I was told very late today that you can never really get over losing somebody, you only learn how to live with the loss. The reason these words were said is because around 2:30pm CST today my grandpa gave up his earthly struggles and his existence is now in another less painful place.
I have an understanding and appreciation of the outlook on life of those that are spiritual but no matter how many times somebody (hospital staff, family, friends, people that knew my grandpa) tell *me* they are sorry, it will not bring dear grandpa back. I am not sorry he is gone because he no longer has to suffer. Now I can remember him for the man in my childhood. I chose to celebrate his life and remember all the valuable lessons that he taught me. I chose to do this with fond remembrance and with as much happiness and laughter that I can. It makes me happy to think that now I am special and have my own personal spirit watching over me.
My grandpa loved to play golf. These past few years he has only been able to cart around with my uncle and observe while he plays his game, giving pointers such as 'keep your head down' and 'watch your swing'.
My grandpa loved to fish. He would take us on the Concho when I was a little girl and worm up our poles while we caught stuff in the river. We always released our catches, but still ~ those are some very happy memories. Today in a black briefcase treasure box at my grandparents, I saw a few photos of his silhouette in fishing gear on some lake or river. These photos are beautiful. I want copies of them on my wall some day.
My grandpa loved to bowl. I remember his collection of shoes, gloves, bags and balls at the grandparents house. I also remember when he would watch bowling on Saturday morning on his TV while my cousins, brothers and I would watch cartoons while eating cereal in the sun room. I remember smelling my grandmas cooking all while hanging out at my grandparents place and all the aunts where chatting up with grandma in Spanish and my uncles were watching bowling with grandpa and talking about men stuff.
My grandpa loved his family. I took a drive with my grandparents back in April or May this year and in their car they have many sun worn photos of their family along the dashboard and various other parts of the car. I always felt the love and pride that he had for his children just by looking at grandpas possessions.
I remember his cowboy hats, his belt buckles and ostrich boots. My grandpa is a handsome man, my grandma is a beautiful lady and they made a beautiful family. Everyone in their family shares their head turning looks. Even today in the hospital, the nurses kept commenting that he didn't look anywhere near his age, and were surprised on how old some of us really are.
My grandpa loved to paint everything with glitter, even the ceiling. He would paint his name on anything he owned, usually in glitter. He painted lots of lawn ornaments and pots for the plants for my grandma, usually with her name in glitter too. I can't remember if he painted his lawn mower, but it wouldn't surprise me if he did. I know for sure the mower cover did have his name painted on it somewhere.
This morning, I woke up at my aunt and uncles house. My aunt left the house around 8am to get some more last minute shopping done. She was very quiet in her departure, but I watched her from under the covers, as I feigned sleep from the living room. I got up after she left, because I didn't want her worrying about making me breakfast when I knew she wanted to go shopping. My uncle came downstairs earlier than usual and I thought about running upstairs to be 'first' to take my shower, but my internet addiction got the better of me.
My nephew also wakes up and we try to get my cousin to go sleep upstairs. He was also sleeping in the living room, curled up with his xbox controller. He wasn't budging, so we let him rest as best we could with my nephew awake. Around 9:45 my aunt comes home. Her voice is shaken, she said that grandpa was going to emergency surgery and she wanted to leave ASAP.
I woke my cousin up and said lets go, it's grandpa. The four of us pile into the truck and drive to the hospital. My grandma was waiting for us alone in the waiting room, but not for long ~ as usual, we filled up the place in record time. The surgery was not going to happen right away, but it was scheduled between 1:30 and 3:30 and his nurse Janah would let us know more as the day went on. I called my mother and my brother to let them know the news.
My mother is sick, and lives 5 hours away. I recommended that she not come because she would not be able to see him in the ICU because of her sickness, but I tried to keep her as informed as possible, my brother and his wife work nights and were sleeping, but I left him VM.
Janah told me that his kidneys and liver were failing and mentioned something about acute failure of another valuable but replaceable organ, they also scheduled a dialysis later in the day, and for his surgery they would be performing their 3rd or 4th endoscopy in 3 days to determine the cause and location of his bleeding ulcer.
I couldn't say the words or ask the question "how much longer does he have". But I knew deep down that no matter her answer, it wouldn't be what I wanted to hear, that my grandpa was on a very short count down. She had also mentioned other complications, but I had heard enough, and just started nodding my head and telling her I understood. After everything, she was so nice and polite, she wanted to know if I had any more questions. I did not.
