In memory
Getting older is equal parts awesome and crappy. Of the crappier aspects that come along with approaching 30 is the fact that relatives we always assumed would be around begin to show signs of aging. We don't notice the wrinkles, the slower movement, the fact that we need to speak a little louder, because these developments come about slowly. (Especially in my family because everyone lives in a 500-square-inch-radius, it seems, so I am fortunate [and sometimes unfortunate] enough to see my relatives on a very regular basis. This blessing was not so much a blessing when I was a teenager. "O, is that Angela walking off into the bushes with that young thug?" All the girls in Hampden had shoulder-length oily blonde hair, loudly-colored Nikes, and Adidas t-shirts in middle school, but somehow people in my fam and some neighbors thought I was the one sneaking off to smoke, drink, and be hoochy--even if I was pulling an afternoon shift at Baskin Robbins. But I digress....)
I have come to the realization that I have a difficult time processing the fact that my grandparents won't be around forever. They have been able to see me do so, so much--I am so, so, SO lucky--but I want them to see EVERYTHING I do in the future. I want them to meet my children. I want them to see my brothers and cousins and I buy minivans. (Well, maybe just the brothers and cousins.) I want them to read the first book I write.
My maternal grandfather passed away Sunday, August 22nd. Everything has happened very quickly. It would be a fib to say he was the best father and grandfather in the world. However, for his faults, he produced nine of the best people this world has ever seen: my mom and her eight siblings. And they, obviously, are still busy producing the greatest (and possibly most fertile) generation to ever walk this earth: my brothers and cousins and I. (Okay, that's an exaggeration. But we're gonna try.)
In honor of my grandfather, who I had the privilege of taking to chemo a few of the last times he went, I am posting an excerpt from an e mail I sent to my family. I am in no way making light of the situation, and I hope none of you reading this (or your loved ones) have to go through cancer treatment. But I think it's a fitting way of remembering my Pop M, and gets across his personality, for all its strengths and weaknesses.
From a July e mail:
Hi everyone,
Deep breaths. Now, I don't want this e mail to be interpreted as disrespectful of my grandfather, but I wanted to share a creative retelling of my afternoon with Pop M because, well, I think humor does us all a little good given the situation we're working through with both Pop and Mommom.
And, besides, some of this is just too funny not to share. Again, deep breaths--not worth getting mad or frustrated for any of this. He is who he is, and I actually laughed a lot about all of this. I felt like I was in an episode of King of the Hill or something.
I arrived 5 minutes early to pick up Pop M (we had agreed on 12:45). He greeted me with "Don't worry about being late, hon." O, no worries Pop.
I had difficulty getting his wheelchair going with him in it. I think I might know why. Of Pop's grocery list, seven of the "12 items" he called quite a few of us about late last week and over the weekend are as follows:
Pound of Mounds bars
Pound of Peppermint Patties
Little Debbie Strawberry Rolls
Little Debbie Swiss Rolls
2-liter soda
Hershey's syrup
Klondike bars
(Had I actually agreed to go grocery shopping for him this weekend and THAT been the list he gave me, I would've returned to his place with brussel sprouts, broccoli, Slim Fast, and Ensure. I'm not even kidding.)
Annnny-pop-is-picky-mess, I told him I'd go to the store while he was in Chemo. We dropped off prescriptions at Walgreen's to pick up on the way home.
When we got to the hospital, I double-parked and we went inside. His wheelchair is not light, by the way, but he seemed to get impatient with me as I tried to get it in and out of the car. Nevermind that apparently he can walk to his car and walk in the gas station to buy ciggies (which he informed me he still smokes a pack of each day--we'll get to that in a minute).
When we went into the doctor's office, he was quite rude to the nurses. The room was full, and all of the nurses were busy. I told him I'd wait and speak with the nurse about how long he'd be there--he kept saying 2 hours, but I wanted to make sure--and that he should just relax. He was trying to get the attention of a nurse on the phone, and then started randomly shouting "Joanne"--I'm not even sure that nurse was here today. Anyways, I asked him what the rush was, and told him to calm down--trying to lighten the mood by saying "Where do you have to be? Got a hot date?" and then he calmed down (and some of the nurses at least laughed).
