His Last Smile

My grandfather held my hand as I sat beside his hospital bed.

He was singing softly, one of his favourite songs by Elvis, ' Can't Help Falling in love'. His voice was different, unique in a way I could never describe, but I can still hear it to this day. As he sang, he looked right at me, the way he always did when he sang to us. Even here, even now, he was trying to make me smile.

My throat tightened as I fought back the tears. I didn't want to cry in front of him. I wanted to stay strong for him just like he did for us.

He'd never complained about his pain, not during chemotherapy or radiotherapy. He always had a smile on his face, always making jokes or giving life advice. Since he'd been diagnosed with lung cancer, he'd remained the same. Always making jokes, laughing, and singing. Always telling us we're beautiful, that we deserved the world, that we'd go far. "Never give up." He'd say.

It was hard seeing him like this. He'd always been a big person with a big beer belly, and whenever we hugged him, his belly was in the way. Now with his cancer, he was skinnier than any of us. Fragile. It felt wrong seeing him this way.

The hospital machine beeper steadily in the background. His roommate was snoring and moaning in pain in their sleep. The room was slightly dirty from the wet snow boots that come in. My grandpa had the bed besides the massive window that stood on the right side. He was often glancing out the window, especially at sunrise or sunset. He'd been taking pictures everyday and had shown me a couple earlier. The sunset was so beautiful tonight. A variety of shades as if it was meant only for my grandpa, who always loved watching the sunset. The sky was a vibrant mixture of pink, yellow and purple. It was magical

A nurse walked in with a tray of food as it was already 5:30 pm. I'd been here for over three hours already. "Hey Mr. Nicholson. How are you feeling today."

My grandpa smiled,"Much better. Got my grandkids visiting me today."

He started coughing up and brought his hand to his mouth. He pulled it away quickly, but I still noticed the small amount of blood. My gaze softened. I'll never be ready to lose him. I don't want to lose him. He's the only father figure in my life. I love his advice, feedback, and I don't want to lose that.

He grabbed his phone and handed it to me, pointing out to the window. I smiled briefly. I knew what it meant. He wanted a picture, but I also knew it was a way to distract me from the situation. He didn't want to talk about it. He never did. He always acted like his cancer was no bother to him and always tried going back to the golf club even though eh was in the middle of treatment or in pain.

I stood by the window and held up his phone, framing the sunset in the camera. Through the lens, I could see the way the light fell across the parking lot, turning everything golden. I took three pictures, then a fourth, wanting to capture it perfectly for him. When I handed the phone back, he scrolled through them slowly, nodding with satisfaction.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Just beautiful.”

I wondered how many sunsets he’d photographed from this window. How many times he’d watched the sky change colours while the machines beeped and his roommate snored and the hospital carried on around him. How many evenings he’d spent here alone, taking pictures of something beautiful to hold onto.

"I love you," he said as I slightly struggled to put his phone back on the bedside table. "I'm so proud of you. I am so lucky you have you all as my grandkids. I'm the luckiest grandfather."

"I love you too, grandpa." I whispered.

We spend the last few hours just sitting in silence, or him showing me pictures on his phone. His hand in mine. The machine beeping. Him breathing. Him smiling.

Little did I know, this would be the last time I would see him. His last smile, his last laughter, and the last time I would hear him sing.

But I'll always remember his jokes, his teasing, the way he would laugh, his smile and the times he sang to us by the campfire or at Christmas.

When he died, everything went still. My heart ached in pain, with a physical pain that made me it impossible to take a full breath, as if I was having a panic attack I couldn't escape from. My world came crashing down. To me, my grandfather had always been invincible. Untouchable. As if he'd always stay with us.

The funeral was one of the hardest days of my life. So many people showed up. More than I’d expected, though maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. My grandfather had a way of connecting with people that made him so much more lovable. He’d given so much back to his community, made so many friends over the years. The church was packed with people whose lives he’d touched. So many people were crying, yet again I still fought by way through the tears. I didn't want to cry.

They played Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” during the service. It had been the last song playing when he passed, and hearing it again broke something open inside me. I sat there listening, remembering how he’d faced everything...the diagnosis, the treatment, the pain—on his own terms. Never complaining. Never giving up his joy. Living fully until he couldn’t anymore.

I looked around at all those faces, some I recognized and some I didn’t, all of them grieving the same man. All of them carrying their own memories of his laugh, his jokes, his kindness. And I realized that while I’d lost my grandfather, my father figure, the world had lost something too. A light that had made everything a little brighter.

I wish he could've been here to see us grow up, to watch us get married, and to hold our children. I wish he could've kept giving advice and telling jokes and singing Elvis at family gatherings. I wish for so many other things that will never happen.

But I'll always remember him. Or his jokes. The way he would laugh. The way he would look at you when he sang, making everyone smile, as if the whole world was quiet and listening to him.

It gets better, but the pain always stays