I’ve lost my grandfather when I was in college. Strangely enough, I don’t remember exactly when it was. The year, the month, the day. It all slipped away into a jumble of half-remembered things that I tried to repress for so long.

 

But there are things I remember: the smell of the hospital corridors and the sound of him in pain. I remember the morphine and me arguing with the doctors who weren’t treating him properly. The last album we heard together:

 

‘Cold Fact’ by Sixto Rodriguez.

 

Don’t say anymore

Just walk out the door

I’ll get along fine

You’ll see

If there was a word

But magic’s absurd

I’d make one dream come true

It didn’t work out

But don’t ever doubt

How I felt about you

But thanks for your time

Then you can thank me for mine

And after that’s said

Forget it