When I was over at mom and dad's on Wednesday evening, dad had me searching for a certain movie that he wanted me to watch with him. I had pulled all the DVDs and a pile of books out of the book case in my feeble attempt to find it. As I was sifting through DVDs and VHS the phone rang, it was the nursing home. They needed to speak to mom, but she had already left to go to church. I sat back down to my losing attempt at finding this movie and speculated with dad what that phone call could mean. We both were in agreeance that grandma had probably passed. A few minutes later I heard mom drive up, so I quickly put everything back where it belonged the best I could. Dad and I sort of both held our breaths waiting for mom to come in the room, when she did her face was twisted with grief and all she could say was "mama died." I went over to her and gave her a hug and held onto her for a minute and told her how sorry I was. I think at the moment we all sort of shifted from dad to mom. What we didn't realize was that dad was getting a front seat view of how his passing might look.
Grandma Mary stayed with dad while I drove mom down to grandpas. He had spent all day with grandma, so like mom, he had an idea that she might pass soon. When we walked into his house, mom went up to him and told him. You could tell that it was difficult news to hear. His face took on a whole new dimension, one of instant despair. I watched as mom tried to comfort him and decided it was best if I stepped outside for a moment. Before we left I went back in to say goodbye to him and patted him on the back. 87 year old men don't hug men... We proceeded to the nursing home where we found grandma lying in her bed with the sheets pulled up to her neck. She looked like she was sleeping, but her skin was a different color, there was no rosiness to it. Mom stood at the foot of her bed and gazed at her for a few minutes and then we went into the hallway and found a nurse. Hospice hadn't gotten there yet, but they were on the way.
We were taken to a empty room to sit in private. Mom's preacher soon came out to speak with mom. She cried and seemed to be focused on how she had been praying that "they" wouldn't go at the same time... Dad and Grandma... She was just so thankful that dad was still here. They prayed while I slipped out and went back to sit with grandma.
When we got back to the house, my sister Teresa and my niece brittany were there. I said "hey" to them and checked in with dad. He seemed to be lost in all of this. I can tell by his eyes when he's lost or despondent. I tried to imagine what he must have been feeling at that moment. Helpless to do anything... He was upset mainly because he couldn't comfort mom when she needed it most, and I imagine he felt pretty guilty for being on the cusp of leaving her too. I squeezed his knee, and rubbed his leg that was buried beneath soft blue microfiber and smiled at him in a way that told him I loved him. Wonder if that gives him comfort? I know it would me. Anyway, I went back to the back bedroom where mom was sitting thumbing through the phone book trying to find phone numbers. Her hands were shaking terribly, so I sat down beside her and took the book out of her hands and found the numbers for her. She had to call people to tell them about her mom passing. It has to be a hard thing to have to do, I don't look forward to it, but it has to be a release as well. You seem to be announcing that your loved one has gone, like uncorking a champagne bottle, all your emotions spilling out. You cry enough and you tell enough people till you eventually run out of tears and emotional energy. That is what happened to mom, eventually anyway.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
My grandmother passed away on January 20th at around 6:45 pm. She had a stroke back in the summer and never recovered from that. She was in the nursing home when she passed. Her 91 year old roommate, Ms. Odessa, sat with her while she struggled to hold on and read Bible verses to her. Ms. Odessa told us that while she read to her, grandma suddenly stopped struggling and she looked at her and she seemed to be at peace and she let go. Grandma and Grandpa had been together for 66 years. He is having a hard time with this.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Things are Changing...
I decided that since my dad sees me all week, I’d let my sisters spend the day on Saturday with him. I stayed at home and worked on my truck. That truck belonged to my dad for 10 years so being with it is like being with dad in a way. He has always taken great care of everything he’s owned, so doing the same thing is very important to me.
Dad's mom came back down to stay on Saturday, and his brother came to visit, so he had a house full. I guess I felt a little lost not being there, but I'm discovering a balance with my time with dad. I don't feel that sense of urgency that I did earlier on. I can’t really explain why that is. I feel like he’s in very capable hands and I feel confident that our relationship is overflowing with love and respect for each other. I guess what I’m saying is this, at first I was afraid that dad would leave during the night and I wouldn’t have felt like I had said or did enough for him. I think the daily visits that have accumulated over a span of a month has given me more than plenty of confidence that I have done everything and said everything. I still go over every day, with the exception of one.
I sat with dad on Sunday morning and had a good visit with him. I like Sundays with dad best of all. It's the only time that I can be by myself with him and it's a day that is very sacred to him and I get to share in that. Sundays have always been an awkward day to me. Most people go to church and get to be with their church families, which must be like having a room full of special friends that you just look forward to seeing each week. Then most people go home or go out to eat lunch with their families and their friends. For me Sundays are reminder of what I don’t get to experience. I know, faith and spirituality is a choice that we all make. Some of us take to it easier than others, some of us live lives that make it near impossible to have the luxury of that choice. Those of us who do live those impossible lives didn’t choose that, who would choose that. Anyway, Sundays with dad gives me the feeling of what Sundays should be like, and at least creates a stronger bond between dad and me.
