I'm still waiting to hear about my grandmother. It's a morbid waiting game at this point. No real chance she'll get better - but no real solid idea about how long her body might hold out. You see, they found cancer in her brain. One does not generally "recover" from that.
Inevitably, I'm reminded of my mother's passing a year and a half ago. When I went to see my grandmother last Friday I walked right past the chairs that my mom and I sat in when she was there for her liver problems. The last coherent conversation I ever had with her was in those chairs, just outside the room my grandmother is now dying in. I guess that's the thing about small town hospitals - live there long enough and every corridor, every little part of the place will end up utterly infused with pathos.
Fortunately, my grandmother is not suffering. When I saw her last week, she was clear eyed and smiling and said that she didn't feel any pain at all. Of course, that was the fear. The fear of realizing that you are very probably lying on your death bed. Fear, but not terror. She seemed to be facing things with an uncharacteristically positive attitude. Hell - she even told me that my tiger tattoo was "beautiful".
The family is doing it's best to deal with the whole situation. Of course, if my mother were still around she'd be at the center of it all and still manage to stick by her mother hour after hour. That was the magic of my mother. She pulled people together and directed things so well that now - without her here - everyone seems to be scrambling to figure out what to do. And if my mother were still around, it would be my job - as always - to anchor her. She told me many times that I was her "rock", the one who could talk her down when she was in hysterics. She'd do it for me too, sometimes.
But she's gone and because my father is not a "blood relative", he's taken a step back from my grandmother's situation. It might be his way of dealing with his grief - both for my grandmother and the still-powerful leftovers from my mother's passing. I wanted to tell him that he has almost as much a reason to be "involved" as my aunts and uncles do and that, if nothing else, he could be advocating for my sister and I. But I decided to leave it alone. My dad can be complicated and I won't pretend that I know exactly what's happening in his head.
So that's it in a nutshell. And just to end on a positive note, here's another picture of Darwin.
Inevitably, I'm reminded of my mother's passing a year and a half ago. When I went to see my grandmother last Friday I walked right past the chairs that my mom and I sat in when she was there for her liver problems. The last coherent conversation I ever had with her was in those chairs, just outside the room my grandmother is now dying in. I guess that's the thing about small town hospitals - live there long enough and every corridor, every little part of the place will end up utterly infused with pathos.
Fortunately, my grandmother is not suffering. When I saw her last week, she was clear eyed and smiling and said that she didn't feel any pain at all. Of course, that was the fear. The fear of realizing that you are very probably lying on your death bed. Fear, but not terror. She seemed to be facing things with an uncharacteristically positive attitude. Hell - she even told me that my tiger tattoo was "beautiful".
The family is doing it's best to deal with the whole situation. Of course, if my mother were still around she'd be at the center of it all and still manage to stick by her mother hour after hour. That was the magic of my mother. She pulled people together and directed things so well that now - without her here - everyone seems to be scrambling to figure out what to do. And if my mother were still around, it would be my job - as always - to anchor her. She told me many times that I was her "rock", the one who could talk her down when she was in hysterics. She'd do it for me too, sometimes.
But she's gone and because my father is not a "blood relative", he's taken a step back from my grandmother's situation. It might be his way of dealing with his grief - both for my grandmother and the still-powerful leftovers from my mother's passing. I wanted to tell him that he has almost as much a reason to be "involved" as my aunts and uncles do and that, if nothing else, he could be advocating for my sister and I. But I decided to leave it alone. My dad can be complicated and I won't pretend that I know exactly what's happening in his head.
So that's it in a nutshell. And just to end on a positive note, here's another picture of Darwin.
Grandpop-you look tired.
Grandmom- so do you
Grandpop-I am
Grandmom- Then it's time for you to rest
Grandpop- ok. I love you
Grandmom- I love you too
My Phone rang @10pm a few hours later. My grandparents never called -I knew.
My biggest regret is that I was to weak to deal with the thought of my grandfather EVER dying. Months earlier when my grandmother finally told me he was in a nursing home and in failing heath, I went home straight to the bedroom curled in fetal and lost it. My ex came in to see what was wrong and I must have been worse then my mind can imagine. He looked like someone kicked him in the sack, kissed me on the head and could not get away from me quick enough.
I refused to go there and see him. He was the strongest man on earth-I just couldn't. My mom did go and had to be sent home from work the next day. She was a mess, This is my biological Fathers parents. That is a story for another day. I will say-Love is Love. Blood may be thicker than water, but love outweighs ALL. Any how he got well and I still wouldn't see him as I knew he was getting well so that I would, then he would die. So I wouldn't. I figuered he can keep getting better and get out of that place and when I'm sure he is well I will go spend time with him. But I will not let him think for one second that it's ok to leave. iIam Stubborn that way. I would imagine it was tiring waiting for his only grandchild to come see him. Ironically the day he passed I'd finally decided to go. The ex was out of town so I didn't have to worry after him. I got two bottles of Sharazz the night before I was to go home. Drank them both(did not intend to do that) woke up extremely late with a tanker in my head. iIcould barely make it from the bed to the sofa. Spoke to my mom (no one knew I was going to go) told her and she freaked out that I would go and put him through that. It was hard on her, I guess she understood it would be too much for me maybe...never asked just cried and hung up. The ex sent his best friend to cheer me up(he called and I was so beside myself I was in our closet against the back wall trying to crawl back into the womb I guess).
Suddenly after convincing them I was ok I hung up the phone, and felt peaceful. Then the call....it was already done, I couldn't change anything so I made it a point to be there for my grandmother and try and swallow pride and build something with my father.
We suffer for so many reasons, guilt being a big one. I believe older people at that time- realize something we don't know. Maybe they do go home and maybe it really is the most beautiful and serene place ever......
Tell her everything you've ever wanted to say and listen to everything she wants to tell you. Then feel however you feel. We can only be responsible for our actions, but maybe your dad needs a hug and to be reminded he is a part of the family. It's sometimes easy to think others don't care, sometimes we all need that reminder.
Be well~
xoxo
but that little boy is so cute