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"SSC23 - Loss"

You read about it in books, and you see it in movies. You get told how hard it is from relatives and friends. You try and steel yourself for it. Stand in front of a mirror and tell yourself what you're going to experience - to be ready for it. You've tried it. Have you? Doesn't matter, really. You try and prepare yourself somehow.

But nothing prepares you for loss.

I'm not talking loss in a material sense here, but I'm sure you got that. This isn't a fiver you simply can't find, or that old photo of you from years ago that you swear you put in the kitchen drawer. This is death, pure and simple. Nothing prepares you for that. Someone ceasing to exist. For ever. You're telling me I can prepare myself for that? No, you're not.

You've probably gone through it yourself. Then you know. You must know - that the loss you experienced, the feelings that ran through your mind the second you realised who you'd lost - you must know that your loss is somehow more real than anyone elses loss could ever be. It's not rational, and it's not right. But you know it, all the same...

So, where was I? Oh yes. It was 2:03 on the hospital clock as I stepped through the sliding doors. Strange how I remember that. It wasn't as if the time had any significance for me at all. It's just there, in my head. It wasn't the time he died, or anything like that. Funny how little details make up major events. Anyway, there I was. In a hospital lobby, knowing that I was in here to watch a man die. It was a strange feeling. New, and definitely unwanted. Yes, a strange feeling.

My mother was there, bravely trying to put on a smile for me. My dad as well, his smile equally wan. I found myself quantifying their loss. How morbid is that, eh? I hated myself for it. But I still did it. Why was my dad looking as crushed as my mum? It wasn't his father that was dying. I knew, of course. My dad loved his father-in-law. All the times I'd come downstairs as a child, woken by the sounds of hearty laughter from below. I remember one time, when I just sat in the doorway of the living room. The warm wood panelling was relecting the dull embers of the low hearth, and there they both sat, glasses of malt sitting comfortably in their hands. That word - comfortable. It's how I felt, sitting there, watching
the two most important men in my life laughing at anecdotes over a half-empty bottle of finest malt whiskey, nestled in high-backed leather chairs warmed by the dying fire. How about that for a memory, eh? It always cheered me up when I thought of it.

Not today though. Today I felt cold. No goosebumps, no need for an extra layer to throw over my shoulders. I reached my parents and put my arms around my mum. I felt her hold onto me, and at that moment I knew what I hadn't before. Whatever sense of loss I felt today, it wasn't going to compare to the day I had to say goodbye to my parents. I felt worse, and pulled away from my mum. My dad put an arm around my shoulders, and I smiled back at him. It was me he drank whiskey with now, late at night when I came home from university.

So, loss. That's where we were. Loss. A few whispered words with my mum, and we started down the corridor. A doctor was waiting for us, solemn look on her face. I didn't care what she had to say. I didn't feel angry at her for failing to save my grandfather's life. I didn't feel anything towards her at all. She was just there. This moment had nothing to do with her, but I didn't resent her for being there. She just was, and I dismissed her from my mind as I turned into the room. You know when we do that, right? We as people, I mean. Just dismiss someone out of hand, if they have no bearing on the events that are to follow. Yeah, you know.

There he was, looking old and frail. Wires and tubing were everywhere, going into him, hooked up to bags of fluid and complex-looking machines. They all meant nothing right now. Thousands and thousands of years of medical progress, and it all came down to this. A man whose time on this planet was up. Nothing anything could do. Again, I knew I should have felt
angry. That's what people do in the movies and the books, right? They shout at the doctor. They throw things and perform melodramatic monologues about how there's someone else they can do, surely. Just save his life, please.

None. No angry. Just loss. All I felt was loss. I sank into the chair by his side, and looked into his eyes. He couldn't speak anymore, of course. The cancer that had ravaged his body had taken that from him. Just before it was going to take his life. He smiled, though. I remember that like it was cut into my memory with glass. A warm smile, the same smile that I
remember from when I first beat him on his own chessboard, from when he walked through the local zoo with me as I pointed out the animals with excitement, and the same smile I saw whenever he saw my parents. I reached out slowly, and brushed aside the wires that were lying across his hand. I took his hand, and squeezed. He squeezed back. The old man I loved was
still in there. And then...

I said my goodbyes, right? I told him how much I loved him, and how he made my happy when he was around? Perhaps made a little joke about how he was always hanging around? Nah. That's not how it goes. But then again, you know that, don't you?