When we did get a nurse to talk with us, Pop kept informing HER of what he needed done--and none of it was really correct. The nurse said it would take an hour and a half, at which point in time i asked him for the grocery list.
When he gave it to me, he also gave me his Weis card. I said, actually, Pop, I was going to go to the Superfresh down the street.
Well, apparently, this was not the correct response.
He proceeded to tell me, "No way hon, no, you're going to Weis. And then you can drop the groceries at my apartment-make sure you put the Klondike bars in the 'fridge--and then you can come get me."
To which I proceeded to tell him, "Umm, no Pop. I'm going to Superfresh. I'm not driving all the way back to Perry Hall and coming back here. There wouldn't even be enough time."
Well, this did not make him very happy. When I looked at the list, I told him "All this stuff is equally as bad for you, whether it comes from Superfresh or Weis. You'll get the same food. And the same fat and sugar." The nurses watched me go back and forth with him, and one was laughing so hard she had to turn away.
He was not having it. Finally I just said "Beggars can't be choosers, love ya, see ya soon."
When I came back, freshly out of Superfresh with his loot, he was waiting for me--the chemo only took about an hour, and tomorrow's only will take about 25 mins, just an FYI--according to POP, not the nurse. But it will be his last chemo treatment, and then he'll have an appt in 10 days with Dr. Downs.
He said, "See, it didn't take you that long, you got everything" and I responded that he got all the groceries he asked for. When he asked me about the pleasantness of my Weis experience, I told him that I actually didn't quite make it there, but that he had all his groceries. He was obviously none too pleased, told me how much money I cost him. He mentioned that I was "just like [my] mother and Aunt K," which I take as massive compliments. After about 10 minutes, I responded, "How many packs do you smoke each day, and how much does that cost?"
"Each pack's about $5.40 when I get it from..."
"So you spend over $160 a month on cigarettes?"
"Well hon...."
"Okay Pop. Okay. And you drive to get them?"
"Yea hon."
"So why don't you get your own groceries?"
"Well hon, I can't ask you all to go get me ciggies."
So I guess that implies that it's okay to ask us all to go shopping for chocolate for him, but not nicotine. This man's logic is fascinating.
Anyways, he eventually dropped it, and we had a pleasant conversation about lots of things. I did tell him to be nicer to the nurses and be more patient because they could inject him with Lysol just as easily as Chemo. God bless those women and men. Seriously.
Love,
A
Rest in Peace, Pop M.
I have come to the realization that I have a difficult time processing the fact that my grandparents won't be around forever. They have been able to see me do so, so much--I am so, so, SO lucky--but I want them to see EVERYTHING I do in the future. I want them to meet my children. I want them to see my brothers and cousins and I buy minivans. (Well, maybe just the brothers and cousins.) I want them to read the first book I write.
My maternal grandfather passed away Sunday, August 22nd. Everything has happened very quickly. It would be a fib to say he was the best father and grandfather in the world. However, for his faults, he produced nine of the best people this world has ever seen: my mom and her eight siblings. And they, obviously, are still busy producing the greatest (and possibly most fertile) generation to ever walk this earth: my brothers and cousins and I. (Okay, that's an exaggeration. But we're gonna try.)
In honor of my grandfather, who I had the privilege of taking to chemo a few of the last times he went, I am posting an excerpt from an e mail I sent to my family. I am in no way making light of the situation, and I hope none of you reading this (or your loved ones) have to go through cancer treatment. But I think it's a fitting way of remembering my Pop M, and gets across his personality, for all its strengths and weaknesses.
From a July e mail:
Hi everyone,
Deep breaths. Now, I don't want this e mail to be interpreted as disrespectful of my grandfather, but I wanted to share a creative retelling of my afternoon with Pop M because, well, I think humor does us all a little good given the situation we're working through with both Pop and Mommom.
And, besides, some of this is just too funny not to share. Again, deep breaths--not worth getting mad or frustrated for any of this. He is who he is, and I actually laughed a lot about all of this. I felt like I was in an episode of King of the Hill or something.
