Sleep

I'm sitting here, in this seat, watching you. Your still body lying in your bed as you sleep. That's a funny word, isn't it? “Sleep”, used in two ways. Actually sleeping, and then the metaphorical use of the word.

You look the same as you always do. The wrinkles in your cheeks from your constant grin, your hair looks as it usually does with its wispy little quiff. It's almost like you're the same as you always are. Nothing has changed.

I'm sitting here thinking about things. Remember the times you'd playfully hit me round the back of the head? Usually when I did something silly, or said something stupid. It was funny, and I loved it. It was as if that was how you showed your affection. I think it was.

Your chuckle, your deep laugh that grew higher in pitch. That was one of the things I adored about you. Not to mention your “singing”. I always looked forward to that. You'd stand in the kitchen doing the washing up, refusing help because it was “what I did”, as you put it. But you'd always sing, and we'd hear you from the other room and laugh. My god, you were terrible at it.

I'm smiling right now. Smiling at these memories that I'm so fond of, but inside I'm torn to pieces. My heart feels empty, and it feels like there's a hole inside my body that keeps getting bigger. I feel hollow and I'm struggling to breathe. My smile breaks into a quiver, a wobbling of my lips, and the water pours from my eyes.

Here you are, sleeping, and we all know you won't wake up again. And that's why it hurts. The memories hurt too much because that's all they are – memories. They're nothing more but wisps of a life. They're not physical, they can't be pulled down from the clouds and experienced again.

My hands begin to shake, and soon I have to cover my face. You can't see me like this, so weak; what would you say if you saw me breaking down before you? But... you can see me. But you also can't. That's the hard thing. You're there, in front of me, but you're not.

I'm sitting here, in this seat, my heart and soul breaking. You were a wonderful person, and I'll never be able to experience that again. Your smile, your voice. God, your voice. I forget how you're sounding already. I don't want to forget, I'm terrified of that.

You've missed a lot since you slept. The football was on only a few days ago. We won, by the way. It was 3-0, and I think we played pretty well. We have a chance of winning the World Cup in South Africa, I think. We should do well, anyway. You'd have the confidence, so I'll have some too. I miss talking to you about football. I really do. Oh, and before I forget, I've been picked as part of a 5-a-side team for my school in this tournament. I'm going to play for you. I'm going to do my absolute best. I'll try to score for you too.

So here we are, or here I am. It's weird to think how this is what you'll always be doing – sleeping. You're here but you can't move. You can't breathe. You can't even smile. I really miss your smile.

I'm sitting here, in this seat, watching you. Your body so still and sleeping. I miss you, Grandad. You were amazing, and I love you. Sleep well.

P.S. I played in that tournament. I didn't score, but they congratulated me in a school assembly for being the best player for our team. I did that for you, and only you. Love you.