A Mouthful of Regret
The most caring, loving and happiest man in the world had been taken from life slowly and painfully. My grandpa had always come to support his family. He had always come to mine and my siblings and relatives games. He had always been there cheering, shouting and helping us with whatever we needed. He had always been there to help us. He had always been there for me, even when he did not possess the strength to on his own legs, and had a whole in his throat tubes running through his nose and mouth. Where was I for him.
I couldn’t bear to see him. I couldn’t handle looking at him as he tried to speak while he lay there, dying. I couldn’t think of the one who meant everything to his family, was about to be deteriorated into nothing. I would give anything in the world to see him again today at our large family holidays with our huge feasts, family games, and our funny, family stories. They are so much fun and seem so fulfilling. They’re not. Every family gathering, we all try to have fun, but at the pit of every bodies’ stomach, in every bodies’ mind, and in a space of all our hearts lies a spot of emptiness and loneliness. Never to be satisfied. Though, at the same time, there is the everlasting joy of his love. Never forgotten. I forever regret the foolish choice of not talking to my grandpa- the greatest person in the world- enough before his life was taken from cancer.
When I first heard that my grandpa had cancer one day at school, I was only in third grade. I cried all day and went home. It was so hard to believe or understand that my grandpa would die. I remember visiting him in the hospital every week. He was the same man even while he was dying. He was complaining about how his blended meals were disgusting and always wished for some of my grandma’s pasta. I remember, on his birthday, we brought a cake. He wanted to eat it so badly, that he successfully snuck a few pieces while we weren’t looking. Above all things he longed for, he just wanted to go home. He wished to live the rest of his life as best as he could. He knew he would die soon. Despite the facts, the rest of the family believed that we getting better and that he was going to come home soon—unfortunately that wasn’t true.

Cancer began to take a large toll on my grandfather’s body. Things worsened. He has a hole in his trachea then. He could only talk if you covered that hole for him. I couldn’t live happily with him lying there, near death.

I couldn’t look at him. Every time I went to visit him I would stand in the back of the room crying in the corner. I remember he would say, “Where is Cody?” in his raspy, broken voice. He would tell me it is okay and everything will be alright. He would try to hug me and I would hug back as if I could break him with too much pressure. I ended up going to see him a little bit less. I didn’t want to feel like garbage. I didn’t want to see him dying.

I remember the last day I saw him. There was nothing left he could do. We would die no matter what. We brought him to where he wanted to be: Home. All of my family tried to squeeze in the house. We gathered around his bed waiting. Then, after a few hours, his heart rate disappeared. Tears began to pour out of all our eyes. That was it. We couldn’t believe it. The father of our family was dead.

I regret not talking to him as much as I could have. I wish he could still be here. I wish that I could spend more time with him. I wish I could see him again. I wish that I could see his wide smile that could make anyone happy just by looking at him. I wish I could feel his love once more.