Years passed, during which I went through my angry atheist phase and struggled hard with the concepts of life, death, suffering, and hardship. Especially as my own physical health began to take a turn for the worse. But, despite the loss of my great-grandpa, I hadn’t really put much thought into the fact that I’d lose more loved ones, as I was pretty damn convinced the Grim Reaper was coming for me next.
Then, 2018 came at me like a raging bull. During the first part of that year, I was the one who was dying, proving my prediction right that I’d be the next one in my family join hands with the Grim Reaper. Yet, for a plethora of miraculous reasons, I survived pretty much unscathed. That spring, I was allowed to recover, while Eric promised to get me through the last two years of high school. Looking back, my recovery was actually amazingly fast. I’m sure my walks to and from the library, as well as a diet of wild game, chicken soup, bone broth, and other healthy things, and the reduced stress thanks to Homebound, all contributed to my rapid recovery.
Then, at around five AM (Colorado time) on Memorial Monday morning, I suddenly sat up awake, as though I’d been startled. Yet, there was nothing that had startled me awake. No noise. No movement. Nothing. I assumed I’d just had a bad dream, and fell back asleep. Several hours later, my dad called sobbing, and delivered the news that my grandpa Bob had passed away suddenly at exactly six AM his time (Minnesota time), from cardiac arrest. He had died with dignity, at home on the farm surrounded by loved ones and paramedics. Everyone, including my dad (who my aunt video-called while the EMTs were working on reviving my grandpa), got to say their final goodbyes.
Later, I learned that my grandpa was pretty sick during the last week of his life, though he refused to be hospitalized. From what I heard, my grandpa was simply ready to go. He intended to die at home, in the same house he’d lived in since he was a toddler, surrounded by his family, and in no pain. When the EMTs realized my grandpa couldn’t be brought back (his heart was just beating at fifteen beats-per-minute), they gave him morphine to help him go in peace. He took his final breath at exactly six AM; the exact time I woke up from a dead sleep panicked and not quite sure what had startled me awake.
I cannot even begin to explain how that happened. Talking about it still gives me the most intense chills, and rattles my skepticism of the afterlife and God to the very core. Logically, I should have never even gotten the slightest bad feeling that tragedy just struck. Yet, somehow, my heart just knew what happened the exact moment it did, waking me up from a dead sleep!
From then on, I began to have the most vivid dreams I’d ever had, all of them surrounding my grandpa. All of them beautiful, loving, peaceful, and comforting. Those dreams, whether they were just creations born of my grief-ridden mind, or truly divine, spiritual phenomena, are what got me through the grieving process. Seeing my grandpa in each dream, transition from the sickly, old man I remembered him as, to a younger, healthier version of himself, gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, he really was living on and really had been fully healed of all of his health issues. And, one day, I would be reunited with him, along with the rest of my loved ones, in the spiritual realm.
Maybe death isn’t the end. Maybe life does continue on after our bodies die. Though, due to the shaky foundations of what little faith I have, and the fact that I have an incredibly hard time believing in things I cannot scientifically interact with, I am not yet sure if I believe in an afterlife.
Since college began, I have kind of put “faith building” and “belief searching” on the back burner. Especially as I take on a heavy Astronomy course, which is strictly numbers and telescopes at this point. But, over this last weekend, while on a hike through a field of golden grass in the Ken Caryl Valley, my dad finally delivered some horrific news; my grandma Shirley was diagnosed with end-stage cancer a couple days before. It started in her pelvis, but has since spread significantly throughout her body, especially in her lungs. Considering her age (she will be eighty-one this year), and her other health issues, she won’t pursue chemotherapy or any other treatment. Like her husband, she intends to die with dignity, hopefully at home and surrounded by loved ones.
On top of that, a cousin of mine (whose in his 30’s), is in the hospital with covid fighting for his life. He refused the vaccine thinking covid wasn’t that bad. And now, he is in the hospital, and the prognosis isn’t good.
Now, I’m having yet another major crisis. I am terribly sad and scared for my loved ones’ lives, especially my grandma’s, as it’s quite clear she won’t get better. My cousin, while extremely sick, has avoided being put on a ventilator thus far. Hopefully, he only gets better from here (and yes, he has already expressed deep regret about not getting vaccinated).
Still, my fears and grief are immense, as well as my anger and resentment towards the cruelness of death and dying. I may not fear my own death. But, just the mere thought of losing my loved ones, both close and distant, friend and blood, absolutely guts me. Now, I am faced with losing my grandma, and possibly my cousin. One death preventable, another inevitable.
