I woke up at 6 A.M. to my mom’s screaming. My maternal grandfather, Alfred, passed away in the middle of the night. He was 83 years old. As much as I want to pretend I care, I just don’t. I hate to be insensitive, but we weren’t really that close.
People dwell a lot on death, I feel, although it’s clearly part of life. We’re all going to die eventually. And in his case, it was very foreseeable since he spent the last few months being transferred from one hospital to another. Doctors weren’t too optimistic about his recovery, and the whole family knew that. I had a feeling he was going to die by the end of the year, and it happened. Now I have to deal with all my annoying family members at the funeral. I’m so not in the mood for this. It’s painful.
I guess being indifferent works out for my advantage in this case. I have a lot on my mind and more important things to dwell on. This week is going to be even more stressful because of what’s happened. I can’t wait for it to be over.