October 1, 2009

• Grieving

  My 99-year-old great-grandfather is suffering from congestive heart failure and acute anemia. His 100th birthday is tomorrow, if he makes it until then. Apparently, it is not a matter of if he will die from this, but when. It could be a day or so, or it could be 3 weeks. I drove back to my hometown to be with my family last night at about 11pm, after I found out and cried hysterically for a good 45 minutes. This was followed by more crying on the drive there, and even more crying when I arrived (the kind where you can't breathe, where your heart hurts so bad you think you might die), then a terrible headache, and then, at last, sleep. This morning, I couldn't just sit around waiting for him to die. I didn't want to hear that he refused a blood transfusion (or anything to do with the hospital), refused anything that would help him get better or at least more comfortable. I couldn't listen to my mom tell me that I was his favorite and that I had the opportunity to go see him one last time while he was still mentally coherent. I couldn't listen to her tell me that he said, "Jesus, take me home" last night. I don't blame him for refusing treatment. He has had a very long, and very good life, and he belongs in the comfort of his home, with his family, rather than in a cold, sterile hospital with needles and tubes and heart monitors and people who don't know what a good man he is and how the world will be a worse place when he leaves it.

  So today I drove back home, to work. At least here I can concentrate on something besides how much this hurts. He is my favorite grandfather. He is the kindest, most loving, and most accepting man I have ever known. He is the only man who hasn't made me feel ashamed or hurt or that what I am is anything less than divine.

  This hurts so bad.

  • 2:11 pm
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