This particular Sunday morning dad slept a little more than he usually does. I watched him from time to time, his chest rising and falling, comforting me. When dad was awake we talked about my childhood. I’m not sure how the subject came up, but he must have needed to talk about it. I constantly catch myself reassuring him that he was and is a wonderful father. I explained to him that my problems weren’t really from him and mom, but from external experiences. These included being harassed and bullied in elementary and middle school, to struggling with my sexuality at too early of an age and not being able to ask for help with that. It also didn’t help that I at an early age what being gay was and knowing that my parents and my church thought that being a homosexual was an abomination to God. Of course I never told my parents about that or went to them for help because I was too ashamed of who I was and what was happening. If I had of told them that I felt like I was a homosexual at 10 years old, they would have shipped me off to one of those camps where they make you straight. Of course I’ve told my mom and dad my feelings about that now, and they feel just awful that they couldn’t help me with that. I told my dad that as children we don’t understand why our parents do the things they do, or why they react so harshly when they shouldn’t. I told him that when we grow up we come to understand why they did things the way they did. When we, the children, grow up we are able to see the bad things that happened to our parents when they were children, and we see how that affects their ability to love and prevents them from nurturing us with positive mental health. Hopefully when we see that we can forgive and embrace them and reassure them that they did the best that they could. Still that doesn’t take their guilt away for being harsh and angry parents.
When dad and I talk about his past parenting to me and my sisters, he always cries remorsefully. I can’t take that away from him, I’ve tried. I think he feels close to me now because I reflect genuine compassion and acceptance and love upon him and that’s all one can do.
So as the morning progressed dad slept more. It wasn't long before mom was back from church. I said my usual goodbyes to dad and squeezed his knee like I always do, and headed home.
Dad's mom came back down to stay on Saturday, and his brother came to visit, so he had a house full. I guess I felt a little lost not being there, but I'm discovering a balance with my time with dad. I don't feel that sense of urgency that I did earlier on. I can’t really explain why that is. I feel like he’s in very capable hands and I feel confident that our relationship is overflowing with love and respect for each other. I guess what I’m saying is this, at first I was afraid that dad would leave during the night and I wouldn’t have felt like I had said or did enough for him. I think the daily visits that have accumulated over a span of a month has given me more than plenty of confidence that I have done everything and said everything. I still go over every day, with the exception of one.
I sat with dad on Sunday morning and had a good visit with him. I like Sundays with dad best of all. It's the only time that I can be by myself with him and it's a day that is very sacred to him and I get to share in that. Sundays have always been an awkward day to me. Most people go to church and get to be with their church families, which must be like having a room full of special friends that you just look forward to seeing each week. Then most people go home or go out to eat lunch with their families and their friends. For me Sundays are reminder of what I don’t get to experience. I know, faith and spirituality is a choice that we all make. Some of us take to it easier than others, some of us live lives that make it near impossible to have the luxury of that choice. Those of us who do live those impossible lives didn’t choose that, who would choose that. Anyway, Sundays with dad gives me the feeling of what Sundays should be like, and at least creates a stronger bond between dad and me.
This particular Sunday morning dad slept a little more than he usually does. I watched him from time to time, his chest rising and falling, comforting me. When dad was awake we talked about my childhood. I’m not sure how the subject came up, but he must have needed to talk about it. I constantly catch myself reassuring him that he was and is a wonderful father. I explained to him that my problems weren’t really from him and mom, but from external experiences. These included being harassed and bullied in elementary and middle school, to struggling with my sexuality at too early of an age and not being able to ask for help with that. It also didn’t help that I at an early age what being gay was and knowing that my parents and my church thought that being a homosexual was an abomination to God. Of course I never told my parents about that or went to them for help because I was too ashamed of who I was and what was happening. If I had of told them that I felt like I was a homosexual at 10 years old, they would have shipped me off to one of those camps where they make you straight. Of course I’ve told my mom and dad my feelings about that now, and they feel just awful that they couldn’t help me with that. I told my dad that as children we don’t understand why our parents do the things they do, or why they react so harshly when they shouldn’t. I told him that when we grow up we come to understand why they did things the way they did. When we, the children, grow up we are able to see the bad things that happened to our parents when they were children, and we see how that affects their ability to love and prevents them from nurturing us with positive mental health. Hopefully when we see that we can forgive and embrace them and reassure them that they did the best that they could. Still that doesn’t take their guilt away for being harsh and angry parents.
When dad and I talk about his past parenting to me and my sisters, he always cries remorsefully. I can’t take that away from him, I’ve tried. I think he feels close to me now because I reflect genuine compassion and acceptance and love upon him and that’s all one can do.
So as the morning progressed dad slept more. It wasn't long before mom was back from church. I said my usual goodbyes to dad and squeezed his knee like I always do, and headed home.
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