. . . because these words are faithful and true
A note: I try to refrain from writing about my personal life on this journal, as it's main purpose is for fun and for fandom. However, this is also a place to share my writings. So, I felt it the need to publish this. I may go back and edit it later. Of course this isn't up for the usual concrit. *bittersweet smile*
July 24, 2008 • 1:47 a.m.
My grandmother died this morning.
It is only when I was in the bed, trying in vain to sleep, that the weight of the day finally sank in. I suppose that being alone with myself and with my thought, I could no longer distract my mind with being concerned for other family member and how they were “taking it.”
Earlier today, I figured that I should write something about her as a testament to her memory and legacy. There are many things I could write about my grandmother. She was a great person: wife, mother, artist, teacher, volunteer, just to name a few.
However, my thought keeps traveling back to a single moment, as my grandfather recounted the events of the morning, and how she fell asleep in death.
A few weeks ago, my grandmother fell. She didn't break anything, and refused to go to the hospital to get checked out. This was typical behavior, she's a pretty hardy octagenarian (88, to be exact) so there seemed to be no apparent cause for alarm. I didn't find out about it until a few days afterward, and my parents conveyed the information in a very calm manner. “You know, your grandmother fell,” my blithely replied, when explaining to me why my younger sister had resumed staying overnight at my grandparents' house. I'm sure I mustered some look of shock and confusion, and them my mother explained that she was fine, and assured me that she hadn't broken anything.
About a week later, though, she fell again. This time, they took her to the doctor. She had suffered from a bruised coccyx, and was prescribed a walker to use as she healed.
Less than a week after that, July 23, 2008, she died.
Yeah. I'm shocked, too.
The events that finally led to me sitting at my grandfather's side as he recounted his final moments with his wife aren't really of consequence to me. I'm a listener and an observer by nature. I like to stand by and watch people interact and see things occur. So, I'm walking around the grandparents' house and I stop in the hallway of the foyer. My cousin Jason has just come over. He is the oldest grandchild. My grandfather starts to tell him about what happened. I don't know whether or not he asked, but I'm glad that he sat and listened as grandfather told, and I stood and listened as well. I'd heard the story from my youngest sister, who had spent the night over my grandparents' house, and was there during the entire ordeal. She wasn't there, though, in the beginning, as my grandfather woke her up after he found that my grandmother was unresponsive to his attempts to wake her.
He told of how grandmother was fussing about something (her usual behavior) and how he couldn't understand anything she was saying until she finally exclaimed in exasperation, “Walter, I'm sick.”
At that, he held her close . . . hugged her close, and told her that everything would be alright and to just lay down.
Tonight, thinking of that single, wonderful, loving moment, I cried.
-finis-
2:09 a.m.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
July 24, 2008 • 1:47 a.m.
My grandmother died this morning.
It is only when I was in the bed, trying in vain to sleep, that the weight of the day finally sank in. I suppose that being alone with myself and with my thought, I could no longer distract my mind with being concerned for other family member and how they were “taking it.”
Earlier today, I figured that I should write something about her as a testament to her memory and legacy. There are many things I could write about my grandmother. She was a great person: wife, mother, artist, teacher, volunteer, just to name a few.
However, my thought keeps traveling back to a single moment, as my grandfather recounted the events of the morning, and how she fell asleep in death.
A few weeks ago, my grandmother fell. She didn't break anything, and refused to go to the hospital to get checked out. This was typical behavior, she's a pretty hardy octagenarian (88, to be exact) so there seemed to be no apparent cause for alarm. I didn't find out about it until a few days afterward, and my parents conveyed the information in a very calm manner. “You know, your grandmother fell,” my blithely replied, when explaining to me why my younger sister had resumed staying overnight at my grandparents' house. I'm sure I mustered some look of shock and confusion, and them my mother explained that she was fine, and assured me that she hadn't broken anything.
About a week later, though, she fell again. This time, they took her to the doctor. She had suffered from a bruised coccyx, and was prescribed a walker to use as she healed.
Less than a week after that, July 23, 2008, she died.
Yeah. I'm shocked, too.
The events that finally led to me sitting at my grandfather's side as he recounted his final moments with his wife aren't really of consequence to me. I'm a listener and an observer by nature. I like to stand by and watch people interact and see things occur. So, I'm walking around the grandparents' house and I stop in the hallway of the foyer. My cousin Jason has just come over. He is the oldest grandchild. My grandfather starts to tell him about what happened. I don't know whether or not he asked, but I'm glad that he sat and listened as grandfather told, and I stood and listened as well. I'd heard the story from my youngest sister, who had spent the night over my grandparents' house, and was there during the entire ordeal. She wasn't there, though, in the beginning, as my grandfather woke her up after he found that my grandmother was unresponsive to his attempts to wake her.
He told of how grandmother was fussing about something (her usual behavior) and how he couldn't understand anything she was saying until she finally exclaimed in exasperation, “Walter, I'm sick.”
At that, he held her close . . . hugged her close, and told her that everything would be alright and to just lay down.
Tonight, thinking of that single, wonderful, loving moment, I cried.
-finis-
2:09 a.m.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .