Please know that these are past-dated posts. I'm warning you. This post is painful to read at times. Read at your own desire.
-Becky
January 23, 2009
For several hours, I have tried to compile this post. I have it written out perfectly in my head; however, when I go to type it, my thoughts freeze and my fingers sit still.
The past thirty six hours, although painfully real, still seem much like a dream. My mind replays so many of the things from those hours. From the pounding of my heart with the initial call to the visions my eyes saw, to the words I was sure to speak, even if only to the body that once held his soul, will remain with me forever.
Through it all, I tried to separate myself from reality, as if I was simply peering in on someone else's grief. Although short-lived, it did help me "hold it together" for a while.
I'm not sure how many of us "knew" what the outcome would be this particular day. What I do know is that I felt it hours before it happened. Intuition, perhaps, but I just had this nagging feeling that wouldn't subside. Of course I didn't want to be right. The outcome for those left behind is painfully devistating.
I remember the initial call on Sunday morning. The pounding of my heart was so strong that I was certain it would beat right out of my chest. The urgency to get there was strong. And yet, once there, the spirit of what was a very ill man was soaring high. His strength astounded me. To know that he was struggling for each breath he took was enough to take my own breath away. I looked into his eyes, searching for that spark that was usually there. It was gone.
The diagnosis was Pneumonia. To a healthy individual, pneumonia can take it's toll. To an eighty year old with compromised lungs already, this was very serious. Much more serious than some may have initially thought.
I left that morning after he had been admitted to the hospital. He had been tucked into bed with the hopes that he would get some rest and allow his body to fight this infection.
Monday, Tim and I were able to go visit with him. Although confused at times, he was sure to keep his spirits high and us laughing as he told story after story. His color was better but the amount of oxygen he needed did not decrease. Again, we left the hospital knowing that his spirits were high but that he was still not out of the woods.
Tuesday came and I felt the urgency to make another trip to see him. This time, I went alone. I had some one on one time with him before more family came to visit. Our time together is time I will cherish forever. Soon my Mom, Aunt and Brother joined us to visit. The stories kept coming and the jokes continued to be cracked. There came a point that we even shut his door so the staff couldn't listen to these famous stories he told. I reminded him that he had someone who loved him very much and wanted to see him. The look on is face was as if my words melted the hardness he had built up over the situation away. Truly, it was almost a sense of peace.
Several times through the visit, he mentioned Heaven. I didn't recall ever hearing him speak of Heaven during my childhood visits. At one point, I told him that he needed to be sure to save us a spot up there in Heaven with him. He told us it would cost us $5 and a patch of grass. This was just another part of an ongoing joke he had been telling us.
It wasn't the fact that he spoke of heaven often or that his mind drifted from the present to the past and once again to the present, that spoke volumes to me. It was the words he spoke at the end of our visit that made my intuition kick in a little stronger than it was before. The simple words he spoke as he looked directly into my eyes with his hands firmly planted on each of my upper arms. "I love you, too." In all my years, I have never heard him say those words to me. Rather, he would use the simple phrase, "You be good" when parting ways. To hear him say "I love you, too" gave me a feeling that is simply indescribable.
I remember pulling out of the parking lot and thinking to myself, "maybe you should go visit a while longer." Afterall, I really didn't need to leave. I could have spent more time there soaking up his wisdom, his stories, his humor. I had the urge to turn around but convinced myself that he needed his rest. He looked tired when we left and I had already been there a couple of hours. And so, I came home.
Wednesday I called my mom to get an update. He had been released. I still can't fathom who would have released him considering his status. Even so, he was released and was headed home. Around 8:30 PM, I received another update that he wasn't feeling well and was having trouble again. I'm not sure why he wasn't taken back in to the hospital right then but that's besides the point. Mom and I discussed our feelings of what we felt would happen. That night, I needed a break. I took a drive to the store and on my way there, the clock caught my eye at 10:16. Not that this time was of any great significance but it obviously stuck. I had told Tim earlier that the past couple days, 10:13 had stuck in my mind. I couldn't place either number at all but they kept coming to mind. When I drove home, I spent some time praying as well as talking (as if Grandpa was able to hear me).
