It hasn't been very long since my grandfather passed away. I still miss him and most likely always will. I look back at all the people who meant something to me that are now gone, it still makes me sad for every one of them. I know there are still more to come and the people I still have in my life are that much more precious to me. I try a little harder, have a little more patience, take a little more time. It's impossible to describe the void that is left behind. I worry about did I do enough, say the right things, visit often enough, treat them right? Questions I'll never have the answers to.
Unlike the others that had passed before him, it was expected. He was 90 years old. He had just recovered from a broken hip and doing well on that front. I stayed with him almost every night from mid-December till the morning he passed. In the beginning it was just him and me. Later when it was apparent that a longer supervised recovery time was needed, my mother stepped in and started staying one night a week. Afterwards, it was two nights a week. Then it became obvious that he couldn't be alone during the day, do we divided up the week between us. Some nights, some days. Hospice came in toward the end to help out and so did their Chaplin. All was a God send.
It was still odd though, how he went from a great recovery to not being able to leave the bed. This was something different. It was a problem with the nerves in his spine. In all the time I had been staying with him, he never really complained that much. He treated the recovery as an inconvenience, something to be tolerated. One night that changed and so did everything else. He retired to bed early as usual, about 8:30 or so. I was watching TV, settling in for the evening. He had been in the bed for about an hour when he called out. I went flying down the hall. He was wincing in pain, one leg raised off the bed, and trying to reach it. I asked what was wrong. He said his leg felt like it was on fire, like pins and needle, that he had never felt anything like it before. Then he said what I will never forget, " I think I need to go to the hospital". My grandfather never says anything like that! I knew he truly was suffering. I called my parents, who live next door(though there is a lot of land between them), they both rushed over. We tried to get him into the car, finally me just picking him up(manhandling) and placing him in the front seat. I waited at his house.
After more doctors visits, more test, more x-rays, a CAT scan, and a stay in the hospital,, it was determined to be a nerve in his spine. The bone surrounding it was to fragile to operate. They could only manage the pain. Being 90 years old didn't help matters either. The whole family convened to determine what to do. We decided to follow his Living Will and keep him at home for as long as possible. The bulk of the care fell with my mother and I. She was more equipped than I. She is actually a retired Hospice nurse. My sister lives about 65 miles away with 3 very active kids and could only help out once a week. My father would run errands and such as needed. My parents church was amazing! Food, supplies and visits, it did my heart good.
My grandfather has always been a very head strong fella. He was still growing his own garden, keeping his own house up until he had broken his hip. This was a horrible set back for him. He didn't quite understand what was going on. Everyone that he asked would try to explain it to him. But with his Sundowners and seventh grade education, it never made sense to him. For the most part it wasn't to hard to take care of him. We were all glad to do it. Toward the end though, watching him wasting away, his mind increasing going, not wanting to eat, no longer able to stand, shower or even go to the bathroom by himself really took it's toll. He hardly looked like the grandfather of my youth. I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do to save him. I wanted to insulate him from the pain, restore his health and vitality. I prayed. I stayed. I cried. nothing was going to stop the inevitable. I knew it. The rest of the family knew it. All we could do was watch.
My grandfather died on Saturday, July 5th. That night was rough for my parents and I. About 10:30 or 11:00 Friday night, I called them. His blood pressure was very low. His breathing seemed almost non existent. His temperature was high. He hadn't had any urine output in almost three days. I thought the end was near. I gave him his liquid morphine and prayed and waited. The saddest, most heart wrenching thing was to listen to my mother, through her sobs, tell her father that it was okay to let go. That she would be okay. That it was okay to let the pain end. He hung on through the night. They left, exhausted. I stayed by his bedside till my mother returned the next morning at 7am.
I was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. I took the long way home to unwind. I took the dog out. Ate something, but can't remember what it was and went to bed. I glanced at the clock. It was 7:40am Saturday morning. I began my prayers. When I mentioned ending the suffering of my grandfather because he deserved better, the strangest, most peaceful feeling came over me briefly. I rolled over and went to sleep. At 8:10, my phone rang. I knew it was the phone call I didn't want, but I answered anyway. My grandfather, after his long life, his wrenching struggle to stay in this world was gone. He passed at 7:40 Saturday morning.
