Goodbyeee
This will not be my normal punchy sarcastic humour-fest. This post is, in fact, a very serious outlet for quite serious emotions. If you don't wish to read it, I understand, however, I would appreciate your words if you have the heart.
Today was the arrival of my father's friends (parents of the daughter who married a Scot, who I mentioned a few posts previous). They are on their way to Florida and stopped to get their customary free meal and board with a bit of socialisation tossed in. We were expecting them for lunch, but when noon struck, the telephone rang. My father answered (as most of you know, I never EVER answer the phone) - it was my mother. Those who have been keeping up with me will recall that my grandfather has not been well for some time and in the past weeks has declined rapidly in health. My father promptly explained that Gramps' vitals were low and he and my mum were going over to their house. I would have to entertain the guests. When they arrived, I put on a cheery face and grilled cheeseburgers like a good hostess, but inside all I wanted was news of my family. At 3:00 the Kennedys decided to take a nap - time I assumed I could utilise to go to the gym. I went to change for a workout, and when I did, another phone call came. My mother again. She apologised for keeping me away from my grandfather. (they had asked me not to go visit this past week as his condition was incredibly horrid) Now she was offering me an opportunity to see him on his death bed. I of course said I would go. Into the car and off through the hour long stopped traffic to get to their house.
When I arrived I was greeted by a solomn household. My mum, dad, aunt and uncle thanked me for coming and my grandmother immediately began weeping on my shoulder, saying that my "grandfather was on his way to heaven". I sat by his bedside- releiving my mother for some much needed food- and took his hand. I have never stared at death before, and it was a singularly humbling, experience. My grandfather, far from being the antagonistic grouch he had been for the past few weeks was sweet and peaceful. He was in what I can only describe as a waking dream. He was not asleep, for he would occasionally recognise and direct comment to one of us, but he was also not entirely in the present. He kept making gestures and mumbles (he was incapable of coherant speech, only rarely uttering a word or phase we could understand) as though he was meeting people, shaking hands and other things. He muttered "Hi, hello, hello to everybody." And "Oh, I haven't seen you since the war" and for one moment, he looked at me, smiled innocently through his endless coughing and sorrowful moans and mumbled simply "pretty". It was heartbreaking. I must have sat for an hour or two before my mum told me I should make my farewells and get home so our guests could eat dinner; she planned to stay the night. After comfoting my grandmother for a few minutes more, I stood to give my once strong-willed, able bodied veteran grandfather my last goodbye. As I kissed him on the cheek and told him that I loved him, he looked at me. And before returning to greeting old friends in his dreams muttered: "Little Ashley. She's perfect." My composure left me and I wept all the way home. And now, after hours of meaningless entertaining of guests and cooking and several glasses of Scotch, which I would usually not indulge in, but which my heart urned for to dull its senses, I sit here crying hot tears onto my keyboard. I haven't heard from my mother. I don't know if he is still living. I only know that he was wonderful and I'll remember my last moments with him and his last words to me for all my days. I know in my heart my grandmother was right. He is on his way to heaven.
Today was the arrival of my father's friends (parents of the daughter who married a Scot, who I mentioned a few posts previous). They are on their way to Florida and stopped to get their customary free meal and board with a bit of socialisation tossed in. We were expecting them for lunch, but when noon struck, the telephone rang. My father answered (as most of you know, I never EVER answer the phone) - it was my mother. Those who have been keeping up with me will recall that my grandfather has not been well for some time and in the past weeks has declined rapidly in health. My father promptly explained that Gramps' vitals were low and he and my mum were going over to their house. I would have to entertain the guests. When they arrived, I put on a cheery face and grilled cheeseburgers like a good hostess, but inside all I wanted was news of my family. At 3:00 the Kennedys decided to take a nap - time I assumed I could utilise to go to the gym. I went to change for a workout, and when I did, another phone call came. My mother again. She apologised for keeping me away from my grandfather. (they had asked me not to go visit this past week as his condition was incredibly horrid) Now she was offering me an opportunity to see him on his death bed. I of course said I would go. Into the car and off through the hour long stopped traffic to get to their house.
When I arrived I was greeted by a solomn household. My mum, dad, aunt and uncle thanked me for coming and my grandmother immediately began weeping on my shoulder, saying that my "grandfather was on his way to heaven". I sat by his bedside- releiving my mother for some much needed food- and took his hand. I have never stared at death before, and it was a singularly humbling, experience. My grandfather, far from being the antagonistic grouch he had been for the past few weeks was sweet and peaceful. He was in what I can only describe as a waking dream. He was not asleep, for he would occasionally recognise and direct comment to one of us, but he was also not entirely in the present. He kept making gestures and mumbles (he was incapable of coherant speech, only rarely uttering a word or phase we could understand) as though he was meeting people, shaking hands and other things. He muttered "Hi, hello, hello to everybody." And "Oh, I haven't seen you since the war" and for one moment, he looked at me, smiled innocently through his endless coughing and sorrowful moans and mumbled simply "pretty". It was heartbreaking. I must have sat for an hour or two before my mum told me I should make my farewells and get home so our guests could eat dinner; she planned to stay the night. After comfoting my grandmother for a few minutes more, I stood to give my once strong-willed, able bodied veteran grandfather my last goodbye. As I kissed him on the cheek and told him that I loved him, he looked at me. And before returning to greeting old friends in his dreams muttered: "Little Ashley. She's perfect." My composure left me and I wept all the way home. And now, after hours of meaningless entertaining of guests and cooking and several glasses of Scotch, which I would usually not indulge in, but which my heart urned for to dull its senses, I sit here crying hot tears onto my keyboard. I haven't heard from my mother. I don't know if he is still living. I only know that he was wonderful and I'll remember my last moments with him and his last words to me for all my days. I know in my heart my grandmother was right. He is on his way to heaven.