I came to Arizona over the Easter weekend to be with my parents and to come and see my grandparents. It's just the second day here and Grandpa is heading to the doctor's. His oxygen levels are really low and he is coughing like crazy, a very loose type of cough.
He is in his 90's, as is my grandmother and it seems that death's gate is ever closer on his path. There is a certain sadness in this ability to see the darkness of the twilight years and the gate at the end of them drawing so close.
I wonder if this will be the last time I see him.
I've been coming to this house in Dewey, Arizona for years. I can remember Christmas here and birthdays here and summers spent here. I remember a lot of my early memories at this place in the country club. Grandparents taking us to the pool, which has been renovated and is a lot smaller. I remember learning how to dance with my grandfather. He was the first dance I ever had.
In the darkness of the twilight years, the main conversation at the table is not of career and advancement. It is of medicine, doctor's appointments, hospital stays, and oxygen tanks.
What darkness awaits in the next year? I anticipate the death fetch at any time. I've been known to see them and feel them when someone's time has come.
It seems that when you reach the end of it all, it's not about what you did, or who you knew, or how much money you have made. It's about the security you've developed for yourself and the subsequent rest that you are afforded.
It's hard to know what to think.
Yesterday when I arrived, I hooked up the macbook and we did a video chat with each of my three brothers. It was nice to see them, but I think the grandparents in particular enjoyed seeing their grandchildren and great grandchildren over a computer screen and to talk real-time.
Now they speak of the grandchildren whose homes they will never get to visit. They mention the great grandchildren they feel blessed to have seen before their time.
Most disturbing, when I commented yesterday to my mom about the house that is going up adjacent to my grandparents house, mom mentioned that they would probably only be here a couple more years...
It's an unspoken, yet known and unwelcome visitor, this death. And when the gate opens, it won't be something unexpected, I think.
It's kind of funny but this old house has a lot of memories and holds the only memories I really have of my younger cousin who lives in Phoenix. We used to play among the cupboards and couches and we would go to the pool which was much larger prior to its renovation.
I remember smoking for the first time at my grandparent's house, we snuck a pack out of their carton, for they were heavy smokers then.
I remember going golfing and trying to figure out a golf swing; a skill that might or might not have relevance yet in my life.
There are a lot of things I remember in this house, this particular house that holds memories of the past and feels like a warm safe-haven. It connects me to my youth in many ways.
Moving every two years or so to different countries reminds me that this was one of the first "homes" I remember. I remember going out and hiking in the wash.
I remember the flea market we used to go to. I bought some of my first tape cassettes here at the flea market.
My grandfather is now dealing with dementia and alzheimers, two of the greatest fiends of the mind. I pray that I can keep my mental sanity into my twilight years.
He is in his 90's, as is my grandmother and it seems that death's gate is ever closer on his path. There is a certain sadness in this ability to see the darkness of the twilight years and the gate at the end of them drawing so close.
I wonder if this will be the last time I see him.
I've been coming to this house in Dewey, Arizona for years. I can remember Christmas here and birthdays here and summers spent here. I remember a lot of my early memories at this place in the country club. Grandparents taking us to the pool, which has been renovated and is a lot smaller. I remember learning how to dance with my grandfather. He was the first dance I ever had.
In the darkness of the twilight years, the main conversation at the table is not of career and advancement. It is of medicine, doctor's appointments, hospital stays, and oxygen tanks.
What darkness awaits in the next year? I anticipate the death fetch at any time. I've been known to see them and feel them when someone's time has come.
It seems that when you reach the end of it all, it's not about what you did, or who you knew, or how much money you have made. It's about the security you've developed for yourself and the subsequent rest that you are afforded.
It's hard to know what to think.
Yesterday when I arrived, I hooked up the macbook and we did a video chat with each of my three brothers. It was nice to see them, but I think the grandparents in particular enjoyed seeing their grandchildren and great grandchildren over a computer screen and to talk real-time.
Now they speak of the grandchildren whose homes they will never get to visit. They mention the great grandchildren they feel blessed to have seen before their time.
Most disturbing, when I commented yesterday to my mom about the house that is going up adjacent to my grandparents house, mom mentioned that they would probably only be here a couple more years...
It's an unspoken, yet known and unwelcome visitor, this death. And when the gate opens, it won't be something unexpected, I think.
It's kind of funny but this old house has a lot of memories and holds the only memories I really have of my younger cousin who lives in Phoenix. We used to play among the cupboards and couches and we would go to the pool which was much larger prior to its renovation.
I remember smoking for the first time at my grandparent's house, we snuck a pack out of their carton, for they were heavy smokers then.
I remember going golfing and trying to figure out a golf swing; a skill that might or might not have relevance yet in my life.
There are a lot of things I remember in this house, this particular house that holds memories of the past and feels like a warm safe-haven. It connects me to my youth in many ways.
Moving every two years or so to different countries reminds me that this was one of the first "homes" I remember. I remember going out and hiking in the wash.
I remember the flea market we used to go to. I bought some of my first tape cassettes here at the flea market.
My grandfather is now dealing with dementia and alzheimers, two of the greatest fiends of the mind. I pray that I can keep my mental sanity into my twilight years.
hugs