Unlike the others that had passed before him, it was expected. He was 90 years old. He had just recovered from a broken hip and doing well on that front. I stayed with him almost every night from mid-December till the morning he passed. In the beginning it was just him and me. Later when it was apparent that a longer supervised recovery time was needed, my mother stepped in and started staying one night a week. Afterwards, it was two nights a week. Then it became obvious that he couldn't be alone during the day, do we divided up the week between us. Some nights, some days. Hospice came in toward the end to help out and so did their Chaplin. All was a God send.
It was still odd though, how he went from a great recovery to not being able to leave the bed. This was something different. It was a problem with the nerves in his spine. In all the time I had been staying with him, he never really complained that much. He treated the recovery as an inconvenience, something to be tolerated. One night that changed and so did everything else. He retired to bed early as usual, about 8:30 or so. I was watching TV, settling in for the evening. He had been in the bed for about an hour when he called out. I went flying down the hall. He was wincing in pain, one leg raised off the bed, and trying to reach it. I asked what was wrong. He said his leg felt like it was on fire, like pins and needle, that he had never felt anything like it before. Then he said what I will never forget, " I think I need to go to the hospital". My grandfather never says anything like that! I knew he truly was suffering. I called my parents, who live next door(though there is a lot of land between them), they both rushed over. We tried to get him into the car, finally me just picking him up(manhandling) and placing him in the front seat. I waited at his house.
After more doctors visits, more test, more x-rays, a CAT scan, and a stay in the hospital,, it was determined to be a nerve in his spine. The bone surrounding it was to fragile to operate. They could only manage the pain. Being 90 years old didn't help matters either. The whole family convened to determine what to do. We decided to follow his Living Will and keep him at home for as long as possible. The bulk of the care fell with my mother and I. She was more equipped than I. She is actually a retired Hospice nurse. My sister lives about 65 miles away with 3 very active kids and could only help out once a week. My father would run errands and such as needed. My parents church was amazing! Food, supplies and visits, it did my heart good.
My grandfather has always been a very head strong fella. He was still growing his own garden, keeping his own house up until he had broken his hip. This was a horrible set back for him. He didn't quite understand what was going on. Everyone that he asked would try to explain it to him. But with his Sundowners and seventh grade education, it never made sense to him. For the most part it wasn't to hard to take care of him. We were all glad to do it. Toward the end though, watching him wasting away, his mind increasing going, not wanting to eat, no longer able to stand, shower or even go to the bathroom by himself really took it's toll. He hardly looked like the grandfather of my youth. I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do to save him. I wanted to insulate him from the pain, restore his health and vitality. I prayed. I stayed. I cried. nothing was going to stop the inevitable. I knew it. The rest of the family knew it. All we could do was watch.
My grandfather died on Saturday, July 5th. That night was rough for my parents and I. About 10:30 or 11:00 Friday night, I called them. His blood pressure was very low. His breathing seemed almost non existent. His temperature was high. He hadn't had any urine output in almost three days. I thought the end was near. I gave him his liquid morphine and prayed and waited. The saddest, most heart wrenching thing was to listen to my mother, through her sobs, tell her father that it was okay to let go. That she would be okay. That it was okay to let the pain end. He hung on through the night. They left, exhausted. I stayed by his bedside till my mother returned the next morning at 7am.
I was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. I took the long way home to unwind. I took the dog out. Ate something, but can't remember what it was and went to bed. I glanced at the clock. It was 7:40am Saturday morning. I began my prayers. When I mentioned ending the suffering of my grandfather because he deserved better, the strangest, most peaceful feeling came over me briefly. I rolled over and went to sleep. At 8:10, my phone rang. I knew it was the phone call I didn't want, but I answered anyway. My grandfather, after his long life, his wrenching struggle to stay in this world was gone. He passed at 7:40 Saturday morning.
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