How do you say goodbye to someone that you have known your whole life?

And when will it finally hit you that someone that has known you from the day you entered this world and cheered you all the way through adolescence, high school, and most of college has died?

When will it finally dawn on me that my grandfather has died and that I will never see him again?

He died on Valentine’s Day, and was buried the day after the big blizzard. He died while I was on my way back home from school. I never got to really say goodbye. I wasn’t there when I should have been and I don’t think I can forgive myself for it.

He was the former city fire chief, so half the city was blocked off for the funeral procession. Our procession drove by several of the fire stations.

The flags were at half-mast, with a somber crew of fire fighters at an attentive salute in the front. It was a beautiful and respectful ceremony, but everything just felt so empty. It was like a bird without a song to sing, something that doesn’t make sense without the missing half.

Why does death make us so numb? Why does it make everything in life seem like a pale surrealist’s dream? Death is a tranquilizing drug that slows everything down to a near standstill.

Our humanity is that which creates a barrier for us from reality, so that we cannot grasp the finality of everything. It allows us the strength and stamina to get through some of the hardest few days we will ever have to live through. Our humanity nourishes our grief when it can’t feed itself. It pushes us to a capacity that we were unaware that we possessed.

Everything I do is a blur. I try to make things make sense, but my mind won’t let me process anything. Death sits on my shoulder everyday, everywhere I go.

All I want to do is sleep, but as soon as my head hits the pillow all

I can do is cry until I feel empty. My life is a void of mindless routines that keeps me just busy enough to think that everything will be all right. I dread the nights that I can’t sleep, when I sit up in bed drenched in sweat from a bad dream, alone and starved for am elusive closure that I search for without ever finding.

When you experience the first death in your life of someone close to you, you think that the next time won’t be as bad. But it’s always just as painful. Death is one of those things that we can never get used to. We can’t truly accept the finality of it all. Death is a dark lump that grows and festers in the darkest places in our hearts, feeding on the slightest weak or sad feeling.

Seeing my grandpa’s dead body and saying goodbye was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Watching my brother kiss him goodbye and place one of his game balls in the casket was overwhelming. I felt a depth of emotion I had no idea I was capable of. It was a raw and pulling sadness that consumed everything that was me.

It’s been a couple weeks now, and I try to fool myself into thinking that things are fine. My collegiate life is an insulated bubble from reality where sadness and grief seem out of place and out of line.

I try to be my usual self, partying with my friends and having a good time, but it’s feels stupid and self-serving. I feel like a mannequin with a painted facade of happiness.

I don’t feel like I have a right to deserve any happiness. I missed saying goodbye to someone who has been my friend and champion through all the mistakes, mishaps and triumphs that have been my life, yet I couldn’t make it.

Courtney Charles is a Collegian Columnist.