Return to Archive Cracks That Tend To Heal A short story by Steve February 2nd 7:02 2001 There was a pleasant atmosphere in my dad's car, the classical music was oozing out from the mesh of the speaker as it soothed my thoughts and lead me into a false sense of security. We were driving past the majestic cathedral, which looked grey under the darkening sky. You could feel the wind pulling the car while the leaves on the side of the road spiralled as if some spiritual force was commanding them to dance. We passed some students from the university, and some more. It was then when my dad's mobile phone rang. As he went for his hands-free earpiece, I saw that it said "Granny" on the LCD display. My grandad had had another heart attack. Earlier in the month he had had a heart attack and was sent to hospital. This time it sounded much, much worse. As we raced to their house, images of my grandad dominated my thoughts. I could see my gran crying on the couch next to my grandad's armchair sometimes, and in other scenarios I saw her being strong, trying to act normal by tying to guess the word on the "countdown" episode that she had taped earlier in the day. When we arrived there, my gran was kneeling on the floor in the her skirt in the hallway, talking to a paramedic on her phone for advice on how to deal with the current situation. I went straight into the living room and saw my grandad lying on the floor with most of the family kneeling or sitting around him, almost like some kind of ritual. The following event seemed to happen in slow motion. I glanced at everyone's individual face. My gran had a look of despondency and desperateness, she was trying her best not to cry and to stay strong in front of grandad. My auntie had an expression of melancholy sprawled across her face. My dad soon took over the phone and my ten year old cousin and I were herded into the spare room. By the impatient nature of my cousin he was eager to go back through and see what was happening, and when he heard that there were paramedics in the house he wanted to go and "see them", whatever that meant. I wanted to see my grandad, but I knew it was better not to, I would only get upset. The ambulance arrived and raced away with my Auntie accompanying grandad and my dad following in his car like a crazy boy-racer close behind. They got my grandad to hospital but he died shortly afterwards of heart failure. Meanwhile my Gran was left in the house along with my ten-year-old cousin, his father and myself. His dad sat in the living room, faithful to the television, he stared at the plastic frame - which influenced many innocents life - in delight, it was Micheal Barrymore! My Gran came into the room that we were in and her eyes started to water. She looked as if she was losing her balance and she had a glazed look upon her face. I went up to her and gave her a hug, at this moment she burst out crying. I cried too. She then said to me "Oh Steven, this is the first time that I've cried" meaning this was the first time she had cried about the recent events. I found this extremely upsetting as she had always been strong and I had never, ever seen her cry before, in my life. We sat on the bed and I put my arm around her to try and comfort her. I was usually the one cuddling up to her, we were there for each other. After a while my mum and sister arrived to comfort my Gran. She was pleased to see them as up until now, she was the only female in the house. At ten, my sister and I were watching television in the "wee room" when my Dad and Auntie arrived home. At this point we didn't know what had happened. They walked into the living room and the everyday conversation was suddenly cut, as if someone has removed the needle from the playing record. All that could be heard was the mindless dribble escaping like poisonous gas from the television set. I knew then what had happened. My dad then appeared in the smaller television room (the "wee room") where we were and said, "I'm sorry that I have to tell you this,- but grandad had died." He paused and took a deep breath. His eyes were straining and gradually becoming redder, as he tried to keep his emotions hidden. He tried to comfort us in his own original way in which he continually asks us is we are all right. I think this is an attempt to divert his attention from the subject that was conquering his mental thoughts. At home that night, I lay awake in bed and realised that things would never be the same again. February 9th 2001 A week has passed since my grandad's death and a month since my gran's 71st birthday. My Gran has been looking to buy a house for about a month and one in a near by village is looking hopeful. I'm not too happy about her moving further away but I suppose if it makes her happy… The funeral was today. It was a private funeral with about 40 people attending. It lasted for 20 minutes but it felt much, much longer. This was my first funeral and my first time at a crematorium. The sad thing is, that I knew that it would not be my last, the cracks in my life were only beginning to show. The minister spoke about grandad's life and I think he did it quite well considering he did not know him personally. Instead of having a mountain of flowers, my Gran asked for donations to the Coronary Care Unit , as this was where he had had his previous treatment. After the funeral we went to a hotel near the crematorium where most of the family and friends went to chat. My cousin, who had not been to the funeral, acted energetically as he ran around the room. I took him outside for a walk to calm him down and met an old man. He told me he was 78 (a year older than my Grandad was), that I should take up golf as it makes a " man outa y' " and " giz y' character ". I said "okay then" and watched him ride away on his bike, down the hill towards the school. At the time, I thought it was a bit unfair because was fit, healthy and alive and my grandad wasn't any of those now. Afterwards I went into the hotel toilets. When I was in, the urinals automatically flushed and I said "Hi Grandad". I pondered what I just said for a moment then added, "You lived a great life didn't you". I thought about the times before I was born, as the ministers words about his life came back to me. "Seven generations of huntsmen, that's 260 years, quite an astounding record". I started to cry, this is something I hardly ever do now and I was quite astonished, as it had been a whole week since his death. The urinals at this time were still flushing but suddenly gave an aggressive burst of water. I stopped crying and said "sorry Grandad". Then I remembered the minister telling a story about grandad falling off his horse and breaking his collarbone. He had an argument with a surgeon who was nearby when she insisted that he went immediately to hospital and he refused. I laughed. At the moment I don't think the idea of my Grandad's death has really sunk in yet. And some how, I still expect him to be there whenever I visit. I still think that I will sit next to him in the car on our way to a race meeting like we used to. I can remember us putting on bets as to who would fall asleep first in the car on the long journey to the races. And I can still hear him say, "Oh, that's the only reason why you come isn't it, for the picnic!" and see his eyes glitter while smiling as I offer him one of my many mints out of my over filled lunch box. I still feel a sense of jealousy, it is stupid really. Every year, my Gran and Grandad had come to our house on Christmas day, usually in the afternoon. It was a special time of year for us as it brought all the family together, it felt special, and it meant a lot to me. Unfortunately, I only realised this when they didn't come last Christmas, they went to my cousin's house instead. They went twice, the last two years of my Grandad's life, to see the mountain of soulless gifts that an only child had grown to expect, and had grown to eventually reject. That is all I want to say about that. 24/06/02 It has been about a year and a half since my grandfathers death. The cracks are beginning to heal but as time draws on, I fear the inevitable. Nobody is getting younger, depression is becoming more common, and since our spiralling expectations of life are gaining momentum, the fall is becoming increasingly more painful. I saw the minister that performed my grandfather's cremation service today. He was going into the bank, money to heal the cracks in the church roof I expect. I read about death all the time, disasters that have killed millions. But my Grandad still ranks higher than all the catastrophes put together. Yes, of course I miss him, who wouldn't? I have just learned to cope, I have learnt to live, I am healing the cracks, I am healing the cracks. I am healing the cracks-