Summation
On Thursday I was lazy and stayed at home instead of being Santa (Santa spells Satan if you rearrange the letters) and delivering gifts to grandparents. On Friday my grandfather had a stroke and I visited him in the emergency room and didn't know what to say. He was awake with tubes up his arms and all I could say was I'm glad to have seen you while you're still awake. My voice felt fake. My voice felt like I was talking to the kindergarten kids I work with. I hated myself for sounding like that and I couldn't take it back and I can't even remember if I told him I loved him or not. He started coughing and we had to go because there were too many people in the room.
That night I dreamed of a huge tidal wave. We, the others in the dream, could feel it coming. Everything was quiet and we were running and running as fast as we could but couldn't find any higher ground. So we gave up and looked behind us, we could see the ocean, huge and gray-blue, rising above the mountains. Everyone was too afraid, too hopeless, to really do anything. The water swallowed towns, and trees, and all of us.
Sunday I woke up and visited my grandfather in the hospital. The stroke had caused a blood vessel to break in his brain and the neurologist was draining fluid all morning. He was propped up on pillows and asleep. He looked a little better. My brother and I held his hand. My hand felt like ice and I felt horrible touching my grandfather's hands because they were so warm and I imagined my coldness sucking all the energy out of him.
Now I'm home and after talking with his wife, Louise, and I wish I had talked to both of them more over the years. I really wish we were closer and that I hadn't been afraid or felt awkward to visit either of them. My parents told me everyone has regrets during times like these. It's natural. It's normal.
I've learned some important things.
That night I dreamed of a huge tidal wave. We, the others in the dream, could feel it coming. Everything was quiet and we were running and running as fast as we could but couldn't find any higher ground. So we gave up and looked behind us, we could see the ocean, huge and gray-blue, rising above the mountains. Everyone was too afraid, too hopeless, to really do anything. The water swallowed towns, and trees, and all of us.
Sunday I woke up and visited my grandfather in the hospital. The stroke had caused a blood vessel to break in his brain and the neurologist was draining fluid all morning. He was propped up on pillows and asleep. He looked a little better. My brother and I held his hand. My hand felt like ice and I felt horrible touching my grandfather's hands because they were so warm and I imagined my coldness sucking all the energy out of him.
Now I'm home and after talking with his wife, Louise, and I wish I had talked to both of them more over the years. I really wish we were closer and that I hadn't been afraid or felt awkward to visit either of them. My parents told me everyone has regrets during times like these. It's natural. It's normal.
I've learned some important things.