When Love and Hate collide
It happened when I was 8 years old. I used to live in a very small village in central Portugal with my gran parents and was happy there. Unfortuantely my gran dad, whom I considered as my own father was taken to hospital where he was told he had cancer. One morning, while on my way to school I met my uncle who told me that my auntie needed to speak to me. So there I went to her place, about 5 mns away from school, and knocked at the door. My aunt opened the door, greeted me and asked me in. "Sit down Katie", she said, "well.... you're grand dad passed away during the night. Here, don't you cry, you're a big girl. Now, go back to school or you're going to be late for class." And that's how I was told my loving grand dad had passed away. I went to school that day and I didn't cry a single tear. My teacher kept telling me "aww sweetie, you must be so sad". I was indeed. As the day passed by I just couldn't realize what my aunt had told me. He couldn't possibly be dead, could he? After all, he WOULD have said good bye, and he didn't. So that evening I went back home with a smile on my face. I was surprised to find my parents home, who'd travelled all the way from Paris. I tried explaining my point of view, which made them cry even more. I didn't believe them until the funeral. We were in church and the coffin was open in the middle of the room. People started queueing to say farewell and my turn arrived. And I stood there trying to wake him up. That's when I realised he really was dead. I was so socked I nearly passed out. I felt so miserable without him, I wanted to cry but didn't know how to. The following weeks were like a nightmare; I'd often set the table for 3 ; I'd wake up in the middle of the night to go check if he was there, only to find an empty bed. And then after a few weeks, my love and sadness turned into anger. Yes, I was angry at him because he'd left me alone, angry because he'd left without saying goodbye to me, anger because no-one allowed me to go see him one last time in hospital, anger because I never got the chance to tell him how much I loved him. Eighteen years on and I'm still grieving, I simply cannot think about him without feeling miserable. Every single year, at the same period, I feel depressed. But I'm not angry anymore which is another step in the right direction. I still didn't come to terms with the fact that he's no more, and I'm not sure I will ever accept it. But at least, the only thing left in my heart whenever I think about him is love.