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Published On: Apr 01, 2006 11:42 PM
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Apr 01, 2006 11:42 PM
Growing Old Sucks
Or, My Visit with my
Grandparents
[Caution:
Depressing]
I went home over Spring Break to see my grandparents in their new digs, a retirement facility about 5 minutes from my dad and 2 from my mom in Mukilteo. I had last seen them a year ago in Arizona. They had lived there quite a while in a condo my dad bought in Peoria (NW of Phoenix), but Grandpa had tired of it being too warm for him to walk, and I think Grandma just tired of it. Grandma told dad that she wanted to go home, and a two-bedroom apartment opened up for them in February.
When I last saw them, they seemed fine. Not great, but fine. Grandpa's hearing has been crap for quite a while now, but his hearing aid works well enough. Grandpa is the kind of man I am not: quiet, hard-working, strong. We've never really been close, necessarily, but he can come up with digs here and there that prove I got some DNA from him. He's in his mid-80s and still takes tons of walks and is intellectually alert. Grandma also was fine, but she had also deteriorated over the past few years. She's had multiple knee and hip surgeries in recent years, and I think they've tired her. Also, there's some speculation that, gauging from her razor sharp mind being a bit less sharp and her florid handwriting getting sketchier, she may have had a slight stroke.
I have been incredibly lucky to have parents that got knocked up so early. Well, I don't know that it really worked out for them, since they're divorced, but one of the benefits for me has been being around my grandparents for so long. My other grandmother, Dolly, was a hardworking, chain-smoking, great old dame. She died my first year in grad school, and I remember not really crying much when mom told me over the phone that she had passed (which had been long in coming); however, the waterworks opened up when I told my Grandma Pat, probably because it hit me that I wouldn't have my grandparents forever, which meant that Grandma Pat wouldn't be around forever.
And this trip really started to lead me down that path--the path that I really don't want to head down: the path that leads me to the death of Grandma Pat. She has lost a lot of weight. She repeats herself like she never used to before. When I asked her if she'd like to go for a drive down by the ferry, she said that she didn't really feel like it. She has not lost the will to live by any stretch. There is still an energy to her that is unlike any other person's. And, there is still the mind there. And there is still the humor and the love she has for her family.
But she is not the same person. She's not the woman who held me in her lap and rocked back and forth, telling me stories and cutting apples. She's not the woman who wrote me a letter every week for my entire life until now. She's not the woman who overnighted me a package of her amazing applesauce in college because I asked her to. She's not the woman who knew exactly how to deal with everything perfectly when life was sucking.
I am angry about this. I now know that she will die, and probably relatively soon. I hate that because it's not fair.
We have all lost people--some have lost people relatively recently who are their Grandma Pat. I am not saying that I'm special or that she is special. OK, I am, or at least saying the latter.
It's not fair because
because it's not.
Damnit, if I'm crying now.
OK, this is ridiculous and stupid. I shouldn't even post this, but since I've already done all of this I might as well.
And, thanks in advance for positive love from around the world, but I don't need any dire comments or emails. I just needed to get this out. In lieu of sorrys, write your Grandma Pat a letter, whether she is living or dead, to tell her you love her. I did that today and it felt really good.
I went home over Spring Break to see my grandparents in their new digs, a retirement facility about 5 minutes from my dad and 2 from my mom in Mukilteo. I had last seen them a year ago in Arizona. They had lived there quite a while in a condo my dad bought in Peoria (NW of Phoenix), but Grandpa had tired of it being too warm for him to walk, and I think Grandma just tired of it. Grandma told dad that she wanted to go home, and a two-bedroom apartment opened up for them in February.
When I last saw them, they seemed fine. Not great, but fine. Grandpa's hearing has been crap for quite a while now, but his hearing aid works well enough. Grandpa is the kind of man I am not: quiet, hard-working, strong. We've never really been close, necessarily, but he can come up with digs here and there that prove I got some DNA from him. He's in his mid-80s and still takes tons of walks and is intellectually alert. Grandma also was fine, but she had also deteriorated over the past few years. She's had multiple knee and hip surgeries in recent years, and I think they've tired her. Also, there's some speculation that, gauging from her razor sharp mind being a bit less sharp and her florid handwriting getting sketchier, she may have had a slight stroke.
I have been incredibly lucky to have parents that got knocked up so early. Well, I don't know that it really worked out for them, since they're divorced, but one of the benefits for me has been being around my grandparents for so long. My other grandmother, Dolly, was a hardworking, chain-smoking, great old dame. She died my first year in grad school, and I remember not really crying much when mom told me over the phone that she had passed (which had been long in coming); however, the waterworks opened up when I told my Grandma Pat, probably because it hit me that I wouldn't have my grandparents forever, which meant that Grandma Pat wouldn't be around forever.
And this trip really started to lead me down that path--the path that I really don't want to head down: the path that leads me to the death of Grandma Pat. She has lost a lot of weight. She repeats herself like she never used to before. When I asked her if she'd like to go for a drive down by the ferry, she said that she didn't really feel like it. She has not lost the will to live by any stretch. There is still an energy to her that is unlike any other person's. And, there is still the mind there. And there is still the humor and the love she has for her family.
But she is not the same person. She's not the woman who held me in her lap and rocked back and forth, telling me stories and cutting apples. She's not the woman who wrote me a letter every week for my entire life until now. She's not the woman who overnighted me a package of her amazing applesauce in college because I asked her to. She's not the woman who knew exactly how to deal with everything perfectly when life was sucking.
I am angry about this. I now know that she will die, and probably relatively soon. I hate that because it's not fair.
We have all lost people--some have lost people relatively recently who are their Grandma Pat. I am not saying that I'm special or that she is special. OK, I am, or at least saying the latter.
It's not fair because
because it's not.
Damnit, if I'm crying now.
OK, this is ridiculous and stupid. I shouldn't even post this, but since I've already done all of this I might as well.
And, thanks in advance for positive love from around the world, but I don't need any dire comments or emails. I just needed to get this out. In lieu of sorrys, write your Grandma Pat a letter, whether she is living or dead, to tell her you love her. I did that today and it felt really good.
Posted: Sat - April 1, 2006 at 11:42 PM |