Labor Day Weekend
Saturday night
I’m sitting in a dark hospital room.
Mamaw is sleeping in front of me, breathing short, deliberate breaths. It’s 9pm, and two hours ago, she asked that I turn off the tv and the lights. I napped on & off during the day, so I’m far away from sleep. Thankfully, I brought this laptop along. Damned if I can’t remember how to play solitaire.
She’s been in here a few weeks now, and in and out of hospitals for 6 or 7 years. Bone marrow cancer. She’s done the chemo & radiation thing, been in & out of remission more times than I can recall, lost all her hair, got it all back again, gotten all kinds of pneumonia & infections that really worried us, gone through different forms of dementia, overcame that, received stem cells & a marrow transplant, and has probably tried every experimental cancer-killing drug that’s come out in the meantime. Her body can’t take it anymore.
I’m here tonight because I got that “you might want to come on over” call. Her condition is such that someone needs to stay with her, and my grandfather needs to go home & get some things done. This chair folds out & it’s where I’ll sleep tonight.
I’ve done a lot of things today that I never thought I could do, including:
-make that “you might want to come over” call to my little sister (she hasn’t been to this hospital since she was born here 19 years ago)
-not completely lose my mind when I saw my grandfather cry
-hold absolute restraint & composure in front of my grandmother, despite the agony she is in
-spoon-feed my grandmother
-discuss her bowel movements with her & nurses
-not run down the hall screaming when she told me that she wasn’t ready to die.
There’s one big thing I can’t manage to do today, though. In the quiet hours we’ve spent together, I can’t find the words to have the moments I NEED to have with her. These are the last conversations I’ll have with her & I just don’t know what to say. Conchita was wonderfully supportive today & suggested that I talk about some of the memories we've shared & tell her how much I love her. But somehow all the memories have faded, and although we’ve always openly expressed our affection for each other, today I can’t just come out & say the words “I Love You”, because in my head the words, “and I just wanted you to know because you are dying” seem to naturally follow.
Today, my heart broke when my grandfather went to leave, and my grandmother asked him not to, with this terrified look on her face. He reminded her that he had things he needed to do, that I would take care of her, and that the two of us needed this time together to “say the things we needed to say”. Jesus. No pressure there.
Where are my cue cards?
....
Sunday
We made it through the night, but I didn't sleep very well. Every change in the pitch, frequency, or volume of her breaths brought mine to a halt. She's in such bad shape, but I don't fully understand how much worse it can get. So I've spent too much time worrying that each of those breaths will be her last.
Today I got something I really need - my Momma. She got in today with my sister. Also, because my mother is wonderful, and able to put her ill-feelings for my father aside for a little while, my sister and I had dinner with BOTH of our parents - at the same time - and amicably. This has not happened in over 10 years, and I don't know how to express how amazing it felt. Just the 4 of us eating a meal together, was the equivalent of one thousand hugs.
....
Monday
After spending the night in town, we visited with Mamaw again this morning. She can hardly speak now & if she does, it's pretty hard to make out what she's saying. But she is very aware and smiles when we crack jokes. I just wonder what's going on in her mind.
This morning I kissed her on her forehead, told her that I loved her, and that I would see her soon. Then I went home.
I’m sitting in a dark hospital room.
Mamaw is sleeping in front of me, breathing short, deliberate breaths. It’s 9pm, and two hours ago, she asked that I turn off the tv and the lights. I napped on & off during the day, so I’m far away from sleep. Thankfully, I brought this laptop along. Damned if I can’t remember how to play solitaire.
She’s been in here a few weeks now, and in and out of hospitals for 6 or 7 years. Bone marrow cancer. She’s done the chemo & radiation thing, been in & out of remission more times than I can recall, lost all her hair, got it all back again, gotten all kinds of pneumonia & infections that really worried us, gone through different forms of dementia, overcame that, received stem cells & a marrow transplant, and has probably tried every experimental cancer-killing drug that’s come out in the meantime. Her body can’t take it anymore.
I’m here tonight because I got that “you might want to come on over” call. Her condition is such that someone needs to stay with her, and my grandfather needs to go home & get some things done. This chair folds out & it’s where I’ll sleep tonight.
I’ve done a lot of things today that I never thought I could do, including:
-make that “you might want to come over” call to my little sister (she hasn’t been to this hospital since she was born here 19 years ago)
-not completely lose my mind when I saw my grandfather cry
-hold absolute restraint & composure in front of my grandmother, despite the agony she is in
-spoon-feed my grandmother
-discuss her bowel movements with her & nurses
-not run down the hall screaming when she told me that she wasn’t ready to die.
There’s one big thing I can’t manage to do today, though. In the quiet hours we’ve spent together, I can’t find the words to have the moments I NEED to have with her. These are the last conversations I’ll have with her & I just don’t know what to say. Conchita was wonderfully supportive today & suggested that I talk about some of the memories we've shared & tell her how much I love her. But somehow all the memories have faded, and although we’ve always openly expressed our affection for each other, today I can’t just come out & say the words “I Love You”, because in my head the words, “and I just wanted you to know because you are dying” seem to naturally follow.
Today, my heart broke when my grandfather went to leave, and my grandmother asked him not to, with this terrified look on her face. He reminded her that he had things he needed to do, that I would take care of her, and that the two of us needed this time together to “say the things we needed to say”. Jesus. No pressure there.
Where are my cue cards?
....
Sunday
We made it through the night, but I didn't sleep very well. Every change in the pitch, frequency, or volume of her breaths brought mine to a halt. She's in such bad shape, but I don't fully understand how much worse it can get. So I've spent too much time worrying that each of those breaths will be her last.
Today I got something I really need - my Momma. She got in today with my sister. Also, because my mother is wonderful, and able to put her ill-feelings for my father aside for a little while, my sister and I had dinner with BOTH of our parents - at the same time - and amicably. This has not happened in over 10 years, and I don't know how to express how amazing it felt. Just the 4 of us eating a meal together, was the equivalent of one thousand hugs.
....
Monday
After spending the night in town, we visited with Mamaw again this morning. She can hardly speak now & if she does, it's pretty hard to make out what she's saying. But she is very aware and smiles when we crack jokes. I just wonder what's going on in her mind.
This morning I kissed her on her forehead, told her that I loved her, and that I would see her soon. Then I went home.