You know my mum went to see Grandad at "rest" (I hate that saying) and she phoned me later that night to tell me she was glad she had gone. It has troubled me since because when she came back and I asked her how it went she said......"Scott, he was so cold laying there.....I tried to hold his hand and make the warmth through my hands transfer onto his, but I couldn't do it, even though I know that was silly, but his hands still were cold....I couldn't warm them up."
I hate that. I was pleased that my mum (after all it was her dad) had felt better about seeing him after he'd gone, but God, its just so un-natural. Death. I can't get my head round that.
You know, my nan walked in to see my mum and her other daughters there around my grandads body, and said after a couple of minutes......"Come on....lets go....thats not your father there he's gone......."
In a strange way I draw comfort from that, that wasn't him. he had gone. My nan is a game old sort, and very wise.
I surround myself with all this stuff at work day in and day outin my job. Its only when it happens close to home that it really hits.
I'll play my grandads music that I've downloaded and remember. Thats where he is.