Although my grandpa was of respectable age and not enjoying the pleasures of life anymore, I was still really sad about him passing away. Perhaps all the more so because I was so far away from it all. My dad sternly told me not to fly over, and I knew he was right, but as the week dragged on and my dad kept me informed of the cremation preparations, I felt like being in another galaxy altogether. Combined with the usual questions-of-life when someone dies (“did he have a happy life, how important is my family really to me, am I doing the right thing, should I have children after all”) and the trip down memory lane (childhood memories of opa and oma),I wasn’t my usual ‘bright’ self. It helped immensely to write down some memories though, and my brother read those at the ceremony, which was a nice way of contributing something and at the same time sensing the therapeutic use of writing.
Nevertheless, I can’t wait to fly back home. I am getting sick and tired of the same people here at work, the same routine every day (especially the stinking bus), and the vague feeling of not being home-home.
Nevertheless, I can’t wait to fly back home. I am getting sick and tired of the same people here at work, the same routine every day (especially the stinking bus), and the vague feeling of not being home-home.
