Life's been so, so hard lately.
I am at the end of my frayed and filthy rope, in a way I haven't really been before, despite all the divorce nastiness and the poverty. I found myself standing in the grocery store today, tears running down my face, shaking, completely confused as to why I was there. Everything seems huge and overwhelming-both terribly important and yet totally meaningless and insignificant at the same time.
Because while some things have been good- (VCB and I took his kids to visit his sister last weekend and had a lot of fun; Jackass has been more decent than usual and even paid some child support; VCB has done his damndest to distract me) mostly, it's been awful.
The universe decided that it was time to slap me back to an unyielding reality, apparently. I have decided to embrace, again, the firm belief that for me, for now, hope is a total waste of time, and low expectations mean less disappointment. Exhibit A- My grandfather is well and truly dying. I have a funeral in my immediate future that will probably be one of the most unbearably painful experiences I will ever have. Exhibit B- The "maybe" very good thing I posted about, of course, fell through.
My grandfather had held his own for about ten days after I came home. He was discharged from the hospital and went to a rehab facility to gain some strength. And for a while, he did. But just as we were told would happen, the pneumonia came back with a vengeance, and he was readmitted to the hospital after less than two weeks. That's where he is now, barely clinging to life in the care of hospice workers who say he has only a few days at best.
Because Jackass had lobbied to switch the weeks of visitation, I was able to go back up to see my grandfather again. I was able to sit by his bedside for hours and hold his hand, touch him, talk to him, soothe him and advocate for his wishes with his medical team and my family. It was heartbreaking, exhausting, and stressful. I only slept for about 8 hours in 4 days, bracketed by 12 hour drives.
Now I am home, jet lagged as hell and having anxiety attacks, while I wait for the call that he's gone. It's completely surreal yet horribly true. But also, life goes on. So I have to get the kids decked out for school tomorrow, and take care of work stuff, and just catch up on LIFE. I haven't bothered to unpack yet. The mail's piled up. The house is a wreck. Being away from home for most of the month, with another trip ahead of me makes sitting on my on sofa in my PJ's tonight feel like a luxury.
It's a beautiful cool evening. I have the windows and doors open to the night sounds, and music playing. My grandparents would sit in the living room at night like this, watching CMT with the screens letting in the breeze. Grandma always had a revolver beside her, a Diet Dr. Pepper and a People magazine. She smelled like baby powder and dryer sheets. Grandpa would sit in his recliner, drinking a PBR, reading the NRA magazine, and he'd try to turn the channel to WWF wrestling when Grandma wasn't looking.
The shirt I put on for bed tonight was last washed by my Grandmother, and I wore it in the hospital my last night with my Grandfather. I pulled a chair up by his bed, laid my head on his mattress, and held his hand. It smells like them, like my memories.
No comments:
Post a Comment