About grangpa one more time
I've been crying last night. Every few hours I remember that my grandpa is about 300 km away and he won't be back for a while.
I know it was the best solution. We were exhausted mentally. Last week my parents spent in hospital with my grandpa waiting for an operation. From early morning till late evening next to his bed, when our brilliant doctors were saying to my grandpa things like "Leg doesn't look well, we will have to amputate it eventually" or " yeah, it's quite advanced cancer".
Just brilliant!! - saying things like that to a person who mentally becomes a child, has always been afraid of and prejudiced to hospitals and doctors and actually don't know what is going on!! And they waited till Thursday to operate. Till this time my grandpa was so terrified that when they came for him, he started screaming and struggling.
All in all, there was no operation. And never will. All we can do now is to give him drugs.
So my parents drove him on Friday to my uncle (as was planned to do after an operation).
I thought I was a strong person. I have been telling my mum all the time that it's my uncle's duty, that he also should take responsibility and help us. That it's time to send him.Uncle will have more time for him.
When she was crying in worse days I was standing there telling her everything will be ok, and there is no reason to panic and exaggerate.
God, she was is so calm and patient with him. She shouted few times but then was crying again in the kitchen that she is a bad daughter 'cause he doesn't understand how he behave. When he is abusive, calls her names and spit out medicines.
I shouted at him few times so strongly my throat hurt. I don't regret but I think in some way it means I wasn't strong enough. I'm not as good person as my mum. I've been thanking internally, it's just my grandpa who is so sick. Not one of us: my parents or sisters or me.
I wanted him to go.
But he is one of us.
It started when I was on my first year at university. It was early spring. He came back from my uncle after a year. Parents decided he needs everyday care so I've been visiting him 3-4 times per week. To prepare dinner and talk to him. He already had problems with walking so he rarely went out.
I remember my first basket with food for him. I had a lesson about system in Russia with my tutor prof. Backer and he said a joke about a girl called Little Red Riding Hood. Than my friend Piotrek walked me to my grandpa's and we ate some cake for him.
It seems so much time together. Hours spent on so many conversations. Often about the same things like his past, Ukraine, Toruń, my ordinary problems and little successes.
Sometimes we just didn't talk because one of us had a worse day.
I learned from him how to prepare doughnuts (really delicious), listen to polish national radio no. 3 and drink black tea with granular fruity tea.
He was patient and strong enough to listen to me when I learned to read in Russian (which at the beginning was a disaster)
Somewhere last year I started putting posters on his wall in the kitchen above the table from festives and conferences I helped organise or participated in.
So many burnt meals.
His silhouette in the window greeting me and waving on good bye - this image I want to remember the most.
I used to turn around, to wave back, three times before I disappeared round the corner (as later appeared - my sister Justyna did the same).
------------
So I was wrong. Somewhere in this time he became one of us. So close person to me, it really hurts he's not here with us in Toruń.
That we are not for him when he is in pain.
It's so calm in here.
And as ironic as it sounds, it seems empty without him.
I feel, as if we left and betrayed him. I know it's his son but it's we, who are his closest family. Whose names he still remembers sometimes.
I know it was the best solution. We were exhausted mentally. Last week my parents spent in hospital with my grandpa waiting for an operation. From early morning till late evening next to his bed, when our brilliant doctors were saying to my grandpa things like "Leg doesn't look well, we will have to amputate it eventually" or " yeah, it's quite advanced cancer".
Just brilliant!! - saying things like that to a person who mentally becomes a child, has always been afraid of and prejudiced to hospitals and doctors and actually don't know what is going on!! And they waited till Thursday to operate. Till this time my grandpa was so terrified that when they came for him, he started screaming and struggling.
All in all, there was no operation. And never will. All we can do now is to give him drugs.
So my parents drove him on Friday to my uncle (as was planned to do after an operation).
I thought I was a strong person. I have been telling my mum all the time that it's my uncle's duty, that he also should take responsibility and help us. That it's time to send him.Uncle will have more time for him.
When she was crying in worse days I was standing there telling her everything will be ok, and there is no reason to panic and exaggerate.
God, she was is so calm and patient with him. She shouted few times but then was crying again in the kitchen that she is a bad daughter 'cause he doesn't understand how he behave. When he is abusive, calls her names and spit out medicines.
I shouted at him few times so strongly my throat hurt. I don't regret but I think in some way it means I wasn't strong enough. I'm not as good person as my mum. I've been thanking internally, it's just my grandpa who is so sick. Not one of us: my parents or sisters or me.
I wanted him to go.
But he is one of us.
It started when I was on my first year at university. It was early spring. He came back from my uncle after a year. Parents decided he needs everyday care so I've been visiting him 3-4 times per week. To prepare dinner and talk to him. He already had problems with walking so he rarely went out.
I remember my first basket with food for him. I had a lesson about system in Russia with my tutor prof. Backer and he said a joke about a girl called Little Red Riding Hood. Than my friend Piotrek walked me to my grandpa's and we ate some cake for him.
It seems so much time together. Hours spent on so many conversations. Often about the same things like his past, Ukraine, Toruń, my ordinary problems and little successes.
Sometimes we just didn't talk because one of us had a worse day.
I learned from him how to prepare doughnuts (really delicious), listen to polish national radio no. 3 and drink black tea with granular fruity tea.
He was patient and strong enough to listen to me when I learned to read in Russian (which at the beginning was a disaster)
Somewhere last year I started putting posters on his wall in the kitchen above the table from festives and conferences I helped organise or participated in.
So many burnt meals.
His silhouette in the window greeting me and waving on good bye - this image I want to remember the most.
I used to turn around, to wave back, three times before I disappeared round the corner (as later appeared - my sister Justyna did the same).
------------
So I was wrong. Somewhere in this time he became one of us. So close person to me, it really hurts he's not here with us in Toruń.
That we are not for him when he is in pain.
It's so calm in here.
And as ironic as it sounds, it seems empty without him.
I feel, as if we left and betrayed him. I know it's his son but it's we, who are his closest family. Whose names he still remembers sometimes.