It's Never Just Goodbye // Ed Sheeran

Afire Love

Ed

Darlin' hold me in your arms
The way you did last night
And we'll lie inside
For a little while here oh

I could look into your eyes
Until the sun comes up
And we're wrapped In light and life and love - Ed Sheeran 

My grandfather is dying. My mother tells me over the phone and my response, in the least bit, is shocked. I react coldly, unresponsive as I pack my things and talk to my not-so-calm mum. “You have to get here before tomorrow.” She cries, hysterically. “He’s not doing well, Eddie.”

“I’ll be there in a few hours.” I tell her.

I drive quickly. Being as late as it is, the roads are pretty clear and I get there quickly. Parking in the hospital’s lot, I run to the doors. “Sheeran.” I repeat to the lady at the front desk impatiently. I needed the room number and she was reluctant to give it to me. “Please. I’m his grandson.”

“Ed!” I hear someone call my name and turn to see my cousin barring towards me. She is my age, I think, or a year younger. Named Audrey. We were close when we were younger, but at one point in time I became too gawky and awkward for her to take. Soon after that, my parent’s and hers had a falling out.

Maybe it wasn’t a falling out, more of a disagreement. When it came to the whole argument, I had always been lost. It happened when I was six or seven and that’s when holidays were spent separately.

Matt was trailing after her. He greeted me with open arms and she stood by, arms crossed over her chest. “They think it’s his last night.” Audrey says and I nod, following the two of them to the lift.

The ride up was quiet. The three of us pushed together because of a family sickness. Three adults who hadn’t seen each other in so long that it became painfully awkward to speak.

“How you been?” Audrey asks me, uncomfortably. Matt leads us down the hallways, machines beeping and nurses shifting past us quickly behind us.

I shrug, “It could only get worse.”

A pile stock of our family sat in the chairs outside of the room or stood in silence by the chairs. Unable to take a seat because the worry would overcome their minds if they sat. Inside, my father and my two remaining aunts sat around my grandfather’s hospital bed.

My grandmother was the first to notice me. Her face lit up and she hugged me tightly. “I’ve missed you all too much, love.” She told me, releasing a pained smile.

It had been years since I had seen my grandmother. Her hair was even whiter and her skin was wrinkled. Her eyes were still sad; and flashes from my childhood came back to me of her crying every time I visited her and my granddad.

“The doctors think it’s his time to go. They said he might not go home.” She says, her voice calm. Behind her, my father wipes his eyes.

When I was five, I spent the night with my grandparents every weekend. At the time, they lived down the street. I’d pack my bag and my mum would walk me down the street and my granddad would have something cool to show me and my grandmother would greet me with a hug and a plate full of cookies.

Every weekend, my father and his and I would sit in the basement together around some speakers. My granddad would play something classic, oldies that my dad grew up listening to – mostly The Beatles – and I’d sing along.

My grandfather liked to fish and he tried to make me do it a few times before he realized I hated it. He saw my fascination with music and him and my father broke down and bought me my first guitar.