off my arm and my elbow than I ever did off the cone. I loved my Grandfather so very much.
My parents were building their new house. For all my life we had lived in a small bungalow on a quiet side street and life was good. My parent had worked hard all their lives and had purchased a nice building lot just on the outskirts of town. They were building their dream home and my brothers and I were excited about the prospects of the new house. I think my brothers were more excited than me because they were finally going to have their own rooms. Construction started and we all made regular visits to see the progress on our new home. It was sad to be leaving the home that was so comfortable and familiar to us. We lived in a nice neighbourhood which tons of children and huge fields to roam freely in. We built forts, we played army, cops and robbers, cowboys and indians, kick the can, football, baseball, soccer, tag and, of course, road hockey - who needed television. It was a blessed childhood in many ordinary miraculous ways.
Work proceeded on the house, my parents made regular trips to the hospital. As I had already come to learn, life takes unexpected turns; my first boyfriend had dumped me, my friend Diane had gone missing in March of that same year and the local rich-kid bullies had made my life miserable in school over our new home. Apparently our presence there was going to decrease the property values enormously. Some of these same people will read this (the joys of Facebook) and I say to them now, "Shame on you for your sick cruelty, snobbery and arrogance. You all knew better.". It had already been my year of long shadows when we found out Grandpa's cancer had spread and he was going downhill rapidly. I don't know how long he or his children had known that the cancer had spread or that his situation was terminal. I remember being told he was in hospital and I remember my Father crying on the phone to his brother in the Maritimes telling him to come home, "Dad is dying." Other family members had been telling my uncle that Grandpa was doing okay and there was no need for him to come. I had never seen my Father cry before. I went to my room and I cried too.
One bright sunny summer day we were told to put on our best clothes, we were going to visit Grandpa. I didn't know it would be the last time I would see him alive. I don't remember the drive to the hospital in Arnprior or even what day of the week it was. I remember that I wore all white. I had a beautiful white eyelet lace two piece set, culottes under a white overshirt, white knee socks and the white shoes I had got for my Grade 8 graduation. My hair was long and still quite blonde then and I had brushed it to a shine and wore a white headband. I wanted to look nice to see Grandpa. I had no idea what I was walking into.
There were many family members at the hospital when we got there. They were mostly in the hall outside of Grandpa's room, all with sober and downcast faces. I felt a great sucking pain in my stomach and my knees felt weak from all their sadness. I do not know the order of how we all went into the hospital room, I don't remember what other cousins might have been there that day. All of those things went into a great void. I just remember when it was my turn. I don't remember anyone telling me it was time to day good-bye, but it wasn't likely necessary. I felt the full gravity of the situation and it was like lead in both of my legs as I walked into the hospital room.
I made my way across the hospital room and my legs only took me as far as the first chair. Grandpa's bed was on my right, it was large room with one other bed in it but no one else was sharing the room with him. It was a large room. There was a large window in the middle of the room which someone had opened. The long white curtains were floating on the breeze coming through the window and the sun danced across them as the flitted in the breeze. The room was ablaze with sunlight and it reflected off the polished stainless steel of the hospital bed in which my Grandpa lay and the legs of the chair I was sitting on. The room was alight with sunshine and sparkles, the movement of the curtains reminded me of angel and butterfly wings. My hands gripped the seat of the chair and I wrapped my ankles around the legs, as if I was afraid I was going to lift off and be carried away.
My aunt was standing on my Grandfather's right hand side. She was spoonfeeding him vanilla ice cream from a bowl and the ice cream was rolling out of the corner of his mouth. My aunt and my Grandpa both looked at me and I don't know who had sadder eyes, me or them. Grandpa couldn't speak and my aunt didn't say anything. The three of us were there wrapped in the silence of the understanding of what was happening. Grandpa was wearing white pajamas with a blue cording around them, the sheets on his bed were white and were down around his legs. His pajama top had ridden up and his fish-belly white bloated stomach was exposed. This was his cancer. There was no sparkle in his eye when he looked at me. It was almost as if he wished I hadn't come to see him like this. I couldn't speak, I had no words. I sat there and looked at him and my aunt and out the window and down at my white shoes. I rocked forward in the chair still clinging to the seat, my knuckles were as white as my Grandfather's belly from holding on. I wished that this wasn't happening to him and that I could be somewhere else but here and that I could make him better and that I was a terrible granddaughter because I couldn't speak up and tell him that day just how much I loved him and what he meant to me. I wanted to wipe the ice cream off of his mouth and to cover up his fish belly but I could do none of those things. Someone came and told me it was time for me to go, someone else had to have a turn. I couldn't even manage a smile for him, there was nothing to smile about it. I left that sunshine filled room on my leaden legs in my white shoes. My heart felt like it was going to come out of my chest, it hurt so bad. Grandpa died the day we moved into our new house. He never got to see it.
Death doesn't always wear black and walk in the shadows. Death is pure sunlight, gentle breeze, billowing white curtains and shiny silvery stainless steel. Death wears white shoes and eats vanilla ice cream. Those are the colours of death.
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