My grandad passed away Thursday morning.
In the early hours, my family gathered before the bed that my grandad had been occupying for some weeks. His body was frozen in time, mouth gaping on his last breath. Nobody was home.
Later, we went to his house. Internally, I had always blamed grandad for living the simplest of lives. I thought he didn’t quite appreciate what else was outside his daily routine, and the house he rarely left. He was an introvert. He was most comfortable in the time after everyone else was asleep, staying up till three in the morning every night. We went through his workshop as a means of nostalgia but began to see another layer of the man that I had been unaware of. His brain always worked differently, and I started to see how exceptional it was by the organized chaos around. He was mechanically minded creating absurd items with next to nothing in the way of use, just to see if he could. I thought his mind was dulled to the wonders of life, but he was instead brilliant in his way. I will never fully understand the complexity of my grandad. Underneath it all, he was the most unique, strong, honest, and upstanding man I had ever met. I will carry him in my heart always.
The image of his body as it was made me ponder his last moment. Is death beautiful? And if not, how could it be? So, I wrote a little short conversation he might have had in that last moment with death. I call this The Spaceman.
I suspect he is exploring and tinkering away like a spaceman in the next place.