Because I'm the kind of person who couldn't go water-skiing without feeling extremely guilty for the rest of my life, I went over to my grandma's house like a good little granddaughter. I walked in the front door to find my grandpa in the kitchen (where he usually was, hustling up some sort of sandwich or other snack) and went over to give him my usual hug and kiss. He was wearing a magenta polo shirt (of course my grandma was dressed in the same color) with one of his gold lapel pins (this time, it was a teddy bear) stuck to the collar of his shirt.
Instead of pulling away after I gave him his kiss, he grabbed me with his big arms and kissed my cheek twice, saying "I love you, Gigi." (Gigi is the name they call me -- let's not get excited.) This was so out-of-the-ordinary I had to stop for a second and replay it in my mind again. When I left that evening, he was sitting upstairs in his chair, watching TV on their big Zenith console television. I bent down and kissed his cheek, which was a little scratchy as his cheeks sometimes were at the end of the day, and caught a whiff his aftershave. Usually after giving him kisses, I could sometimes smell him hours later as the scent tended to stick to my nose.
Two evenings later just as he had crawled into bed for the night, he had a stroke. After having been in the emergency room with him and my grandma all night, my mom called me that Saturday morning to let me know what had happened. I met her at the pharmacy across the street from the hospital that afternoon so we could go in together (or so I wouldn't have to go in alone because hospitals terrify me). I climbed into her car and she gave me a tiny can of Dr. Pepper to drink, along with a small tennis ball she bought at the pet store for my cat. I didn't even bother to tell her that cats don't typically play with tennis balls; it was an insignificant detail at the moment. But I did know that tennis ball would always remind me of that day, so I hid it somewhere out-of-sight & out-of-mind and have since forgotten its location.
The stroke had hindered my grandpa's ability to swallow, therefore he wasn't able to take in any fluids or food. By Sunday afternoon, my mom called my sister and her husband in South Carolina and told them things weren't likely to improve and that they should probably drive home to see him. They threw a few things in suitcases and left immediately, arriving early Monday morning around 3 a.m.
My grandpa had been moved to the Palliative Care Unit in a nice, private room where we all could sit with him throughout the coming days. By the time he reached this stage, he was barely talking or moving, but kept giving us signs to let us know he was there. I'd go up and grab his big hand and my grandma would whisper in his ear, "Joey, it's Gigi," and he would squeeze my hand. She'd then ask, "How much do you love Gigi?" and he'd mumble back, "A bushel and a peck." Then she would always ask, "How much do you love me, Joey?" And he'd say "A bushel and TWO pecks."
We stayed in his room for the entire week, sometimes even overnight, sleeping in chairs and on benches, always thinking that the next minute could be his last. By the time Friday rolled around, we started whispering to him that we all loved him and that it was okay for him to go because we were tired of being in that damn hospital room.
We called it a night on Saturday and decided to go back to my grandma's house to get a bit more sleep that night, but my mom wanted to stay behind a bit and have some alone time with her Daddy. And that's when he left us. We had to laugh -- all that time we spent in that room together the whole week, and he decided to leave when he was alone with his daughter. But then we kind of smiled at the thought of why he probably hung on for so long: So we all could be together in one spot, spending time supporting and loving each other, and spending his last days laughing and crying together. He was a pretty clever guy.
That whole period of time was surreal. My grandpa had been around for my entire life -- how could he just disappear? How could I walk into their house and not see him sitting in his chair with the TV blasting Judge Judy or CNN? When I see their big Lincoln pulling into the driveway at my mom's house, how can my grandma be the only one in it? It was truly the hardest time of my life at that point.
As my grandma has been battling illness for more than two months now, I've been trying to prepare myself to go through it all over again, and quite frankly, I'm scared shitless. Why should I worry about it now when it hasn't even happened yet? Because I'm that kind of person; because I've been worrying about it ever since I learned what death was.
Letting go of our loved ones isn't easy for anyone; it's a pretty awful thing. While we can't even think of our lives without them, we can always remember what our lives were like with them. I can also look at myself and realize that a part of my grandparents will always live in me because their love, values and influences have helped shape who I am today. And to ensure that I will be safe tomorrow, I'll just have an extra angel watching me and loving me from a distance.
60th Anniversary, May 2008
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