Thursday, after getting the kids ready for school, I fell back asleep. I vividly remember waking up, as if someone intentionally woke me. I jumped up to see that it was 10:00 AM and Jonathon as well as Tim were gone. I called the Fire Station and found Tim. Jonathon had gone upstairs to play and fell asleep up there. Tim had taken both sets of keys so I was unable to go meet him so he agreed to finish up and come pick me up for breakfast. Very soon after I hung up, I received the call from my Mom that CPR was in progress. The time she received the call from my Grandma, 10:16 AM.
I took a friends car and started towards my grandparents house. I vividly remember saying, "Hold on, Grandpa. Hold on. But if you have to go, we understand." Tim met me at their house shortly after.
I pulled along the side of the road, trying not to run up the driveway where the ambulance was parked. My Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin all stood in the garage. I quickly handed off my phone so my Aunt could inform my mom and I headed inside. I met my Grandma at the dining room table. I stopped, making sure to give her a hug and support. She told me they were breathing for him and that she couldn't lose him. I told her I'd go see if there was anything I could help with.
I walked down the hallway, peered into the bathroom and there on the floor, he laid. So still, his color gone. They continued pushing meds, getting him packaged up to go to the hospital and breathing for him. I was sure to call out to him, letting him know that we were there. They say their hearing is the last thing to leave them. I wanted him to know that he wasn't alone!
Tim ran for the cot while the rescuers continued their jobs. I remember watching his pulse being checked before they loaded him on the cot. Once loaded, they came down the hall and through the dining room. His color looked different than before. I remember it vividly. Down the steps, out the door and through the snow they went. I grabbed his hand as we headed to the ambulance and told him we were there. His hands were still warm. I let go so I could get the doors open to the ambulance. Tim and I were at his feet when we loaded him. They were white. Tim directed the ambulance out into the street where they pulled away, headed to the hospital.
I walked away, my heart sank. I remember telling Tim, "He's gone." I had no doubts that we would get to the hospital only to be directed into a private waiting area to be told that very thing. I hoped to be proven wrong but that gut instinct that I have learned to trust over the years had kicked in full force.
The drive to the hospital seemed so long. I was quiet as I sat there holding the hand of my own spouse. I can't imagine the pain you feel when you are told your spouse is gone. Once at the hospital, we valet parked. We went to the ER where they directed us to Trauma Family Waiting Area. We met a cousin and my grandma there. Grandma went to the bathroom and my cousin asked if we were about to get bad news. I shook my head yes. She said, "really bad news?" Again, I shook my head yes and said I was pretty certain. Moments later, a doctor as well as a nurse met us. They were looking for Grandma and the family. She returned and we were directed to another, more private room. After an explanation of what had happened prior to calling the ambulance from Grandma, the doctor continued. He explained, in detail, the events from the time the ambulance arrived at the house to what the hospital did after arrival. After what seemed like a three to five minute time line ending with, "...we were unable to get his heart started again." The room grew silent. In a quiet voice, my Grandma asked, "Is he gone?" "Yes, I'm sorry. He is gone." Sobbing filled the room. I remember looking up, seeing my Mom, Aunts and Uncle who appeared in the doorway, missing the doctors words by sheer seconds. All I could do was shake my head "No" as if to tell them that he was gone.
I thought my heart was going to explode. Watching the family being washed over with such incredible sadness was more than I thought I could bear. And yet, I didn't find myself crying like the rest of them. Surely I wasn't insensitive. So why wasn't I crying as everyone else was? Was it because I had tried to separate myself earlier as if it wasn't my reality in hopes to avoid the pain that would eventually wash over me? I'm pretty sure that was the reason.
After regaining some composure, we were directed back to see and spend time with Grandpa. Some went in groups and some went alone. I did both. Again, I had the chance to have a brief minute alone with Grandpa. A man who was once so full of life, stories, wisdom and love now lay there motionless. His shell remained while his spirit soared above us.
After a few hours, we decided to come home. My cousin and I were the last to go in and say our goodbyes. I walked out of that room, glancing one more time before shutting the door behind me. This was real. Painfully real.
Once home, I showered and headed out for a quick visit at Grandpa's house before going to class. As I pulled out of my driveway, I felt relief. I finally had a few moments alone to let my guard down. I could cry if I wanted to. Instead, I turned the radio on. The first words I heard were, "I saw God today." If you're familiar with country music, you'll be familiar with that song.
