My grandfather is in his last stages of life. He lived a long, healthy life, with his children and grandchildren around him. Our home was full of love, dogs, and sunshine.

My father’s passing a few months back hit him the hardest. He lost weight, he lost hope, and went on a downward spiral. Our love for him kept him going, but it was not to be.

He is bedridden, and unable to speak. He has more tubes coming out of his body than seems humanely possible. He tries to rest with doctors constantly prodding and pinching some part of him.

The thing is, when someone we love falls sick, we do everything we can to save them. Some people pray, some make the doctor their God, some cry and some keep going, taking one day at a time.

But in between the fight to keep them alive, we don’t realize when we silently start praying for their death. Just to see them relieved of all their pain. Just to see them happy somewhere, even if it’s not with us.

My grandfather lived a full, happy life, and it seems unfair that his passing be made so much more difficult by people who love him.

Love is not holding on to someone, it’s letting them go if their time has come. Love is helping them pass, with dignity. And when that moment comes, love is being beside them, telling them it’s ok to let go.