Today's Bear Update
So, I flew down yesterday on USAirways. Got a terrific price: under $300, which is amazing given the short notice. I had a layover of about four hours in Charlotte, NC. As I was sitting at gate C17 waiting for my flight, I heard an announcement from another gate for a flight to Orlando. "Hm," thinks I. So I went over and asked if they could put me on this flight instead. The lady behind the counter looks at my boarding pass and informs me that it'll be fifty dollars.
Ugh. I don't have $50 to throw around, so I walked away. A minute later, I walked back and said "Look, my dad is dying, so I'm trying to get to FL as soon as possible. Is there anything you can do about this charge?" She looked at the other person behind the counter, then looked back and me and said the fare change cost $50. So I walked away.
The door closed, and the plane left with an empty seat.
When time came for my flight, it was full to the gills. Not a single seat was left, and they were asking people to volunteer to check their carryons, the flight was so packed. So USAirways lost the chance to put someone else on my flight and lost the chance for me to give them a glowing recommendation. On the contrary, they're going to get a nasty letter, as is Barclay's Bank, which was hawking its credit cards through a cooperative arrangement with USAirways.
Anyhow, I finally got here and my mother's friend picked me up and drove me to the hospice. Fortunately, the time not saved didn't make any difference: Pat couldn't have been much earlier to pick me up, and the Bear was still as he had been when I arrived.
The Bear did not look good. He was jaundiced (liver failure will do that to you), propped up in the bed, with his mouth hanging open, breathing hoarsely with a fair bit of bubbling noise in his breath. However, he did squeeze my hand when I held it and spoke to him, so I'm hoping he knows I'm here for him.
We stayed there until about 9 p.m., when they gave him some more meds for his pain and he was going to drift off to sleep. We went back to the house, ordered pizza, and spent the evening reminiscing about him. My mother insisted that I sleep on an air mattress, rather than the couch where I suggested I doss down: unfortunately, the air mattress felt cold all night, and I did not sleep well at all once I finally got to sleep. I dozed sitting up on the couch a couple of times, trying to get myself into a sleeping mood, and finally read myself to sleep (yay, cheap and trashy novels!).
This morning we got up, dressed, ate breakfast, and went to hang with the Bear some more. He was much better-looking, less jaundiced and breathing much more easily. We hung out there until my cousins (his brother's daughters) Jeannine and Debbie arrived from Massachusetts. He didn't seem very aware during the morning, but he seemed to respond somewhat by moving his mouth when my mother said they were there. It was good to see them: I haven't seen them in for-bleedin'-ever. We went out to lunch at a diner, then back to the hospice. When I walked in, Bear was lying more on his side, and breathing more harshly than the morning, but seemed awake. I spoke to him, and he seemed microscopically responsive, so I stayed with him for a while, then went to call the others. They came in and clustered around him, and I'm hoping he recognized who was there.
Later, I texted Diana and she called me when she and Morgan got home. I put on the speakerphone and she spoke to the Bear, saying that it was one of the great honors of her life to have been his daughter-in-law and thanking him for welcoming her into the family. I put Morgan on, and she said he was dying and she was sorry for that and that she couldn't be there. Then she talked about a picture we have on the wall at home of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone, and said that he had gone through all of those stages.
His mouth moved both times when they talked to him, so I think he heard and was trying to respond, even if he couldn't tell what he said. That means a lot to me: they both love him dearly, and he always loved them. He absolutely adored his granddaughter, and while I'm going to miss him and would have loved to had him see me graduate from college this summer, what really tearms me up (aside from my mother's loss, of course) is that he won't get to see her grow up and she won't get to know him better than she has. A girl should know her grandfather, especially one who loves her so very much.
You know, it's funny: I've had times in my life when I wanted to cry, when I felt like crying, when crying would have been cathartic and good, when I felt I cursed well *ought* to be able to cry, and I couldn't. This may surprise those of you who know what an utter bag of mush I am, but it's an odd fact. So I've wondered if I'd be able to cry when one or other of my parents died.
No problem.
Ugh. I don't have $50 to throw around, so I walked away. A minute later, I walked back and said "Look, my dad is dying, so I'm trying to get to FL as soon as possible. Is there anything you can do about this charge?" She looked at the other person behind the counter, then looked back and me and said the fare change cost $50. So I walked away.
The door closed, and the plane left with an empty seat.
When time came for my flight, it was full to the gills. Not a single seat was left, and they were asking people to volunteer to check their carryons, the flight was so packed. So USAirways lost the chance to put someone else on my flight and lost the chance for me to give them a glowing recommendation. On the contrary, they're going to get a nasty letter, as is Barclay's Bank, which was hawking its credit cards through a cooperative arrangement with USAirways.
Anyhow, I finally got here and my mother's friend picked me up and drove me to the hospice. Fortunately, the time not saved didn't make any difference: Pat couldn't have been much earlier to pick me up, and the Bear was still as he had been when I arrived.
The Bear did not look good. He was jaundiced (liver failure will do that to you), propped up in the bed, with his mouth hanging open, breathing hoarsely with a fair bit of bubbling noise in his breath. However, he did squeeze my hand when I held it and spoke to him, so I'm hoping he knows I'm here for him.
We stayed there until about 9 p.m., when they gave him some more meds for his pain and he was going to drift off to sleep. We went back to the house, ordered pizza, and spent the evening reminiscing about him. My mother insisted that I sleep on an air mattress, rather than the couch where I suggested I doss down: unfortunately, the air mattress felt cold all night, and I did not sleep well at all once I finally got to sleep. I dozed sitting up on the couch a couple of times, trying to get myself into a sleeping mood, and finally read myself to sleep (yay, cheap and trashy novels!).
This morning we got up, dressed, ate breakfast, and went to hang with the Bear some more. He was much better-looking, less jaundiced and breathing much more easily. We hung out there until my cousins (his brother's daughters) Jeannine and Debbie arrived from Massachusetts. He didn't seem very aware during the morning, but he seemed to respond somewhat by moving his mouth when my mother said they were there. It was good to see them: I haven't seen them in for-bleedin'-ever. We went out to lunch at a diner, then back to the hospice. When I walked in, Bear was lying more on his side, and breathing more harshly than the morning, but seemed awake. I spoke to him, and he seemed microscopically responsive, so I stayed with him for a while, then went to call the others. They came in and clustered around him, and I'm hoping he recognized who was there.
Later, I texted Diana and she called me when she and Morgan got home. I put on the speakerphone and she spoke to the Bear, saying that it was one of the great honors of her life to have been his daughter-in-law and thanking him for welcoming her into the family. I put Morgan on, and she said he was dying and she was sorry for that and that she couldn't be there. Then she talked about a picture we have on the wall at home of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone, and said that he had gone through all of those stages.
His mouth moved both times when they talked to him, so I think he heard and was trying to respond, even if he couldn't tell what he said. That means a lot to me: they both love him dearly, and he always loved them. He absolutely adored his granddaughter, and while I'm going to miss him and would have loved to had him see me graduate from college this summer, what really tearms me up (aside from my mother's loss, of course) is that he won't get to see her grow up and she won't get to know him better than she has. A girl should know her grandfather, especially one who loves her so very much.
You know, it's funny: I've had times in my life when I wanted to cry, when I felt like crying, when crying would have been cathartic and good, when I felt I cursed well *ought* to be able to cry, and I couldn't. This may surprise those of you who know what an utter bag of mush I am, but it's an odd fact. So I've wondered if I'd be able to cry when one or other of my parents died.
No problem.