I Feel For Ya, Kid. It Is Ugly
This past week my aunt Diane and my cousin Faith were in town from Colorado.
A brief background on my family before I go on. On my dad's side of the family, there were for many years five grandkids: me, the eldest of the five, my two brothers, and my two cousins. When a senior in high school, the youngest of the five, cousin Kyle, was in eighth grade. We all grew up together and were of one generation.
Then, later in life, my Aunt Diane got married, and had Faith, a pleasant surprise since Aunt Diane was in her early forties. I was in college when I got the phone call from home that she was expecting.
Anyway, Faith is now six, pushing seven, and is as precocious as you would expect a single child of a woman who had resigned herself to childlessness to be. While in town (Aunt Diane's husband had to stay in Colorado for work, I believe) my grandma got sick, and was hospitalized. This is becoming more common. My grandmother has no real disease, but she is in her mid-eighties, and her body is starting to wear down in a shallow decline that hopefully can avoid for a few more years that irreversable steep decline from which there is no hope of return on this temporal plane.
Off from work, I went to visit with my aunt, cousin Faith, and my grandfather. We then went to the hospital to visit my grandmother. When we arrived at the door to my grandmother's hospital room, my aunt said to Faith, "Honey, why don't you wait out here." I entertained Faith for a minute or two while Aunt Diane, who happens to be a nurse, went in. Scoping grandma out myself from out in the hall while distracting the girl, I saw a sight sadly common to hospitalized octogenarians.
Tubes in her nose, IVs in her arms. Bruises from needles in aged skin. A wrinkled woman rasping through an obscenly gaping mouth with dried spittle on the lips; shaking slightly in her movements. But her eyes were lucid, and her speech, while labored, was essentially coherent.
So with a nod from my aunt, I brought in Faith, and we visited with my grandma.
The day before they had also visited my grandmother, and while my above description may not be pleasant, that day grandma had been much much worse, according to my aunt.
For Faith, age 6, that previous day was her first experience with death, or the ugly decline that precedes it, and had spent the rest of the day horribly upset and crying.
However the day that I visited, Faith was much more of a trooper. Maybe it was because grandma was better. Maybe Faith had acclimated herself to the ugliness. Kids are resilient creatures, and we don't give them enough credit on their toughness. Either way, at a later time my aunt and I talked about grandma and such, and Faith's introduction to one of the crueller facts of life.
My aunt's a nurse, and deals with death and sickness on a regular basis. My grandfather, an experienced man at his age, is a walking example of farmer's stoicism. He would never show a vulnerable emotion under any circumstance. And I, I have been through this before, with a great-grandmother, an uncle, and a few elderly neighbors and friends.
The ugliness of death is something we have seen before, and though somewhat used to it, not immune from its horror. It was a day later, lying in bed, when the wind was suddenly, unexpectedly, and completely knocked out of me as I contemplated it.
My grandmother, who I love dearly, will be better soon, and out of the hospital. But her decline has been slowly continuing for a few years now. Like I wrote earlier, it is preventing her from sliding down on that slippery slope that is the main goal. She should have a few more good years, but who knows?
Faith was introduced to it and cried her eyes out all night. I do not blame her one bit.
A brief background on my family before I go on. On my dad's side of the family, there were for many years five grandkids: me, the eldest of the five, my two brothers, and my two cousins. When a senior in high school, the youngest of the five, cousin Kyle, was in eighth grade. We all grew up together and were of one generation.
Then, later in life, my Aunt Diane got married, and had Faith, a pleasant surprise since Aunt Diane was in her early forties. I was in college when I got the phone call from home that she was expecting.
Anyway, Faith is now six, pushing seven, and is as precocious as you would expect a single child of a woman who had resigned herself to childlessness to be. While in town (Aunt Diane's husband had to stay in Colorado for work, I believe) my grandma got sick, and was hospitalized. This is becoming more common. My grandmother has no real disease, but she is in her mid-eighties, and her body is starting to wear down in a shallow decline that hopefully can avoid for a few more years that irreversable steep decline from which there is no hope of return on this temporal plane.
Off from work, I went to visit with my aunt, cousin Faith, and my grandfather. We then went to the hospital to visit my grandmother. When we arrived at the door to my grandmother's hospital room, my aunt said to Faith, "Honey, why don't you wait out here." I entertained Faith for a minute or two while Aunt Diane, who happens to be a nurse, went in. Scoping grandma out myself from out in the hall while distracting the girl, I saw a sight sadly common to hospitalized octogenarians.
Tubes in her nose, IVs in her arms. Bruises from needles in aged skin. A wrinkled woman rasping through an obscenly gaping mouth with dried spittle on the lips; shaking slightly in her movements. But her eyes were lucid, and her speech, while labored, was essentially coherent.
So with a nod from my aunt, I brought in Faith, and we visited with my grandma.
The day before they had also visited my grandmother, and while my above description may not be pleasant, that day grandma had been much much worse, according to my aunt.
For Faith, age 6, that previous day was her first experience with death, or the ugly decline that precedes it, and had spent the rest of the day horribly upset and crying.
However the day that I visited, Faith was much more of a trooper. Maybe it was because grandma was better. Maybe Faith had acclimated herself to the ugliness. Kids are resilient creatures, and we don't give them enough credit on their toughness. Either way, at a later time my aunt and I talked about grandma and such, and Faith's introduction to one of the crueller facts of life.
My aunt's a nurse, and deals with death and sickness on a regular basis. My grandfather, an experienced man at his age, is a walking example of farmer's stoicism. He would never show a vulnerable emotion under any circumstance. And I, I have been through this before, with a great-grandmother, an uncle, and a few elderly neighbors and friends.
The ugliness of death is something we have seen before, and though somewhat used to it, not immune from its horror. It was a day later, lying in bed, when the wind was suddenly, unexpectedly, and completely knocked out of me as I contemplated it.
My grandmother, who I love dearly, will be better soon, and out of the hospital. But her decline has been slowly continuing for a few years now. Like I wrote earlier, it is preventing her from sliding down on that slippery slope that is the main goal. She should have a few more good years, but who knows?
Faith was introduced to it and cried her eyes out all night. I do not blame her one bit.
posted by Lee | 4:22 PM
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