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the end
the days since saturday afternoon have been years long.
my mind is boundup with images and i don't like being around people.
everything you see on movies about burying a veteran is true. the salute,
the halfmast flags, the flag draped coffin, taps and even bagpipes.
the people's lives that grandad touched are endless.
we walked into his room just a few minutes after he died - never having
woken up again. he looked peaceful, i am supposed to say that. but he
didn't. he looked tortured and frozen in motion: like a mummy in national
geo.
dad got there and then they unplugged him and let him go away. i just sat
there with gramma as she held his hand and smoothed away his hair. she
looks faded and tired, and lonely.
i was supposed to say something at the funeral, but i couldn't think of
anything of use. everyone else did, and they even all cried. i didn't
look at anyone during the service, i stared at a painting of a walkway in
europe.
he looked peaceful at the funeral. a folded flag in the corner, and a
48star flag on the side. and at the graveside there was taps played, and
a flag at half-mast. grama said people were stopping by all weekend to
tell her how grandad affected them. from the sheriff to taxi drivers. and
the men who folded the flag were rangers. i didn't know he was a ranger.
and the whole time, i could only think of how my hands look just like his.
only smaller.
and that's the end of a chapter, but it doesn't feel like it.
death is an affront, i guess we were made to be eternal.
thanks to all of you for listening and caring. no more whining, i promise.
and soon, i will actaully talk to people instead of avoiding them.
rhys
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