things just haven’t been the same ‘round here
My beloved grandpa is gone, has been gone since September 27. I miss him terribly and it was all a whirlwind. Summer was a lot - I was so tired. I finally had a chance to breathe when camp was over. I had a few Thursdays with him. And then on august 25 dad texted and said he went to the hospital. And then he was so angry but at least he was himself. And then I fed him yams and ice cream and we said we loved each other and all of those things and then he didn’t talk anymore and then we brought him home and then he died soon after that.
And there was a funeral and shiva and a month of cleaning out the house and giving things away and then there was an empty house and we left and his wheelchair sat on the porch and watched us go. I keep driving by every Thursday.
He was so special to me. You know. How many 102 year olds can talk to you about love languages and be reassured by you telling them about your anxiety and Zoloft and want to change the wallpaper on their iPad and flip phone and make certificates for their daughters 70th birthday? Not many!
But he was so angry sometimes. About portion sizes and caregivers and being alone and confusing day and night. He was baffled when his memories and dreams became confused with reality. He hated not being able to walk. But he was so happy sometimes.
It still doesn’t feel real. Feels like I am gonna go over there on the next grandpa day and grab the mail and put my bag in the back room and call dad and balance books and answer questions and prep birthday cards and eat dinner and show pictures of Charlie and see him in his wheelchair and then say will you be here next week? You better because I’ll be here.
But neither of us will be there. I started hearing his voice responding to me again. It wasn’t there for a month and now it’s back and I’m so glad. I miss everything about him and I sit and think about regrets and relationships and gratitude and most of all time because a whole generation of my family is gone now. And my parents are that much closer to being gone. And that’s a whole head trip that goes along with that. And then I go down the I have no kids and I’m the end of the line road. Seeing the orthodox families with their kids and everyone who will take care of everyone sent me down a whole other road of fear. Though I can’t live that way and I have a program for that type of thing.
It’s the end of an era and I am just so sad. Drained and tired and lonely. We were also friends. And how can you process a living breathing feeling talking person who you love just - disappearing. Not existing anymore. I can’t really. But we do all the time.
And there was a funeral and shiva and a month of cleaning out the house and giving things away and then there was an empty house and we left and his wheelchair sat on the porch and watched us go. I keep driving by every Thursday.
He was so special to me. You know. How many 102 year olds can talk to you about love languages and be reassured by you telling them about your anxiety and Zoloft and want to change the wallpaper on their iPad and flip phone and make certificates for their daughters 70th birthday? Not many!
But he was so angry sometimes. About portion sizes and caregivers and being alone and confusing day and night. He was baffled when his memories and dreams became confused with reality. He hated not being able to walk. But he was so happy sometimes.
It still doesn’t feel real. Feels like I am gonna go over there on the next grandpa day and grab the mail and put my bag in the back room and call dad and balance books and answer questions and prep birthday cards and eat dinner and show pictures of Charlie and see him in his wheelchair and then say will you be here next week? You better because I’ll be here.
But neither of us will be there. I started hearing his voice responding to me again. It wasn’t there for a month and now it’s back and I’m so glad. I miss everything about him and I sit and think about regrets and relationships and gratitude and most of all time because a whole generation of my family is gone now. And my parents are that much closer to being gone. And that’s a whole head trip that goes along with that. And then I go down the I have no kids and I’m the end of the line road. Seeing the orthodox families with their kids and everyone who will take care of everyone sent me down a whole other road of fear. Though I can’t live that way and I have a program for that type of thing.
It’s the end of an era and I am just so sad. Drained and tired and lonely. We were also friends. And how can you process a living breathing feeling talking person who you love just - disappearing. Not existing anymore. I can’t really. But we do all the time.