Albert Munday and grief

My grandad died last week. He had had Dementia for about 15 years, and the last few years he has been excellently cared for by New Close Care Home in Kent. Unfortunately my mum and my uncle weren't able to be with him as he passed away, but I feel quite sure he was well looked after so I don't worry about that - I believe he knew in his heart that he was loved.

My grandad spent a lot of time with us when I was growing up -he taught me to rollerskate, took me to the beach, the funfair, helped me choreograph dance routines...

When my mum and uncle and aunt were sorting through his belongings over the weekend, the photos of him were all with children, us grandchildren and assorted friends...

He befriended all my friends, and all my cousins' friends, to the point that some of them were still in touch with them after I'd lost touch.

He also taught me to read the bible, reading to me from his black leather KJV, when I crept into his room in the mornings when he stayed with us. I'm convinced that my own faith journey has taken me here because of his influence.

I had naievly thought I had done all my grieving for him, as he has been unable to speak or feed himself for a long time. I felt terrible when I caught myself wishing he would die so he could be free - I just wanted him to be able to go to his home in heaven. I hated the idea that he was suffering when he had pressure sores or a chest infection, the physical pain made worse by no longer having the faculties to understand why he was in pain. I thought his death would be a relief for him and for us.

A good friend who lost her mum to Alzheimers warned me that she'd felt the same way until the day actually came, and then she realised that no matter how much we long for the end of their suffering, when death steals them away it's still an heart-breaking wrench.

Now I know she was entirely right, as I miss Grandad more than I could have imagined, especially since the Grandad I miss is one who was stolen by the dementia a long time ago.

My grief feels like the my chest and stomach are swollen to twice their size, leaving no room to breath and no strength to think straight. It leaves me for an hour at a time so I can almost forget, and then it returns with a vengeance and I dissolve once more into tears.

It will pass; the funeral service will help as we gather together to comfort each other. I will feel something of the peace I know he now has, and I will be glad he is now free.

I just have to bear this time and be willing to feel it and let it go. If you're the praying kind, I'd appreciate your prayers...