Hospice Day 8

You’ve been here for over a week. You’ve barely had anything to drink, and nothing to eat. I don’t know how you are still breathing. Today, Maureen Daily came in and sang hymns for you that you love. She has such a beautiful voice. I was laying in the pull-out bed, and couldn’t sit up. But I was listening the whole time, while mom sang along with her and you seemed to sing along too.

Brad also came by to see you. He’s been such a good friend of yours. It’s hard for him to go to a hospice, because his wife died in one. He is still depressed about that. But you gave Brad the joy and comfort he needed after his wife passed. You were a blessing to him, and I know he appreciates that more than you can know.

Leigh brought your friend, Trudy today as well. I’m not sure how close you guys were, but she said some very kind things to you, and about you. You’ve had so many visitors and phone calls and people that don’t want to see you go.

Grandma, you’ve always been so strong. Relentless even. The doctors said you were going to die six months ago because of liver failure, even though you’re not a drinker. But you came back from that, a miraculous recovery. You were doing so well, walking around, with and without your walker. You even bought a new car! A Subaru of course. I know you’re strong, but grandma, it’s time to let go. Mom and I have been spending the night ever since you entered the hospice. I came home to sleep one night after work. And I had to come home tonight.

I feel bad for leaving mom alone. But I think tonight is the night. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay there. I had to do this for me. I said my goodbyes, and you heard them, I know. But if you go tomorrow, that’s okay too. Easter Sunday. The 31st. Just like G.G. who died on January 31st a year ago. If you’re still there tomorrow, I’ll come. But if you’re not, I know where you’ll be.

I’m so tired. Exhausted. Mom, your only child, has been there with you this whole time. I can only imagine how she’s feeling. I had to call work and let them know I couldn’t come in this morning. I thought you’d be gone by then. But you’re still breathing. We’re thinking the funeral’s going to be on Friday.

Let go Grandma, Please, let go. Go gently into that goodnight. Don’t rage against the dying of the light. You don’t need to suffer anymore. You don’t need to sustain these worldly problems on your shoulders anymore. Just think of the relief.

I love you, grandma. I’ll be singing for you tomorrow.

Journal Entry: Hospice Day 3

She’s in a lot of pain, and moving around, agitated. She’s talked a little bit. She has weird chunks in her mouth. She has swelling in her hand. “Will you take it off please” is the clearest thing I’ve heard her say tonight, regarding her broken shoulder/arm on the pillow. “Help me, Hurry,” is what she’s saying. She just asked for water.

Maybe I should blog about it. Maybe people will have some words of wisdom or advice. Maybe it would be nice to share my story. It’s a hard story to tell. It’s a hard story to live. I don’t know how to describe it, how I lost G.G. (Great Grandma) one year ago, and now I’m losing my grandma. In the worst way imaginable. Maybe I should keep it to myself for a while.

I just don’t know what to do. I need something to keep me busy while I’m here. Maybe read, write some more. But write about what?

Dear Grandma,

Soon, you will find the sunlight over those rocky hills. All of your pain will be dissolved into the brisk air. You will feel the warmth of God’s breath on your forehead. You will have the relief to take a full, deep breath again.

I wish I could take all of your pain, and put it into me instead. You always took care of me. You always knew what to say when I came to you for advice. I know I was stubborn sometimes, and didn’t visit you enough, and I wish I could take it back.

You gave me your car, the ’93 Subaru Legacy when I was 16. I still have childhood memories of you taking me to pre-school in that car, always having a sucker for me in the glove box when you picked me up.

You are an example to live by. You changed so many people’s lives. You accepted everybody, no matter their race, religion, ethnicity, socio-economic status- and you always had humor and kind words to cheer someone up.

I accept your departure from this earth, into the other realm. I can only Imagine. What it will be like to meet Jesus. And your mother, brother, father, grandfather.

I will be okay. We will be okay. I just don’t want to see you suffer anymore.

I know where you are going, and I know that you will be with me always and forever. Give a big kiss to G.G. for me.

Love,

Jordy

I miss you…

I miss the way

your pretty blue eyes

look at me

without even having to say

you’re beautiful.

I miss the way

you tell me that

i’m pretty. and amazing. and free spirited.

I miss our rants about work

I miss our stupid disagreements.

I miss adios motherfucker

and I miss the movies.

I wish that I could change myself somehow,

I wish I could be happy.

I wish that life was easy

like it was when I was seven.

I’m scared of growing up,

even though I am a grown up.

I miss the way you accepted me,

no matter who I was.

It’s raining outside

and all I want to do is stand in it.

to cleanse the past, and the present

and my missing you.

You’ll always be in my heart. ❤

 

Random Thoughts

Do you ever wonder…

what you would

become

if you

did

not blog

did not tweet

did not facebook?

What if…

thoughts,

your stream

of conscious,

could be made

visible, online, for

all to see? Would you

be embarrassed? Or

embrace it? Do

our thoughts

really,

truly,

belong

to ourselves

anymore? What

is writing becoming?

What is writing?

What are

your

thoughts?