End of 2014: The "Family Stone" Edition
This is getting its own post, because I don't want to include it in with resolutions for 2015 or any of that shit. To recap, my grandfather spent most of 2014 seriously ill. I guess one of the issues with his family is the hardening of veins/arteries, and at one point this year, he had several operations to restore circulation to his foot. Well, it didn't work, and they amputated his leg. Now considering his advanced age (91), they didn't expect him to make it past that. But he did and made it through rehab, etc. Unfortunately, while recovering, he developed MRSA because of an open wound on his foot, and that never went away. They also at one point found a mass in his lungs, which they suspected was cancer. At that point, he opted not to have the mass biopsied or treated. He spent enough of 2014 in hospitals.
For that reason, I was relieved when I came home when I did for the holidays. It was kind of odd going in to Christmas knowing that this would be his last, but I wanted to see him. Well... I never got that chance. Although I never get sick, I got super sick with bronchitis. I didn't want to be the one to kill him, so I agreed to wait and see him before I left for California. That never happened. He got sick anyway and died on Sunday.
We spent New Year's Eve burying him. I didn't really cry at the funeral, I think, because this is a sadder death to me -- not just because he was my last grandparent, not just because I didn't see him, but because I actually genuinely liked him. The grief is more enduring, strongest in quiet moments: at 6:10 pm when my mother would call him nightly, in the half-eaten package of Chips Ahoy cookies with Reese's peanut butter cups I imagine he was still sneaking into until the end when his health-nut girlfriend wasn't looking.
I have a Christmas card from him that I haven't opened yet.
For that reason, I was relieved when I came home when I did for the holidays. It was kind of odd going in to Christmas knowing that this would be his last, but I wanted to see him. Well... I never got that chance. Although I never get sick, I got super sick with bronchitis. I didn't want to be the one to kill him, so I agreed to wait and see him before I left for California. That never happened. He got sick anyway and died on Sunday.
We spent New Year's Eve burying him. I didn't really cry at the funeral, I think, because this is a sadder death to me -- not just because he was my last grandparent, not just because I didn't see him, but because I actually genuinely liked him. The grief is more enduring, strongest in quiet moments: at 6:10 pm when my mother would call him nightly, in the half-eaten package of Chips Ahoy cookies with Reese's peanut butter cups I imagine he was still sneaking into until the end when his health-nut girlfriend wasn't looking.
I have a Christmas card from him that I haven't opened yet.