Health knowledge made personal
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Happy Thursday.
I’ve had a couple hard days and pointing out the happiness from my day doesn’t seem right.
For the second time in 8 months, I’m waiting for a phone call informing me to book tickets home for a funeral. This time it’s my grandpa. He broke his arm, then he broke his hip (ironically while at the doctor for his arm), he had surgery on his hip. On Sunday he had a massive heart attack and now we are waiting… My grandma died in June. He said himself he wouldn’t live a year past her. They both lived long, great lives. I’ve been so blessed and learned so much from both of them. While my grandma taught me pure kindness, my grandpa taught me perseverance. My grandpa grew up on a farm in Southern Minnesota and lied on his forms to enter the service at age 17. He was miles away from Pearl Harbor and survived on a life raft while everyone else from his ship died. He raised my two aunts and dad while working nights on the railroad. He was an alcoholic. I only mention his alcoholism because it shows his perseverance. He was suuuuper active in AARP (he used a word processor to write the newsletter up until last week!) and loved to learn about new technology. When I called him a couple weeks ago he was gooooshing about the wonders of powerpoint! He had the sharpest memory and told the most detailed stories.
Waiting for death is a weird thing. It’s weird to suddenly, actively want someone you love to die. Maybe that sounds harsh but I don’t want him in pain and he is more then ready. He isn’t really living. It is really hard because my sister is in Peru with very limited communication. My heart goes out for her. It’s hard not being near my family and I think I have a hard time processing that he is gone. I still expect my grandma to be around. My birthday is on Sunday and I got a card in the mail today. Suddenly I realized that I would never get another birthday card from my grandparents and it hit me. It’s the little things that my human mind can process about death that really gets me.
Times like this make me realize how blessed I am. How many other people can say they went to Sunday dinners at their grandparents a couple times a month up until college? How many people spent the night at their grandparents house and played games until the wee hours? I am so, so blessed.
Maybe it’s hard to think of people as gone when they die. I mean my grandpa is part of me. His stories are my stories. His genes are my genes. I can only hope that his perseverance is my perseverance. He isn’t really gone because I will remember him always.
xoxo,
Emily
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