Death

No one can prepare anyone for what a dead person looks like. They look very still and waxy. By waxy, I mean opaque horrible pale yellow, nothing like candles or waxworks, its a colour that cannot be described unless you've seen it. Still, like a doll or a model, something completely inhuman, totally foreign to look at. Still, under white sheets, not in pain anymore, not in anything anymore. Between existing and not existing, somehow still there, like a shell.

I stayed at home today while my parents went to visit my Grandpa in hospital. An hour after they returned, we were in the middle of dinner when the hospital called and when we got there, he had died 5 minutes before. The nurses were lovely. He passed away with no pain. I couldn't cry but I nearly did when they put his slippers in the plastic bag for us to take away. A huge, ridiculously green Marks and Spencers bag full of useless lumpy Things that are no use anymore, all of them coated in a fine greasy film of dead skin cells.

The last time I saw him was on Friday. I helped him to drink some water then. He seemed unhappy but not in pain. He'd been determined not eat for many months. The ward was ful of moaning, yelling, groaning, puffy red or skinny yellow old men. He hated it. And now, he doesn't have to be there anymore.