Come On You...Death?

Odd day today. I got up late and lay around vegetating, listening to Maroon 5 and Something Corporate whilst making a few phonecalls and just generally making no effort to do anything constructive whatsoever.

Then I decided to stay in and watch the football rather than hit the pub. More in-depth stuff on football in another blog whenever. It was a good game. England won 4-2, which means we qualify from our group and go on to face Portugal in the quarter finals, a game I think we might lose. It was weird, though. I tend to get caught up in football, but I was vaguely aware of several phonecalls going on downstairs and of my parents going out. Later, my stepdad came back alone, which is pretty unusual. They go everywhere together when they're not working.

So England's fourth goal has just gone in, and I'm cheering because it was Frank Lampard and he plays for my team (Chelsea). My Stepdad calls his appreciation for the goal up the stairs and then there's this long silence. I sort of know that he's still there, that he's going to say something else.

And he does. My mum's rushed off because my grandad's just had another stroke...and it looks like this one will be his third and last. The guy's ninety and he's totally done in. Death would, at this point, be a mercy. My mother would rather I stay here than go to the hospital, and that's fine with me. I don't want to see him suffering and I hope it doesn't go on much longer. He's never going to recover and live a normal life, even if he gets through this one. It seems pointless to drag it out for him now.

I spoke to my mum on the phone a little while ago, which wasn't pleasant. She was pretty choked up, and my mum isn't one for tears. This can only mean the worst I think. But in a way, I hope the next phonecall is the one that says he's gone. No-one should ever have to suffer so much for so long.

More later, I suppose, when I know what's going on and feel like dredging all this awful death stuff up from the depths of my psyche...