Death

It took 40 years to come to terms with the fact, death, its the only way out of this life, I've had, some would say a morbid curiosity about death for a very long time. What does it feel like to die? Strange subject to write about, but its what I feel like doing.

Death first crossed my path at about the age of 7, give or take a year or two. I remember it clearly, it was at Cadwell Park for a bike meeting back in what must have been the late 70s. A sidecar was flat out down the main straight, for some reason it swerved off the track and hit either a tree or the barrier next to the tree, there was a massive great thump. I watched these two poor guys flying through the air, they seemed to go up forever, they both had full black leathers on with white crash helmets, they seemed to come down very quickly, both of them landed on the track neither moved a muscle, they just didn't move again, it wasn't right, they should have got up and carried on having a life.

That must have been a Sunday, I went to school the next day, when I got home the radio was on, one of the local stations, the news came on and announced that the two guys in the accident at Cadwell Park had died, I don't remember their names, but I remember how they died plain as day. 

The next one to die was at Oliver's Mount at Scarborough, I didn't see it, some rider had hit a tree, it was announced over the public address system that one of the riders had been killed, the meeting carried on, the people around me didn't seem bothered, why were they not bothered? It bothered me, it bothered me a lot.

Next to go was Jock Taylor and Benga Johansson, World Champion sidecar riders, I met them both at Cadwell Park, they signed a poster for me and chatted for a while, a week later they both died in Finland. Nice guy Jock Taylor, that chat left an impression on me, then he died, why? for what reason?

Skipping forward a few years, a friends husband to be, goes out in the morning for a ride on his bike, he kissed her and said goodbye, he never came back. The grief it caused that poor woman was terrible. The shock came through on her facebook plain as day, she put some form of status about him having an accident, two of the replies I remember, "Is ***** ok love?" her reply, "No he's dead".  That got to me, I cried, not for him but for her. For her and the young son, he had left behind.

Marco Simoncelli, was the last straw for me, watching a very talented young man die on tv was just the pits. I switched the tv off and vowed their and then never to watch any form of bike racing again, not ever, be it on tv or at Cadwell Park. I have seen too much death in that area, that isn't to say I wont go on a bike, I will, but only if its a Hog, and only if I'm pillion to a woman, men cant be trusted to ride carefully. Other than that my days with bikes are over for good.

My first experience with death up close and personal, was my grandad Fred, he was a great old guy, built like a brick shit house, he used to be the blacksmith in Croft, I will always remember how he used to craft metal, genius, be it a horse shoe or some other form of metal work, one of my biggest regrets is that he retired before I was old enough to learn the trade from him. Watching him work was fascinating, heating the metal up in his forge, then hammering it like hell on his anvil, backwards and forwards between the two, until he had a perfect horse shoe or something then quenching it in water, truly fascinating stuff, I could and did watch him for hour after hour.

Life eventually took its toll, I'd turned 18, so wasn't really expecting my grandad to die, I thought he would be around forever. I don't remember the date or the year, I recall it was a lovely summers day, the flowers were in full bloom the birds were singing, it was lovely and quiet, sat out in the garden at Spilsby hospital. Id sit out in the hospital garden having a smoke between visits to my grandad, he was suffering from liver failure, dosed up on morphine, he looked peaceful, like he was asleep. With him was his wife, (my grandmother), their two children, (my auntie and my dad), his grand children, (my sister and me).

When I first saw him laying on that bed, I cried, I cried like I've never cried before, I couldn't help it, it just would not stop, it must have lasted ten, fifteen minutes, maybe more, I just don't know how long it was that I cried, I recon if somebody had collected all those tears they would have filled a bucket or two.

Eventually the tears stopped and I headed outside again for a smoke, just sat on a bench, taking in my surroundings but not thinking much, if anything at all. Watching the birds flying around, the gentle breeze moving the flowers around, nurses and visitors coming and going, it was very peaceful.

Back inside the hospital, stood at the foot of grandads bed, I begin to see subtle changes in his appearance, my auntie is a nurse, shes holding his wrist, checking his pulse, but she doesn't let go, just keeps holding him, my grandmother is holding Fred's other hand, just gazing at him, whats going on in her mind? Shes watching a man shes been with for a very very long time passing from this world, leaving her forever. My dad is expressionless, I don't think he knows what to do, my sister has a look of pure horror on her face, shes as white as a ghost.

My mind records all this, its like some form of film I can play back, over and over again. I watch grandads finger nails slowly but surely turning blue, I can feel panic rising, I want to run away, I cant, its like I've turned into a tree firmly rooted to the spot, it doesn't feel real, its very surreal, yet I know its happening, right before my eyes, surrounded by his family, I'm going to watch my grandad die.

I watch his fingers turn blue, not a nice shade of blue, more an angry blue, purple sort of colour, I look up to his face and notice that his lips are also the same horrible colour, no longer red and healthy, but that vile nasty blue colour, his skin seems to change colour as well, it may be the light but it seems to go a ghostly pale tone, like its transparent. His breathing slows down, from a regular in and out it goes irregular, I watch his chest moving up and down very slowly, the gaps between breaths get longer and longer. I breath with him, willing him to take one more, wanting him not to die, to keep on living.

There's an audible sigh, a very strange sound, its my grandads last breath, he doesn't take another one, nobody says a word, my auntie is still taking Fred's pulse, after what seems forever she opens her mouth and says two words "He's Gone". 

The spell is broken, I look at my grandmother, she's looking down at Fred, an extreme look of sorrow on her face, whats going through her mind now? I dare not ask, my auntie has her nurse face on, I'd hate to play poker with her, no expression at all, I don't look at my dad or sister, I have to get out of the place, but I cant just turn around and leave, or can I? I don't know what to do. My grandmother rescues me, she looks at me, I just know that she knows I need to escape, "Gary" she says, not a tremble in her voice or anything, "Say goodbye to your grandad before you go".

A shiver goes through me, I know that's my grandad laying in  his deathbed but hes dead! I want to escape, perhaps I'm being selfish, I don't know. I take a deep breath, walk up to the head of the bed bend over and kiss my grandad on the forehead, all the fears leave me, its not some corpse in a bed, its my grandad, a hulking great gentle bear of a man, with a good heart and a good sole, one of the few men I've ever admired in my entire 18 years of existence, "Goodbye, grandad" with that I stand up and leave, I don't look back, its straight outside for a smoke.

Sat on a bench outside, the day could not get any nicer, the birds are still singing, the flowers are still in bloom, the world hasn't stopped, its just my grandad Fred that has stopped. Half way through my smoke, I feel like I'm being watched, I look all around me, nothing obvious, its not an uncomfortable feeling, but I know somebody is watching me, the feeling doesn't go away, I look around me again, nothing. 

The feeling doesn't go away, I look at the buildings, to my left, the main hospital, straight in front of me some form of auxiliary building with a tall chimney, my eyes follow the chimney upwards, up to the very top, odd as it is, or as it may be, I cant see anything, but I know that whatever is looking at me is atop that chimney, before I consciously think about it, my brain forms those words again and forces them from my mouth "Goodbye, Grandad", the being watched feeling left me after that, make of it what you will.