Or you will. One day.

I just looked at him. Tears were in the corners of my eyes, I knew that. And I smiled. Not the broad beaming smile I knew I wore fixed on my face whenever my family was together. No, this was a different smile. I didn't know exactly what it meant, but he did. I knew he did. I felt my dad's hand on my shoulder, and his eyes flickered up above me. There was genuine
respect bewteen those two, I knew. I just hoped I would have a bond like it with my father-in-law, if I ever had one. Then..

I felt my dad pulling me away. It was time for the daughter to say goodbye to her father. I nodded, and whispered "I'll be back soon". He nodded, slowly. And then I got up and walked out of the room, giving my mum a slight pat on the back as I went. The tears were already flowing from her eyes, and as I got out of the room I felt mine begin to flow.

I know you're not judging me for crying. We're all grown-ups, after all. It's not a weakness. But still, I didn't want to.

I mean, I wasn't a kid anymore. I was an adult. I shouldn't be crying.

Loss. It was happening now, wasn't it? This was true loss, the moment before you actually lose someone. Those precious few moments when they were still alive, knowing they were about to lose you as well.

I was there when he died, half an hour later. My mum, holding onto one of his hands tightly. My dad, one hand on my mums shoulder, one hand on my grandfathers. And me. Sat the other side, of the bed, holding his other hand. That was us. Saying goodbye to a man who had loved us, and who had our love.

I stood up, two fingers raised to brush the tears from my eyes. I let go of his hand, and it fell the short distance back to the bed. The machines stopped blinking. The wires stayed, covering his hand anew as I released it.

The flashes of memories stll hit me to this day, you know. Whenever they are triggered, I enjoy them. The way he'd put his finger to his pint glass to stop a drip spoiling his view of a pint of Guiness settling. The times he'd get that edge of excitement on his face when he spotted the peregrine
falcon he liked to track with his binoculars. When he would sneak my a bar of chocolate under the table, loving the look of fake disapproval in my mothers eye.

I lost someone I loved that day. And you've lost someone you loved, I bet. Or you will lose someone you love. You don't need me to tell you how you felt, or how you will feel. But I have. Because I loved him.

You struck every nerve you possibly could have with that one.

I love it.

You read about it in books, and you see it in movies. You get told how hard it is from relatives and friends. You try and steel yourself for it. Stand in front of a mirror and tell yourself what you're going to experience - to be ready for it. You've tried it. Have you? Doesn't matter, really. You try and prepare yourself somehow.

But nothing prepares you for loss.

I'm not talking loss in a material sense here, but I'm sure you got that. This isn't a fiver you simply can't find, or that old photo of you from years ago that you swear you put in the kitchen drawer. This is death, pure and simple. Nothing prepares you for that. Someone ceasing to exist. For ever. You're telling me I can prepare myself for that? No, you're not.

You've probably gone through it yourself. Then you know. You must know - that the loss you experienced, the feelings that ran through your mind the second you realised who you'd lost - you must know that your loss is somehow more real than anyone elses loss could ever be. It's not rational, and it's not right. But you know it, all the same...

So, where was I? Oh yes. It was 2:03 on the hospital clock as I stepped through the sliding doors. Strange how I remember that. It wasn't as if the time had any significance for me at all. It's just there, in my head. It wasn't the time he died, or anything like that. Funny how little details make up major events. Anyway, there I was. In a hospital lobby, knowing that I was in here to watch a man die. It was a strange feeling. New, and definitely unwanted. Yes, a strange feeling.

My mother was there, bravely trying to put on a smile for me. My dad as well, his smile equally wan. I found myself quantifying their loss. How morbid is that, eh? I hated myself for it. But I still did it. Why was my dad looking as crushed as my mum? It wasn't his father that was dying. I knew, of course. My dad loved his father-in-law. All the times I'd come downstairs as a child, woken by the sounds of hearty laughter from below. I remember one time, when I just sat in the doorway of the living room. The warm wood panelling was relecting the dull embers of the low hearth, and there they both sat, glasses of malt sitting comfortably in their hands. That word - comfortable. It's how I felt, sitting there, watching
the two most important men in my life laughing at anecdotes over a half-empty bottle of finest malt whiskey, nestled in high-backed leather chairs warmed by the dying fire. How about that for a memory, eh? It always cheered me up when I thought of it.

