Icarus's blog: "Somantics"

My grandfather's hands always smelled like motor grease.
Even when clean.
He had dark leathery skin.
Even toward the end.
Last night I had a dream.
Where we were cutting out saplings.
He brought an axe, I asked if I could help.
In the shed
there were saws, hammers, and blades
but no second axe.
How like my grandfather.
But he did have a hatchet.
A small, toyish thing.
And it broke on my first swing.
I felt no particular shame.
As he cackled and resumed work.
That's just how he was.
So I told him he would have a heart attack soon.
And that he'd survive but never quite recover.
Four heart attacks actually.
All in the same day.
And that I would miss him.
He knew. Because it had always been up to me.
Strange that he'd say something to a boy so shy.
So melodramatically self involved.
Some days I miss him more than this.
Some days I don't think of him at all.
But I do know that there was sunshine when I woke up.
Light that wasn't there before.