I arrived 5 minutes early to pick up Pop M (we had agreed on 12:45). He greeted me with "Don't worry about being late, hon." O, no worries Pop.
I had difficulty getting his wheelchair going with him in it. I think I might know why. Of Pop's grocery list, seven of the "12 items" he called quite a few of us about late last week and over the weekend are as follows:
Pound of Mounds bars
Pound of Peppermint Patties
Little Debbie Strawberry Rolls
Little Debbie Swiss Rolls
2-liter soda
Hershey's syrup
Klondike bars
(Had I actually agreed to go grocery shopping for him this weekend and THAT been the list he gave me, I would've returned to his place with brussel sprouts, broccoli, Slim Fast, and Ensure. I'm not even kidding.)
Annnny-pop-is-picky-mess, I told him I'd go to the store while he was in Chemo. We dropped off prescriptions at Walgreen's to pick up on the way home.
When we got to the hospital, I double-parked and we went inside. His wheelchair is not light, by the way, but he seemed to get impatient with me as I tried to get it in and out of the car. Nevermind that apparently he can walk to his car and walk in the gas station to buy ciggies (which he informed me he still smokes a pack of each day--we'll get to that in a minute).
When we went into the doctor's office, he was quite rude to the nurses. The room was full, and all of the nurses were busy. I told him I'd wait and speak with the nurse about how long he'd be there--he kept saying 2 hours, but I wanted to make sure--and that he should just relax. He was trying to get the attention of a nurse on the phone, and then started randomly shouting "Joanne"--I'm not even sure that nurse was here today. Anyways, I asked him what the rush was, and told him to calm down--trying to lighten the mood by saying "Where do you have to be? Got a hot date?" and then he calmed down (and some of the nurses at least laughed).
When we did get a nurse to talk with us, Pop kept informing HER of what he needed done--and none of it was really correct. The nurse said it would take an hour and a half, at which point in time i asked him for the grocery list.
When he gave it to me, he also gave me his Weis card. I said, actually, Pop, I was going to go to the Superfresh down the street.
Well, apparently, this was not the correct response.
He proceeded to tell me, "No way hon, no, you're going to Weis. And then you can drop the groceries at my apartment-make sure you put the Klondike bars in the 'fridge--and then you can come get me."
To which I proceeded to tell him, "Umm, no Pop. I'm going to Superfresh. I'm not driving all the way back to Perry Hall and coming back here. There wouldn't even be enough time."
Well, this did not make him very happy. When I looked at the list, I told him "All this stuff is equally as bad for you, whether it comes from Superfresh or Weis. You'll get the same food. And the same fat and sugar." The nurses watched me go back and forth with him, and one was laughing so hard she had to turn away.
He was not having it. Finally I just said "Beggars can't be choosers, love ya, see ya soon."
When I came back, freshly out of Superfresh with his loot, he was waiting for me--the chemo only took about an hour, and tomorrow's only will take about 25 mins, just an FYI--according to POP, not the nurse. But it will be his last chemo treatment, and then he'll have an appt in 10 days with Dr. Downs.
He said, "See, it didn't take you that long, you got everything" and I responded that he got all the groceries he asked for. When he asked me about the pleasantness of my Weis experience, I told him that I actually didn't quite make it there, but that he had all his groceries. He was obviously none too pleased, told me how much money I cost him. He mentioned that I was "just like [my] mother and Aunt K," which I take as massive compliments. After about 10 minutes, I responded, "How many packs do you smoke each day, and how much does that cost?"
"Each pack's about $5.40 when I get it from..."
"So you spend over $160 a month on cigarettes?"
"Well hon...."
"Okay Pop. Okay. And you drive to get them?"
"Yea hon."
"So why don't you get your own groceries?"
"Well hon, I can't ask you all to go get me ciggies."
So I guess that implies that it's okay to ask us all to go shopping for chocolate for him, but not nicotine. This man's logic is fascinating.
Anyways, he eventually dropped it, and we had a pleasant conversation about lots of things. I did tell him to be nicer to the nurses and be more patient because they could inject him with Lysol just as easily as Chemo. God bless those women and men. Seriously.
Love,
A
Rest in Peace, Pop M.