All of that week grandpa was much worse. So I guess I just wasn’t into quirky pics any more. Not into crocodiles, not into confused naked men hugging crocodiles, not into magical birds.
It’s hard to say what I felt that week. What I was mostly thinking about was this: how on earth would I explain to mom that I am staying. That there’s no way I will leave when grandpa is in this condition, there’s no way I’ll leave her to handle this all alone, and there’s no way I’ll leave him.
I think most of my pics are self portraits in one way or another. Some in more direct ways than others. Drawing this one made me feel less lost and lonely.
Grandpa died the day after that. I hope that I made his last days a little bit warmer.
He was barely aware of reality his last days. Hallucinating, and in a constant state of psychosis and panic, his speech barely coherent. Sitting beside his bowl of food, and eating invisible food from an invisible bowl with an invisible fork only he saw. Complaining that it did not have much taste.
I don’t think I cat put much of this into words yet. It’s been less than a month. But I think both for me, and for mom, it just somehow seemed that if anyone would just be there forever and outlive the universe, it was grandpa. Even the very last days, it still seemed so.
He is not in this picture, or, rather, you can not see him. But he was all I was thinking of while drawing it.