⋙ 𝓓𝓮𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ⋘ (𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 <𝐈𝐕>：𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓈 ℴ𝒻 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾ℴ𝓃𝒶𝓉ℯ 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹ℴ𝓌𝓈

-TUESDAY, 1st November 1977-

⋙♔  ♛  ♔⋘

I REMEMBER WAKING UP with a killer headache, a stiff body and bottles of gin, whiskey and bourbon laying on top or to the sides of me. Now, I wasn't much of a drinker or never had any tendencies to being an alcoholic but let's just say, last night was too much. The theatre play that my students had worked for had been ruined, hell, one of them was dead, I most likely would get charged with first degree murder and then I was supposed to just go to bed, knowing that I'd wake up, well, on the first November.

The first November was a special day and no, not in a good way. It had been the day I lost someone I had deeply cared for, my grandmother. She had been the one person that had always been there for me, whether it was because of my seven-year-old self falling and scraping her knee or because of my sixteen-year-old self getting beaten up by her parents.

Even if I never was able to tell her the truth about her son and his wife beating her only grandchild, she never forced me to tell her because I think she understood when I stood sobbing on her front porch.
She was the only one who knew about my passion for writing, the only one who I trusted with my life.

When I told her about my dream of going to Cambridge on the day of my graduation at the age of eighteen, she told me to go. She told me to, and I quote: "Lass dieses Drecks-loch hinter dir und lebe deinen Traum," which translates to "leave this shit-hole behind and live your dream."

I didn't want to leave her because she was sick. Some rare malady had been discovered on her arm three years ago and now it even pained her to move it. I remember her health worsening due to some common cold, and she then was sent into the hospital.

I visited her there but she was asleep, so I chatted with her roommate about how my grams would just yell at some doctor who would prescribe her pills that she didn't even need so he could demand money for that 'service'. I remember laughing at that while looking at her proudly before I left so she could sleep.

The next time I visited her was when she had been brought back to the old people's home but that time she was asleep too.
"Let her sleep, she needs it. We'll catch her awake next time," was what I'd told my father.

There was no next time.

When we got the message of her death, we rushed to the old people's home, and there she was. Her body laying there, looking so peaceful. I knew that she'd passed away in her sleep and was no longer feeling pain, but it didn't help the pain I was feeling now. It felt like my whole body, especially my heart, was being pulled down by some weight and it only made me want to give in and fall onto my knees in front of her.