I went to my grandpa's side. His breathing was much more relaxed today and he seemed to be resting despite everything I had just been told and what I was looking at, he looked like he had a great morning. I clutched his arm and ran my fingers thru his soft hair. I know he knew who I was and I did feel that he was less tense than yesterday.
Before the surgery, Janah came out and had grandma sign some more forms about anesthesia. She said his surgeon would possibly be coming out after the surgery to let us know his vitals. This was around 1 pm. Around 2pm, I went to use the toilet and make myself some tea and as I am doing my sugar ritual I can't think enough to even open the sugar packets when my cousin comes in to tell me 'come here'.
I don't rush, I don't know why I have to come here, I'm not that interested in what was on the discovery channel in the waiting room. I take my time pouring my sugar into the foam cup, I don't bother to look at him to see how serious he is, or to see everyone of my family members standing up crowding around our surgeon in blue jeans. I take my time walking to throw away my suger packets, and as I look up, I see it all, and I feel stupid for messing around with the stupid sugar and the stupid tea and the stupid styrofoam cup.
Our surgeon tells us that he looked into my grandpas insides again and there is nothing that can be done that wouldn't be prolonging the inevitable. Our doctor made a beautiful speech that I will forever remember, but he didn't have to tell me. He said his words with confidence and with utmost reassurance that everything had been done that they could possibly do. He talked about my grandpa as if he were a close golfing buddy and not as if he were a sequence of numbers on a sheet of paper. He said that grandpa had received the kind of care he hoped to have when his time had come. He spoke to us like a friend of the family. I've long been convinced of what he was trying to tell my family and I will forever admire my grandma for the courage to make the decision that she made, which was to take him off of life support.
Back in grandpas room, my family stood gathered around him while some new hospital staff faces came quietly into the room, made their way around the machines and quietly started flipping switches and pulling tubes from grandpa. I watched as the color in his face started changing. I saw his chest same as earlier this morning in a very peaceful breathing pattern. I listened as everybody said their goodbyes. There was so much love and closeness in the room. I watched his heart rate lines fluctuate wildly until the hospital staff came in and shut off the display.
I could see my grandpa in shadow form from the corner of my eye in one of the many empty chairs putting on his golf cleats, filling his pockets with fishing lures, and filling up his magical bag ~with his name in glitter on it of course~ with golf clubs, fishing lines, bowling balls and everything else he loved. I saw his shiny belt buckle and his cowboy hat. He stood up to walk and when I turned to look at him, he was gone.
Not more than 20 minutes after our surgeon gave us the news was grandpa gone. One thing that I remembered about him was that he was always in a hurry and even in his death he wasted no time. I could just picture him rushing himself along all while mumbling loud enough so we could all hear about how excited he was about where he was gong. I know he was in a hurry to start using his new legs!! I know he was in a hurry to start that first round of golf, to catch that big fish, to bowl that perfect game, and when he could find the time paint a fence somewhere. He saw no reason to waste anymore time in his earthly body.
I am glad it happened so quickly. I am glad that in his last days he didn't seem to suffer. I am glad that all of this happened in the hospital, and not when he was home alone with grandma. I am glad he didn't have to suffer as some seniors do, alone in a hospice, or have a prolonged and slow and drawn out miserable death. Again I am forever grateful for grandmas heroic decision. I admire her strength and courage to let go. I admire her selflessness in not wanting 'that inhumane machine life' for grandpa.
I am still going to give my blood, because there are other grandpas out there that need it. I believe all of the grandsons are going to be pallbearers. I want more than anything to photograph his services. More than anything I don't want anybody to give me dirty looks. This past weekend while grandpa was in his room and while he was passing I took pictures. One family member gave me a dirty look and gestured No. I stopped. More than one family member want copies of those images. My mother was not here for his passing, neither was her sister, neither was her brother. At the very least if they chose to ever see these images they will appreciate them for what they are and know that he was truly at peace and comfortable, even if they could not be there themselves.
I want to do this not being I am trying to be disgusting or morbid, but because I see the love and emotion and I am not the only one that wants to remember these days. I take beautiful photos. I want and most of the family want to remember these last days. Is that too much to ask for?
As my last, please instead of telling me that you're sorry for my loss, (but my family will appreciate those words as well as any prayers or good wishes you send their way) and If your grandpas are still around when you see them again, be sure to give them a big hug for me (grandmas too) .. Grandpa had the best last days he could have had under any circumstances and he did recover, just not in the way I was hoping. He will live on on our memories with my family forever. Thank you for reading to the end.
My cousin wrote about grandpa here. Please take the time to read his as well.
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