Dignity

Dave and I saw our first dead body today. It was Grandad lying in a coffin in a chapel of rest. We didn't know whether to go, but we both agreed afterwards that we're glad we did.

It was strange because he looked so well, as if he would wake up any time now and smile when he saw us. And at the same time it hammered home to me the fact that he had gone, and this man who has been a fixture in my life for so long is now not going to be around and somehow I have to get used to that and live on without him. I cried. And Sarah my foster-sister, who I was supposed to be making sure was alright, gave me tissues and patted my arm until I was okay again.

And he lay there with no effects of the stroke visible. He was in a suit, looking dapper as he always did on smart occasions. He looked younger than he did when I saw him last. And in death he looked dignified, which he couldn't in the hospital.

And I think that's why I'm glad I went to see him, because the illness which robbed him of so much had been defeated. And he looked like he could wake up at any time.

And in a real sense, in the world that's really real, I know he already has.