Dear Readers.

I think I kinda owe you an explanation. About this story, about the lack of updates...

For the lack of updates: I haven't felt like it. I have been through some shit, I had things to do, loads of tests at school, stress, and the fact that one of my friends is feeling down and is in need of emotional support all take a toll on me, plus the fact that I am slightly bipolar and lose interest in everything easily doesn't help either. The stress has just been too much, and I don't cope well with stress most of the time, but I'm feeling better now.

Then second, the story.
As you know by now, the story revolves around Lukas Bondevik, a Norwegian in America who suffers from MS, and his nurse Mathias Køhler, a genuinely nice guy from Denmark who just wants to help people, so he became a nurse.

This story is being written because I once had two granddads, who both died. The first one died of cancer, but that was a long time ago and I didn't really know him all that well.

My second granddad however, I was a lot closer with. He was always kind, he always tried to make us have fun, he took us out on trips when he still could and he was so happy when we visited him.
But, he suffered from Multiple Sclerosis. He got it when he was around 40 (is what was told me; I didn't exist yet back then. Almost everything I am about to tell you is what I have been told is what I've learned from the people who have been with him all that time.) and he had lived with it for almost 30 years.

It was horrible. Every time I saw him, he had gotten worse, but he didn't want to die. All those years, my grandma took loving care of him.

My grandma always knew she wanted to become a nurse when she was young. She loved taking care of people, and she wanted to help everyone. She knew exactly what she had to do to become a nurse, and wasn't planning on doing anything more than that.

Her and my granddad were happily married when my granddad heard he had MS, and he couldn't have been luckier with the woman he chose to marry. My grandma always took care of him, even gave up her job for him, so he wouldn't need to have a special nurse take care of him, even when he lost the ability to walk and when he was gradually losing all ability in his body, only being able to move his head. My mum and her sisters always helped where they could, but in the end, only my grandma was able to do all the work because it just became too much.

Then, my granddad became sick. It was, for any other person, not so severe, however, because he got pneumonia, he landed in the hospital. In the hospital, he wasn't able to move anything, where he could normally still use his hand. He had trouble breathing, he couldn't do anything, and he still wanted to keep living. We visited him twice.

After a week or so in the hospital, my mother got a call in the middle of the night. She went to the hospital immediately, which was about an hour away.

My granddad had so much trouble breathing, he asked to be brought to sleep so he could die peacefully. His last words were directed at my grandmother: "you were the only and the best one". In October 2015, my last granddad, at the age of 68, died, due to his body not being able to handle pneumonia.

He was the strongest man I have ever known. He fought until the very end. He didn't fear death in the end, but he was determined to keep living.

My granddad wasn't a person who spoke much. If he did speak, it was a joke most of the time, and it made him happy to see us laugh. The last time I saw him though, he seemed so glad that we actually came to see him, and his last words hold so much love, that I feel like I should have told him I loved him a million times more, should have showed him I cared just some more, should have been more careful with my words, more respectful, to the man who kept fighting death as if it was his greatest fear, and then embraced it like was his closest friend, the man who never said what he felt, who proceeded to tell his wife something so loving.

I want you all to know that this story is to pay all respect I have to my grandfather, who fought until the very end. There was no stronger, no braver man than him, no-one more determined to live to see others happy, no-one more prepared to leave this world, but still so determined to see everyone smile.

In the end, he made his choice. He decided that it was his time, and he needed to leave. He never wanted to die, but he chose to, because he couldn't keep on living. My grandmother told me that he was very weak, and we've talked about death, and my granddad, and I respect him more than I did before. I loved him so much, and he loved me, my sister, cousins, and even my step-sister all equally. I can't believe that I have had the right to meet, and live with an amazing man like that.

Grandpa, I hope that wherever you are now, you can use your legs again to walk, your hands again to wave, your fingers to write, and I hope you can do everything you have missed the last twenty years, because in my eyes, no-one deserves it more than you.

Opa, ik houd van u, en waar u dan ook mag zijn, ik hoop dat u kan inhalen wat u al die jaren heeft gemist. Ik hoop dat dit kleine tekstje als een middel kan dienen om u respect te tonen, om uw nagedachtenis te eren, want er was niemand die zo lang, zo sterk heeft kunnen blijven. Ik houd zo veel van u, en ik had het nog honderdduizend keer moeten zeggen toen u me nog kon horen. Ik hoop dat u in uw laatste moment gedacht heeft: 'Ja, ik ben tevreden. Ik heb alles gedaan wat ik kon, ik ben klaar om te gaan.' Ik hoop dat u gedacht heeft aan uw kinderen en kleinkinderen, van wie u wist dat ze van u houden, en ik hoop dat u trots was op uw vrouw, wie u al die jaren heeft verzorgt naar haar beste vermogen. Ik hoop dat u gedacht heeft aan iedereen, die u kende, en ik hoop dat u trots was op de keuzes die u gemaakt heeft. Ik ben sowieso trots op u, wij allemaal, daar kunt u van uitgaan.

Thank you for reading this (not so) small chapter as a tribute to my dear grandfather. As of June 2016, I was finally able to tell someone my, and his story. You might not care, but this means a big deal to me. I love my family, but when my granddad died, I was broken. I didn't go to school for a week, missed a lot of tests, and that was kinda the beginning of my stress, and bipolarness, and slight depression.

If you don't respect my grandfather, or the decision to share this story, then please do respect the fact that this is indeed an illness that people suffer from, and it's life-ruining, and please, do respect all the people who are slowly losing their bodies to a sickness like this, where you can see them slowly get worse and worse.

I am, at the time of writing this, crying. The memory of my granddad is a precious one, and I will never forget him, whatever happens.

Feel free to talk to me if you are dealing with similar things, or have dealt with. I am always willing to share anything, if that helps others.

Much love,

- Rarity