Not today though. Today I felt cold. No goosebumps, no need for an extra layer to throw over my shoulders. I reached my parents and put my arms around my mum. I felt her hold onto me, and at that moment I knew what I hadn't before. Whatever sense of loss I felt today, it wasn't going to compare to the day I had to say goodbye to my parents. I felt worse, and pulled away from my mum. My dad put an arm around my shoulders, and I smiled back at him. It was me he drank whiskey with now, late at night when I came home from university.

So, loss. That's where we were. Loss. A few whispered words with my mum, and we started down the corridor. A doctor was waiting for us, solemn look on her face. I didn't care what she had to say. I didn't feel angry at her for failing to save my grandfather's life. I didn't feel anything towards her at all. She was just there. This moment had nothing to do with her, but I didn't resent her for being there. She just was, and I dismissed her from my mind as I turned into the room. You know when we do that, right? We as people, I mean. Just dismiss someone out of hand, if they have no bearing on the events that are to follow. Yeah, you know.

There he was, looking old and frail. Wires and tubing were everywhere, going into him, hooked up to bags of fluid and complex-looking machines. They all meant nothing right now. Thousands and thousands of years of medical progress, and it all came down to this. A man whose time on this planet was up. Nothing anything could do. Again, I knew I should have felt
angry. That's what people do in the movies and the books, right? They shout at the doctor. They throw things and perform melodramatic monologues about how there's someone else they can do, surely. Just save his life, please.

None. No angry. Just loss. All I felt was loss. I sank into the chair by his side, and looked into his eyes. He couldn't speak anymore, of course. The cancer that had ravaged his body had taken that from him. Just before it was going to take his life. He smiled, though. I remember that like it was cut into my memory with glass. A warm smile, the same smile that I
remember from when I first beat him on his own chessboard, from when he walked through the local zoo with me as I pointed out the animals with excitement, and the same smile I saw whenever he saw my parents. I reached out slowly, and brushed aside the wires that were lying across his hand. I took his hand, and squeezed. He squeezed back. The old man I loved was
still in there. And then...

I said my goodbyes, right? I told him how much I loved him, and how he made my happy when he was around? Perhaps made a little joke about how he was always hanging around? Nah. That's not how it goes. But then again, you know that, don't you?

Or you will. One day.

I just looked at him. Tears were in the corners of my eyes, I knew that. And I smiled. Not the broad beaming smile I knew I wore fixed on my face whenever my family was together. No, this was a different smile. I didn't know exactly what it meant, but he did. I knew he did. I felt my dad's hand on my shoulder, and his eyes flickered up above me. There was genuine
respect bewteen those two, I knew. I just hoped I would have a bond like it with my father-in-law, if I ever had one. Then..

I felt my dad pulling me away. It was time for the daughter to say goodbye to her father. I nodded, and whispered "I'll be back soon". He nodded, slowly. And then I got up and walked out of the room, giving my mum a slight pat on the back as I went. The tears were already flowing from her eyes, and as I got out of the room I felt mine begin to flow.

I know you're not judging me for crying. We're all grown-ups, after all. It's not a weakness. But still, I didn't want to.

I mean, I wasn't a kid anymore. I was an adult. I shouldn't be crying.

Loss. It was happening now, wasn't it? This was true loss, the moment before you actually lose someone. Those precious few moments when they were still alive, knowing they were about to lose you as well.

I was there when he died, half an hour later. My mum, holding onto one of his hands tightly. My dad, one hand on my mums shoulder, one hand on my grandfathers. And me. Sat the other side, of the bed, holding his other hand. That was us. Saying goodbye to a man who had loved us, and who had our love.

I stood up, two fingers raised to brush the tears from my eyes. I let go of his hand, and it fell the short distance back to the bed. The machines stopped blinking. The wires stayed, covering his hand anew as I released it.

The flashes of memories stll hit me to this day, you know. Whenever they are triggered, I enjoy them. The way he'd put his finger to his pint glass to stop a drip spoiling his view of a pint of Guiness settling. The times he'd get that edge of excitement on his face when he spotted the peregrine
falcon he liked to track with his binoculars. When he would sneak my a bar of chocolate under the table, loving the look of fake disapproval in my mothers eye.

I lost someone I loved that day. And you've lost someone you loved, I bet. Or you will lose someone you love. You don't need me to tell you how you felt, or how you will feel. But I have. Because I loved him.