I don't think I'm going to use this anymore.

I might log in to read blogs...but I'm pretty much done. No one comments any of these anyway.

It's been a week and a day since we buried my grandfather.

We were really close; I was his oldest grandchild and he always told me how proud he was of me.

I miss him so bad. When my mind wanders, I find myself thinking of him during his last days. I know I did everything I could possibly do for him at the time but sometimes I wish I'd said "I love you" more or held his hand more often, or not been terrified to hold him.

And then I cry. I don't know if I cry because I'm sad that I'll never see him again, if I cry because I'm relieved he's not in pain anymore, or if I cry because I regret that I might not have told him enough how much he impacted my life.

I guess I cry a lot now. It's just so hard. I am not a strong enough person for this.

My grandfather passed away this morning at about 6 or 7 in the morning.

He passed just minutes before I could get my mom, brother, and I to the hospital even though I was going about 95 in a 55; I tried. My younger sister was with him when he went and she said he went peacefully and quick.

The only thing good I think I can take from this now is he's no longer in pain. I don't know if I believe in life after death and this, like the other deaths I have experienced in my life, has sent me into a state of confusion and questioning everything.

You know, it's awkward walking into a room of more than a dozen people who are crying. And when you look into the eyes of the body laying there still warm, you feel nothing. It's not until you look into the eyes of the mourning that the emotions hit you: the memories, the conversations, the good times and the bad.

There is one thing that I can say about my relationship with my grandfather in 19 years I have known and loved him. I never once took him for granted and I'm thankful for that. He lived so far away and I hardly got to see him so whenever I did see him or talk to him on the phone, I spoke to him as it would be the last time. As recent events have proven, a lot can happen in mere months.

I was his oldest grandchild. The only one he got to see go through high school and make it to college. The last time I got to spend real time with him was when I came to visit for three days earlier this month. He told me several times that he was proud of me going through school, having a stable job, and being a "good member of the family", as he put it.

Now, we're off to mediate disputes about services and burial plots.

Thanks to those who have given me support. It means the world to my family and I.

<3

imisshimalready.

I'm in the large room in the "Transitional Care Unit" in Macon, GA.

They call it "Transitional Care" because "it makes the transition easier" - Or so some random nurse said.

Basically what happens is they unplug all of your treatments: the heart monitors, the blood pressure cuffs, the radiation bag flowing into your IVs. They give you Morphine, Food, and Water.

And then you wait.

"It's up to him and God," said some pompous doctor, "to determine how long he lives."

There is no telling how many people have "made their trasition" here. All I know is it's cold, empty, and nearly lifeless here.

What scares me most?
I'm starting to feel numb to it all.

AND I'M SO BORED.

I hate this town.

I hate this town.

I hate this town.

I'm here again for the second time this month trying to help out with my grandfather.

It gets tiring for my family to take shifts of who will stay with him at the hospital.

Cancer is a bitch. I hope that no one else that I know ever gets it. I think it's the worst thing to watch someone go through.

It's just too damned hard.

The last thing I needed to hear the week of finals was that my grandfather is dying of cancer.

Fuck it;

I give up.

Perhaps it's because I no longer have anything of worth to say.