That’s my timeline. It keeps shrinking. It was six months. It was two to three months. It was one to two months. Now it’s less. Non-na is not taking to nursing home care well. She’s no longer walking. She’s at a point where all she does is cry. Hearing this second hand is killing me on the inside. Palliative care is heartbreaking. Especially when you read it from the child of the person receiving it.
Hearing that she made it to her birthday reminds me of Pops. He stuck around for their anniversary and a few days later he passed. I’m worried she won’t make it another 16 days for me to be able to see her. I was hoping to see her at the same time that we were near that part of the state in a couple weeks. It’s starting to look like that isn’t possible.
Selfishly, I hoping that it doesn’t happen during our family vacation. Or at least her funeral won’t be. I’m begging that it won’t interfere with my children’s memory of this huge family vacation. This is supposed to be perfect for them, or at least memorable. I’m even getting a custom scrapbook for us to complete together. It’s bad enough I am having to attend a school health board committee meeting during the last day of our visit. I’m having to deal with this, and it sucks but it’s only a couple hours. I can’t imagine having to stay behind, rent another car, and drive to a funeral while my family goes back home and reminisces about their time at this kids’ destination.
It’s selfish and gross to think like this. I hate that it’s a thought. I guess this is what funeral family members think about. “Oh, I hope so-and-so doesn’t die while I’m on vacation.” What a horrid person I’ve become. The dreadfully blanched person I’ve become about losing my last grandparent is absolutely vile. I never thought I’d be this person but the amount of disconnection I have from this family is huge.
I just wish I could disconnect completely. I have disconnected some and not as a whole and it’s killing me having that last tendril stretching thin and long and tense between myself and this family.
I wish it would snap.
But yeah. My last grandparent won’t be here much longer. Watching this cursor blink on and off at that statement is devastating. It burns a hole in my soul in a spot I didn’t know was still there. I thought I came to terms with the fact that I’d never have a relationship with a grandparent the way everyone else did. Never sit on the lap of a pop-pop and listen to him laugh gleefully. Never be in the kitchen covered in spots of flour while baking cookies with granny. Never spend a summer learning to do whatever it is you learn to do at your grandparents’ home, being spoiled, loved on, doted over, hearing “don’t tell your parents we did this” because we got into some bit of trouble. I thought I was over it. But as I sit here with the realization that this is absolutely never going to happen, it hurts all over again.
I’m grieving Non-na. I’m grieving Pops. I’m grieving Gpa. I’m grieving Mamaw Malice. I’m grieving what could have been four relationships between a grandparent and a grandchild that I will never be granted.
It’s not just the loss of a person; it’s the loss of the idea of what I never had.
Traumatized Viridimere 