"My Angel," are the last two words she could remember being ever said by him. He clung to life all the way to the end, but all he had ever wanted to live for was her. She was his soul; she completed him, and he completed her. They were perfect together, but as they all say, nothing lasts forever. She had always heard that statement being made, never completely understanding what it meant until that day.
Does not this sound like the plot of a tragic love story? Well, it isn't.
He wasn't her lover or anything even remotely close. He was her grandfather. Maternal grandfather if I were to be precise because she is extremely particular about that word. So precise that she had to learn that word at the age of seven just to be able to identify which grandfather she was referring to in her essay on "my favorite person." And rightly so, as I note. "He was my salvation, my safe space." These are words I hear every single time she opens up to me about her wound, yet I make sure the wound doesn't stay as a wound but rather a pleasurable trip down memory lane, filling the heart to the brim with satisfaction and nostalgia.
She has described her fondest memory of him a couple of times, and every single time I could do nothing but admire that sweet little bird. For the simple reason that her grandfather holds a special place in her heart that cannot be touched by anyone, I do not think I will ever be able to refer to her as "my angel," and to be honest, I do not even want to. Her sixth birthday, as she would put it, was her favorite memory of him. Her father recently gave her older sister an iPad, and she wanted one too, but she was not granted her wish. She cried for hours, and not even her mother could calm her down.
Her birthday being right around the corner didn't help the situation either, so her grandfather knew what to do. He got her an iPad on her birthday and got the weirdest and ugly covers for it, but she didn’t mind if he was the one giving them. She cherished everything given to her by him, and that wasn’t just limited to tangible items. Dare I say it, knowing that someone loved her more than I ever could both makes me incredibly happy and slightly depressed.
But she deserved it—every kind deed, every thoughtful gift, every cherishable memory—because she was just as important to him as she was to her. She used to completely pull on him while sleeping every time she went to see him because she was afraid someone would come and take him away. She was extremely possessive that way; she used to get mad at the people who clicked pictures with him because, how dare you?
He’s, my grandfather.
That aspect of her hasn't changed to this day. She also used to write him these letters before going anywhere, where she used to just appreciate his existence, thank him for being in her life, and wish him all the best for his day. He held on to every single one of those letters and kept them safely in a box labeled "from my angel."
Another anecdote I could remember would be the day he was making fun of her, and she got mad at him, so she rudely said something to him that upset him. He went to the washroom, and she immediately realized her mistake and went to apologize. That’s a quality I really admire about her; having the guts to accept your own mistake and immediately apologize is not something everyone can do. I still struggle with that.
Everything started to fall apart the day the news of him being hospitalized reached her. His health had been deteriorating for a while now, and when it finally happened, she was numb. She couldn't feel anything; she was completely void of any emotions. A reason for it could be that she had accepted his departure from the world before he even took it, so when he finally did, she did not know how to react.
One thing is certain, though: with his death, a part of her died as well. She closed herself off from the world and stopped caring about anything and everything; after all, it was unfair to her that her favorite person, her "maternal grandfather," was snatched away from her. But that’s life; you learn to live on. Eventually, everything sets itself straight, creating room for more interesting aspects to take place. One of which she considers to be me. What he had with her is distinctively irreplaceable; it was unconditional love, but I try to keep her safe and sound in my own ways. Not that she needs me, of course; she's a really strong girl and self-sufficient. No, I want to bring the part of her that died back to life.
The girl in question is quite clearly the girl I am in love with. She may not be the most attractive person to you (mind you, she definitely is), but to me, she's the most beautiful person to ever exist. I could go on and on about that, but well, that story is for another time.
~ Anonymous.
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