Death and I, we have a history together.
There are days when my Grandfather's memories stir. He was a pillar of strength, silent fortitude... of truth and righteousness even when he faced the worst humanity had to offer. And I struggled to disappoint him at every turn of my life. Just out of spite for people whose expectations were always growing with everything I achieved.
Instead of a mother and a father, I had him, the best of both. And I did not realize his importance until he was taken. Its ironical; now that he is gone, I am wracked with guilt everytime I remember why I failed him. Hatred for people is never greater than the love for one person; if only I had realized this in time.
There are days when I remember that I was only 45 minutes away from where he lay dying. Without me. And I could not get there in time. Took me years to realize, that day I did not fail him. I failed myself. And I would live with that guilt for the rest of my life.
We will meet soon Papa. I hope it would not be meaningless to apologize then.