Today Maya Angelou passed away. I have been deeply touched by how many people have taken time to pay tribute to this woman. Some people have the ability to make us love them without ever having met them. Maya was that sort of lady. I think this quote explains it perfectly.
I have always said that grief is a sneaky bitch. She finds you in moments when you least expect it. Perhaps it was reflecting upon my grandpa the other day in honor of Memorial Day. Perhaps it's just that death reminds us of loss. Sometimes we bring sad memories to the present when we need to cry.
Whatever the reason, today I keep going back to a hospice room in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin. My grandpa had myeloma and passed away in 2002, the summer before my wedding. The disease moved so quickly through his body. Months before he was in hospice, we had no idea his body was waging an internal war against itself.
Just like other people's children don't age if we don't see them, people who are seriously ill aren't truly at risk when we don't witness it personally. I had gone to McGregor to visit my grandparents, knowing my grandpa was doing radiation for myeloma, but not understanding the severity of the situation.
While I was there, my grandpa was moved into the hospital, and then into hospice that same day. I cannot explain what reality felt like when it hit me, except to say that I suspect waves crashing down on you and carrying you to the ocean floor might be gentler.
I went from the mental imagine of this tall, solid, loving teddy bear of a man to the reality of this frail, sick, morphine taking incoherent soul with tattooed markings for his radiation treatment who was ready to leave us. They were doing the radiation not to heal him, but to sustain his current state and inhibit further deterioration. To mentally bargain with God for a miracle and discover that there was none to be had was heartrending.
Grandpa had me come into his hospice room with him and gram. I sat by him in bed, holding his hand. I was afraid to hug him (his ribs hurt so much).I wanted to take the health inside me and infuse it into him. I would have given him some of my years if I could have. I couldn't do more than hold his hand. Humanity is beyond humbling.
He apologized to me that he couldn't live longer. He was sorry he wouldn't see my wedding (which was in a few months). He apologized to me for not helping me when I was a child (I had written asking for my grandparents help and they weren't able emotionally to recognize or give it within an incredibly painful situation at the time). My grandpa had shame over not being there for me. I realized as he was talking to me that he was saying goodbye. Truly goodbye.
I wish I had been coherent enough to tell him how deeply he had impacted my life. He was the only man who hugged me and made me feel safe as a kid. My first cup of coffee was just like he took it - coffee heavy on the milk, drunk on the radiator in their home. I watched endless Cubs baseball games not because I like baseball, but because I loved my grandpa and he loved the Cubs. He was the guy who came to Maryland to rescue me when my East Coast experience failed miserably. He bought me a car when I needed one desperately. He was always pulling a $20 out of a pocket to give me with no good reason beyond he wanted me to smile. He made me giggle like a schoolgirl every single time I saw him. He taught me to value education as provided not just via school books but through life experience. He had a generous nature that inspired me deeply. He was such a special man.
I was overwhelmed with grief and couldn't find my words. I am never without words. They abandoned me in a swell of emotion. He said what he needed to and asked to nap. I gave him a gentle hug, managed to tell him I loved him, and stumbled to the door.
I walked out of the room with my grandma crying quietly in the corner. I have never seen my grandma cry. When I closed the door, it hit me. It all hit me. It was my last conversation with my grandpa ever. I knew it would be. I fell on the ground sobbing. I couldn't take a step.
I was engaged at the time. My now ex-husband was there. He tried to offer some comfort but the grief intimidated him. He was embarrassed I was crying in public, I think. I remember feeling more alone than I had ever been in my life that day. As much as it can help to share grief (and more so a love of the life and memories of the person you are grieving), it is also something you have to get through alone. It was horrific.
My grandpa passed away a bit over a week later. He said goodbye to his brother who was the last to visit him and then left us. I like to think he chose his exit.
This weekend my uncle's military funeral will be in the same cemetery in McGregor where my grandpa's military funeral was held. It's going to hurt both to see my family's pain for the loss of my uncle, but also because I'll feel the echo of my grandpa's passing there. All these years later, he is still deeply missed.
Sarah McLachlan - I Will Remember You
No comments:
Post a Comment