(no subject)
I'm just having a lot of feelings right now, and I want to write them down; get them off my chest. Hopefully this will help. Yesterday, I was on the phone with my mom and we were talking about totally normal stuff, when all of a sudden she was like "Lisa says Agha Jon (my grandpa) isn't doing too well, so we should go to Portland soon, before it's too late to say goodbye." Lisa went down Saturday night. She was pretty much just passing through and needed someplace to crash (quick heartwrenching sidenote: my dad miscommunicated the situation to my grandma so she thought Lisa was going to get there on Saturday morning, so she stayed up all day, no naps for fear of missing the door--she ALWAYS takes like 4 naps a day--and she cooked Ghormesabsi, and Lisa didn't show up until late Saturday night). Anyway, I guess my grandpa is doing worse than we thought. Like he didn't really remember who Lisa was and he has a lot of trouble walking because he has Parkinson's, too. And he kept getting confused with Lisa over who she was and what her name was, and I guess once she went to kiss him on the cheek and he got really startled because he was just confused. I feel really bad that she had to deal with it alone. Well, I mean, John was there, but I wish I could have been there for her. On the other hand, and this is selfish, I know, but I wouldn't have wanted to go in without warning and have all that stuff happen. I still would rather have been there for her, but it's just hard either way. And my grandma kept saying stuff like "He's very old. He's done." and she was saying that it was hard for her and she gave Lisa one of those hard hugs, you know? Anyway, I was thinking about it today at work and then this elderly guy came in with his granddaughter and he was being all sweet and it made me pretty much start bawling. At least I made it to the elevator before I broke down. But I barely even know my grandpa. It's just so fucking unfair. I love him so much, but my god damn family didn't teach me farsi and so I don't know anything about him, except that he's the sweetest person ever. And I'm not going to get the chance to know him, even if he lives for twenty more years because his memory is going and we can't speak to each other. I was thinking about some things I remember from back when he was more lucid and we could go for walks together and things. Stupid stuff, like how we used to go to this little convenience store by their old house and he would buy me those sesame candy things. Or games he used to play with us. And then I think about my grandma. Her life for the past 50 or 60 years has pretty much revolved around him. What's she going to do? I can't even imagine her living long after him. She might. I don't know. But I kind of doubt it, and what am I going to do if they both go at the same time? Again, I realize that's selfish of me, but seriously, I don't know if I could handle it. And when my thoughts earlier turned more morbid, I was thinking about how his funeral (whenever it may be) will probably be conducted in Farsi, and I won't even know what they're talking about at my own grandfather's funeral. I'm just, I don't know. There isn't a word that I can think of for how I'm feeling, but I wanted to put it down. I'm going to Portland next Tuesday to see them. I don't want to break down in front of them. What if he's still aware enough to realize why we're upset or why we're all visiting all of a sudden? Can you imagine that? Knowing that your family thinks you're going to die? Shit. I just remembered when I visited them a while ago. It was when he was first starting to go downhill fast. He went to take his nap right as we were getting ready to come back to Seattle, and when we went to say goodbye to him in his room, he had my dad translate to me and Lisa about how he was so proud and lucky to have us and how much he loved us. I think he probably knew he had to say something while he could. Dammit. I guess I at least have that.