Waiting
I hate waiting. Especially for something as important as this.
My grampa's been failing for a long time. Way back when I lived with them (moved out 5½ years ago) he was doing poorly. He'd had a 6-way bypass in 1998, and he has Alzheimer's. About 3-4 years ago he was put in a home because my gramma couldn't take care of him anymore. Now she's in a home too. In fact, they are together, but neither one knows that. They don't share a room, but they are in the same care facility, and their chairs in the TV room are next to each other. Both are fading, but not quite at the same pace. He is sicker.
He's been having little stroke/seizure things, and he had another last Wednesday. After that, he lost the ability to swallow. Which means that he's not getting food at all, and very little liquids. He's stopped taking all his meds, and all they're giving him is ice chips. Years ago he and my gramma both wrote out their wishes as far as resuscitative measures go - they want none. No "extraordinary measures"; no life support; not even a feeding tube. So we're now just counting down the days. I hope it is faster rather than slower. Where he is has hospice, and they are keeping him pain free.
The family, following my grandparents' wishes, is not having any kind of service. That's very hard for me, but the reality is I couldn't go even if they were having something. We're just too broke.
My grampa and I were especially close. We lived in the same city, and so I saw them often growing up, and into adulthood. He's the one who taught me to play cribbage and poker, to love crossword puzzles and Tolkien, to live out my faith . . . so many things. When I stayed with them, he and I would sit up late and play cards and talk - about all kinds of things. He'd tell me his navy stories, we'd talk current events, things going on in my life . . . I always looked forward to that. Didn't look so forward to spending time with gramma, but she was the "toll" for spending time with him.
At Thanksgiving, my gramma would do most of the cooking, but my grampa always made the turkey. That was his job. And I'd get up with him and help (we lived with them for several years when I was young) and then we'd watch Macy's parade together.
I used to love being up with him early in the morning - him shaving and getting ready for work - me watching him shave, and then seeing him off.
He was a very gentle man. Always kind, warm, considerate.
When I lived with them most recently (1998 - 2001), I am so glad I had that time, but it made me sad too. He could no longer play cribbage - even with me counting his points. He couldn't play scrabble, or do crosswords either. But he loved to sing, and he and I would sing together. Or my gramma would play the piano - hymns - and we'd sing with her accompaniment. He taught me lots of fun songs. Things like the "response" to "Daisy, Daisy." Those lyrics are:
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true. I'm half crazy, all for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage; I can't afford a carriage. But you'll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.
The lyrics he taught me were:
David, David, here is my answer true. I'm not crazy all for the love of you. It must be a stylish marriage; you must afford a carriage. For I'll be switched before I'll get hitched on a bicycle built for two.
I miss him already - the shell has not been the man for several years. But it's the final loss. Even though I know where he's going when he dies. I thought I had grieved him already, but when my mom told me the latest, it was all fresh again.
My grampa's been failing for a long time. Way back when I lived with them (moved out 5½ years ago) he was doing poorly. He'd had a 6-way bypass in 1998, and he has Alzheimer's. About 3-4 years ago he was put in a home because my gramma couldn't take care of him anymore. Now she's in a home too. In fact, they are together, but neither one knows that. They don't share a room, but they are in the same care facility, and their chairs in the TV room are next to each other. Both are fading, but not quite at the same pace. He is sicker.
He's been having little stroke/seizure things, and he had another last Wednesday. After that, he lost the ability to swallow. Which means that he's not getting food at all, and very little liquids. He's stopped taking all his meds, and all they're giving him is ice chips. Years ago he and my gramma both wrote out their wishes as far as resuscitative measures go - they want none. No "extraordinary measures"; no life support; not even a feeding tube. So we're now just counting down the days. I hope it is faster rather than slower. Where he is has hospice, and they are keeping him pain free.
The family, following my grandparents' wishes, is not having any kind of service. That's very hard for me, but the reality is I couldn't go even if they were having something. We're just too broke.
My grampa and I were especially close. We lived in the same city, and so I saw them often growing up, and into adulthood. He's the one who taught me to play cribbage and poker, to love crossword puzzles and Tolkien, to live out my faith . . . so many things. When I stayed with them, he and I would sit up late and play cards and talk - about all kinds of things. He'd tell me his navy stories, we'd talk current events, things going on in my life . . . I always looked forward to that. Didn't look so forward to spending time with gramma, but she was the "toll" for spending time with him.
At Thanksgiving, my gramma would do most of the cooking, but my grampa always made the turkey. That was his job. And I'd get up with him and help (we lived with them for several years when I was young) and then we'd watch Macy's parade together.
I used to love being up with him early in the morning - him shaving and getting ready for work - me watching him shave, and then seeing him off.
He was a very gentle man. Always kind, warm, considerate.
When I lived with them most recently (1998 - 2001), I am so glad I had that time, but it made me sad too. He could no longer play cribbage - even with me counting his points. He couldn't play scrabble, or do crosswords either. But he loved to sing, and he and I would sing together. Or my gramma would play the piano - hymns - and we'd sing with her accompaniment. He taught me lots of fun songs. Things like the "response" to "Daisy, Daisy." Those lyrics are:
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true. I'm half crazy, all for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage; I can't afford a carriage. But you'll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.
The lyrics he taught me were:
David, David, here is my answer true. I'm not crazy all for the love of you. It must be a stylish marriage; you must afford a carriage. For I'll be switched before I'll get hitched on a bicycle built for two.
I miss him already - the shell has not been the man for several years. But it's the final loss. Even though I know where he's going when he dies. I thought I had grieved him already, but when my mom told me the latest, it was all fresh again.