After stopping in at Grandpa's house for a few minutes, I came out to the truck to leave for class. My drivers side window had been partially rolled down. Now I *know* I didn't do it. I hate my window rolled down. Besides, it's freezing cold here right now. And considering it's not a power window, I would have remembered rolling it down! Was it a sign from Grandpa?
This morning, Friday, was Jonathon's 3rd birthday. He and I went to the store to get his birthday donuts. Again, I turned the radio on in the truck and was greeted with the song, "You can let go" by Crystal Shawanda. If you're not familiar with this song, google it and listen to it. Instantly, tears filled my eyes. I tried to sing along with it but as you can imagine, it was pretty impossible. I came home and called my mom to let her know that I thought this would be a good song to have played at the memorial service. Tonight, I went and purchased it.
............
It has been almost two weeks since Grandpa passed away. Some days are harder than others. My thoughts are filled with him several times through each day. I try to remember that he wouldn't want us to be sad but sadness still fills my heart. I try to keep my anger in check as he did so well, but I'm afraid I am failing at that too.
As with most deaths, family drama soon follows. Our family is no exception. Although most of us are well aware of what Grandpa would have wanted to happen after his passing, a select few have decided otherwise. I suppose that's what happens when you let greed control you. My heart is at peace. It would have been nice to see his own children receive something....anything of his....but knowing that those who are the driving force behind the greed will get what is coming to them brings me peace.
Unlike you, Grandpa knew what true love was. He knew what family was. And much to your disgust, he truly loved each and every single one of his children. He loved every single one of his grandchildren and every single one of his great grandchildren. We mourn the loss of a loving, genuine kind-hearted, full-spirited, hard working, amazing father, grandfather and great-grandfather.
If for some reason you stumble upon this...and you will know who you are...
Your favoritism is so plainly obvious. It always has been. You constantly shove your favoritism into everyone else's face as if you're intentionally trying to intensify the pain you already inflict upon us all. For years, you have acted like you had only two grandchildren. It has always been about those two. Every grandchild you DO have sees it. Every great-grandchild you DO have sees it. Your own children see it. And yet, you just don't care. Just know that someday, you will need someone. Unfortunately for you, everyone that would have been there to lend a hand has been pushed away over the years. You severed those ties long ago and any hope that there was of repairing that thread was severed with Grandpa's death. You pushed those of us who reached out to you away because all you wanted was your favorite! You won't receive sympathy from me. You don't deserve it. You're selfish, greedy and cruel. I see right through the distraught widow front you put on. If you truly gave a damn, you would have made sure you were at that hospital every single day spending time with the man you proclaimed to love. You would have found a way to get there. Instead, you chose to sit home and lose those last few days that you could have had with him. Assess your priorities. What kept you home instead of by his bedside, holding his hand? Who was more important to you? Surely, it wasn't your husband of 57 years who was struggling with every breath he took. I sure hope it was worth it. The final hours you were given together, you chose to let your true colors shine through. I hope every night you lay your head down that you remember just how cruel, selfish, and insensitive you were those final days, hours and minutes of Grandpa's life. Then take time to think back to how you have been that way to nearly every single person in your life, except the select few who portray the same traits as you do! To know that within a matter of hours, you had already started giving your "favorites" material items while denying your own children an opportunity to have their father's things shows just how much of a heartless, self centered, greedy bitch you really are. You and your sidekick went as far as to make sure that the song the daughters and grandchildren wanted played at the service was not played. Why? Because "she" couldn't "handle it" and if we "thought we were going to play that song" she would "get up and walk out." How ironic that you say you know nothing about this song or why it wasn't played yet we overheard the two of you discussing it at the kitchen table a few days prior. We heard her complaining about the music and what was being chosen. The sad thing is that song wasn't about either one of you! And then to flat out lie about it when questioned why it wasn't played...why?
For the rest of us, we will mourn an honest, loving, genuine man who instilled his qualities into us. I couldn't think of a better example to learn from. It's a shame that you didn't pick up on some of those traits over the years. An even bigger shame is that you have chosen to push away almost every single grandchild and great grandchild that you were blessed with. What amazing memories you have missed out on. Too bad you chose not to see that.
