A little traveling music, please
I'm off today to visit my sister in PA. She only lives an hour and a half away, so it is barely worth calling a road trip.
The plan is to spend the night, but my grandfather is in the hospital. Depending on how he is doing, my mother might decide to come back early. This is my mother's step-dad. He's been my grandfather since I was 10. I think of him as my grandfather, even though I call him by his first name, Perry.
Perry is 95 years old. He's been in and out of the hospital a lot this past year. This time it is for congestive heart failure which my dad had last year. So I know even though it sounds scary, it is not a fatal condition. Honestly, Perry is 95 and even he doesn't know why he is still alive. I think it's because he's so stubborn. Up until 2 years ago he chopped his own firewood, and only within the past few months has needed living assistance at home. (He lives in his own house next to my uncle's.)
I'm no stranger to death. In the past few years both my grandmothers, one uncle, and my great-aunt have died. My uncle David almost died in a bus accident in Haiti. Both my parents were diagnosed last year with life-threatening illnesses. My aunt Phylis has been in the hospital the past month because her body won't heal itself after the 'life-saving' surgery she had (she's diabetic). Earlier this month Doc died. He was one of those hell-fire and brimstone type of preachers that people always make fun of, but he was a real person to me, not just a joke. He was my father's mentor. He performed both my sister's and brother's wedding ceremonies. I always thought if I ever got married some day, he would do mine too. He was a substitute grandparent for me and my siblings during a time when my parents were estranged from their folks.
I'm sorry that I'm so goth today. I haven't really had a chance to mourn for Doc yet, and Perry's latest hospital stay is effecting me more than I thought. I don't mean to whine about this stuff.
Have a good weekend, everybody.
The plan is to spend the night, but my grandfather is in the hospital. Depending on how he is doing, my mother might decide to come back early. This is my mother's step-dad. He's been my grandfather since I was 10. I think of him as my grandfather, even though I call him by his first name, Perry.
Perry is 95 years old. He's been in and out of the hospital a lot this past year. This time it is for congestive heart failure which my dad had last year. So I know even though it sounds scary, it is not a fatal condition. Honestly, Perry is 95 and even he doesn't know why he is still alive. I think it's because he's so stubborn. Up until 2 years ago he chopped his own firewood, and only within the past few months has needed living assistance at home. (He lives in his own house next to my uncle's.)
I'm no stranger to death. In the past few years both my grandmothers, one uncle, and my great-aunt have died. My uncle David almost died in a bus accident in Haiti. Both my parents were diagnosed last year with life-threatening illnesses. My aunt Phylis has been in the hospital the past month because her body won't heal itself after the 'life-saving' surgery she had (she's diabetic). Earlier this month Doc died. He was one of those hell-fire and brimstone type of preachers that people always make fun of, but he was a real person to me, not just a joke. He was my father's mentor. He performed both my sister's and brother's wedding ceremonies. I always thought if I ever got married some day, he would do mine too. He was a substitute grandparent for me and my siblings during a time when my parents were estranged from their folks.
I'm sorry that I'm so goth today. I haven't really had a chance to mourn for Doc yet, and Perry's latest hospital stay is effecting me more than I thought. I don't mean to whine about this stuff.
Have a good weekend, everybody.