A month prior to his death, on an unusually warm November day, he was healthy enough to play golf and now he could not even perform the most basic of human functions. As I sat, watching over my grandfather, my thoughts began to wander. I began to reflect on the situation that was unfolding in front of me. .
My grandfather's sickness came as a shock to everybody in my family. One day he seemed fine, and the next he was struggling to stay alive. When the doctors first told my family that my grandfather had terminal cancer they said that he had at least six months to live; that was two weeks before he died. Upon hearing the news my grandmother and the doctor decided to delay telling my grandfather about the seriousness of his situation. Six months time seemed long enough to slowly break the reality to my grandfather who knew he was sick, but was unable to understand the severity of his condition. In the end his death occurred so quickly that no one was able to fully discuss with him his feelings about the issue. He knew he was dying, but the sickness had striped away his ability to verbally communicate his feelings with us.
When my mother told me that my beloved grandfather was dying I felt a wave of grief and fear fill up within me. As the news set in my stomach began to turn, my mind became cloudy, and tears filled my eyes. My three brothers and I have always been very close to my grandfather. He lived only a few houses down from us and was a very important figure in our lives. I could not believe that someone who I cared so much about was about to confront my biggest fear, death.
Since my early childhood I have been both conscious and fearful of death. I have always been horrified that one day I am going to have to face my inevitable mortality. I was never able to find anyone who could comfort or understand my anxiety. I was afraid to die because, like most people, I am afraid of the unknown.