Not even a full day ago, I found out that my paternal grandfather had died. And tomorrow night I’m jumping on a flight to Australia, and I’m going home.
I do not know when I will next write on this blog again. That’s not a ‘forever’ goodbye, it’s me recognising that other things need to take priority right now, such as supporting my family, allowing myself to grieve for the loss of such a wonderful man, and devoting myself to working on his biography so that it can attempt to do him credit, and so that he would be proud of it. For that reason, I wish to at least let my readers know that I may not be around for a little bit… But I write ‘possible’, because I also know that writing is a crucial aspect of who I am, and I imagine that it will work its way out of me, in one form or another.
I hope, then, that this time spent in Australia, and the process of working through my grief will allow me (or rather, perhaps, require me) to write, and write more. To search language for the beauty of expression and the depth of feeling which suspends the pain of loss; which can express the darkness we must traverse in search of light, and which makes even the vast and ugly spectre of death feel transient and inconsequential, against the love, respect, and admiration our memories can hold.
Grandad, even death does not feel real to me right now, because I cannot imagine a world without you in it. It is a travesty that I cannot help but rail against, even as I mourn you so deeply I fear my heart will break with it. I am grateful that I can come home, and lay you to rest.