The beginning and the end

Today we went to see Grandma D. Grandma D. is in rehab after a stroke and a couple of hospital stays. Though she hasn't smoked in 20 years, the 30 years she did smoke has given her emphysema. She has about 1/2 of one kidney functioning, the other is shriveled and dead. The artery off the aorta feeding her good kidney is pretty occluded. Her doctor has said that she's on all the medications she can be on. They regularly check her blood pressure, blood sugar and her blood for cumiden levels; all of which get out of whack with some regularity.

Dad called. Grandma didn't remember that we spent forty minutes with her this morning. He thinks we need to spend as much time with her as we can, she's not long for the world he thinks. She's been tired for a week. She's not eating. Her voice has dropped into a bass. There is a lump on the side of her neck, a bulging blood vessel they think (I don't know what that means).

When we saw her this morning her bed was lowered all the way to the ground. The boys sat on the edge of her bed. I couldn't help, but notice them at the beginning of life and her near the end. Such a contrast. She looked at them and smiled. She loves to have them visit. They have no idea they may not see much more of her, that she may die. They don't care because they don't know what it means. Heck, I don't know if I know what it means.

Four Generations

Some of my earliest memories are of my Grandma D. Staying at her house in the country, her waving goodbye until we were out of sight as we drove away, watching Love Boat and Fantasy Island. She taught me to play solitaire. I was screwing around with a motorcycle on her porch once and it fell on me; the adults had to come and pick it off of me. When my mother threw me out of the house in the rain, it's her house I went to and I stayed there until I moved to Arizona with my Dad. I remember her watching me in the cafeteria where she worked an off-shift and me watching her make all that food. The guys at the cafeteria loved her.

My Dad tells stories of when he was a kid. My Dad's step-dad knocked my Grandma D around. I think my Dad hated him. His step-dad drank. One time his step-dad drank away his paycheck. All they had to eat for a week was Lima Beans.

My Dad never finished high school. He left home and went into the army. Dad was in Viet Nam at 17. When he came home he told his step-dad that if he ever knocked Grandma D around again he would kill him. I'm guessing shortly after is when Grandma D got divorced.

I love my Grandma D. I hate what is happening to her.