What does death do to a family?
How does it impact me?
My grandfather died this Sunday.
I had not seen him for over 2 years. Physical distance is sometimes harder than those poets let on.
I loved him. I was his special girl, his cat. That’s what he used to call me, his cat. I was the one who could disobey him, and he would do nothing but laugh and tell everyone that I was very very hardheaded.
He had been ill. For a long time. He actually died about 16 years ago. The day my grandmother died. I remember seeing him that day as he knelt beside the body, mindless of everyone around him. He collapsed for the first time in his life that day. And he never fully recovered.
For 16 years, he died slowly.
That is not to say he did not have any happiness after then. He saw his youngest son married; his grandkids grow up. But through it all, you could tell. He was slowly fading away.
Is it wrong to be grateful that someone has died? I miss him. I miss him as much as any granddaughter can miss her grandfather. But he was in so much pain! Is it wrong for me to be glad that his body is finally free?
He was a good man. He lived to see 12 grandkids, and 3 great-grandkids.
And now, he has gone on.
I am sad he has gone.
I am glad he is no longer in pain.
Muhammad Shafi Bhatti
1925 – 2010
Disjoint Wisdom 