Down Came the Rain

I was digging through my old folders now that the school year is over, and some things I wrote for my Creative Writing class. I remember wanting to share some of them, so here goes.

It seems really cliché that it would rain on one of the saddest days of my life. But life can be like that sometimes. You don’t really have any control over how the weather works, or how anything else works for that matter. I am still not so sure how my grandfather became so ill just a few months after I visited him. One day, I just woke up, and I found out that he didn’t. The way it was put to me was just too simple, and I couldn’t fathom how everyone else in my house could be so quiet when all I wanted to do was scream. It was a time when I couldn’t manage how I felt; my emotions were steering out of control on the winding wet streets of that day, and I was going to collide with something any second. But there was one thing that I did crash into, and that was a realization. That the main reason I was so upset was not because my grandfather was gone forever. It was because I didn’t cherish the limited time I had with him.

My grandfather was a freedom fighter in India. With the efforts of Mahatma Gandhi and thousands of others, he fought for the country’s independence, something that I will remain proud of forever. He was someone I had always looked up to; a hero in my eyes. When I was told my hero had fallen, it was like thunder crashing around my head. I was afraid, and I wanted to hide under my covers and cry for someone to comfort me.

The rain lingered for days after, the dark, gray clouds hung over in the sky. I was stuck inside my house for a few days; the rain wouldn’t let out, and there were people coming over at all odd hours of the days to give us their respects. While I sulked at home, I had time to reflect on my time with my grandfather. It was short to say the least. I had only met him three times in my entire life, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression on me. When it occurred to me that the next time I went to India he wouldn’t be there, something inside me snapped. My emotions got the best of me in the most random times. People were seeing the usually cheerful me shed tears for the first time.

Of course, I wasn’t the only person saddened by the death. My grandfather was my dad’s father, and it was the first time in a while I had seen him so sad. My dad took off some time from work twice, once within the first week of my grandfather’s death, and again a few months later to visit his grave and check up on my grandmother. My dad had always been a really strong person; the only emotion I ever saw from him was anger, directed mostly to me or my brother. Seeing him mourn the loss of his father made me realize he too had plenty to tell my grandfather that he never had the chance to. And my dad was not even the start of people affected.

My dad’s older brother and his family happened to be vacationing in India at the time of the death. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to have someone pass away at a time when you are supposed to be relaxing. My cousin was only 11 at the time, a tender age to be facing death head on. Suddenly, two fun-filled months off school became grieve and funeral preparations. She went there a young and innocent middle schooler, but was forced to grow up a little during the holiday.

Back at home in Toronto, no one was the same. It was the holidays, but the cheer of the season was lost with my grandfather. There was no bright red and green, instead, they were replaced with the white shade of loss. There were no gifts exchanged; instead, it was hugs and words of comfort. There were no Christmas carols being sung, instead, it was the prayers offered to my deceased grandfather. My large family and circle of friends were all feeling some sort of pain, a pain that connected each of us. We all knew how amazing my grandfather was, but none of us ever told him.

Eventually, enough time passed for the sky to clear and for everyone to move on with life. My grandfather was no longer alive, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us stop living. After a long time to think, I realized that death isn’t always a negative thing. My grandfather was very old and very sick. I know that he wouldn’t want to suffer, and no one wanted to see him in pain. The rain had finally stopped, and the dry, barren December earth was grateful.

I learned my lesson in the end. I couldn’t sit around and have regrets. I needed to let the people in my life know how much they meant to me while they were still around. Just like I couldn’t be angry at a stormy day. All I can do is enjoy the brighter days, and look forward to letting the sun come up and dry up all the rain.

For the record, my Grandpa died almost 4 years ago.