My grandpa on my dad's side died when I was a senior in high school. December 18, 2001. He had a massive heart attack in the spring prior to his death and had quadruple bypass surgery. After the surgery he had a stroke and then his kidneys failed. I don't know if the stroke had anything to do with kidney failure but he was diabetic for most of his life.
My parents sent my brother and me out to visit him over the summer. I remember being completely shocked when I saw him; my grandpa was a man who always stood straight and tall, never had a gray hair or a white one for that matter except for a few around his side burn area, and while he was thin, he was fit thin. The grandpa I saw was skeletal; his cheeks were so sunken that he couldn't fully close his mouth; his skin was stretched so tightly across his cheek bones. He couldn't walk without the aid of a walker, he needed help eating, getting up, and basically, the image I've had of my grandpa my entire life was shattered when I saw this stooped, emaciated, white haired fragile looking old man in front of me.
At that time, my grandpa was going in every other day for dialysis treatment. My brother and I would accompany him and sit there for a few hours while he was getting his treatment. It sucked ass, it was boring and my grandpa would start getting antsy and start fidgeting. He would always give us some money so we can buy snacks and stuff, but it sucked because we weren't allowed to give him anything while he was getting dialysis. The most we could offer him were ice chips and seriously, would you want that when your grand kids are sitting in front of you drinking a milkshake? Yeah, exactly. My brother and I would feel bad because my grandpa was only allowed a certain amount of fluid a day and we tried our hardest not to drink in front of him. When we did we would look furtively around us and let him have a few sips. I wonder if that did any damage and if it did, god I feel terrible. And we tried really hard not to fuss because that made my grandpa more fussy.
Right before we left, maybe like a week before we left, my grandpa had another stroke and had to be hospitalized. My brother and I were in Washington for a month, and it was the hardest month of my life at that time. My grandpa had trouble sleeping so he would wake up at all hours and wake us up; I think he wanted to spend time with us and maybe talk to us about the important, meaningful things in life but he always ran out of breath. He would sit and stare at us wistfully and at the time I had convinced myself that he was going to get better and I was a little resentful of the fact that he kept waking me up and keeping me up late. I regret that now, obviously.
While my grandpa was hospitalized, my brother and I would visit when we could. I remember bringing him ice cream and washing his dentures. I remember when I said bye to him and that I'd see him soon, my grandpa's eyes got all watery and he whispered, "yeah, I'll see you soon..."
And then the school year started. Fucking senior year. I don't know when my grandpa got out of the hospital, I think maybe after we got back to Colorado, but at some point in November, he was hospitalized again and everyone was sure he was going to die so the whole family flew out there to see him. I have a feeling that we went out there twice because he didn't die when we were out there. But I do remember when we went to see him because we thought he was dying. It was night and it was drizzling rain and my grandpa's hospital room was bathed in this warm yellow light. The oxygen tank was softly hissing in the background and for some reason, all those sounds, smells, and sights were slightly comforting and surreal. My uncle and grandma and aunt were already there in the room and when my family walked in, my grandpa looked over to us and smiled this huge, genuine smile. He looked so, so, so happy to see his entire family there. I think it was the first time we were all there before my family moved to Colorado. I remember seeing him smile and thinking to myself, "Oh, he's going to be ok. He's a fighter and this is going to make him fight harder."
He wanted all of us to give him a kiss. We all did except my grandma. She kinda pecked at him with a face mask on. I truly believe that their marriage was completely loveless. I feel bad for both of them but they stuck with each other until death did them part. And I think my grandpa wanted some affection, some sign of love and caring from my grandma in the end and I don't think she gave him that.
Then my grandpa passed away. We flew out there and had the funeral. I was numb for most of it and angry for the rest; mostly because of the lack of sincerity from the people attending the funeral, but that's another story.
It's been 9 years since he passed. Nine long years and still the only images I have of him in my mind are of when he was sick. Getting dialysis while peering up at the TV screen watching baseball. The sincerity in his voice when he thanked me for taking care of him in the summer. The way that he prayed so fervently when the priest came to his bedside. The way he clenched his eyes tightly shut while his lips moved with the words that he didn't have the strength to push out. He wanted nothing more than to get better and live life again.
I think about all the things that happened in the last nine years and I wonder what my grandpa would have thought. My parents split up, my uncle got married that spring after he passed and had a son 3 years ago, I got engaged, moved to Iowa, and now I'm back in Colorado. I wonder how different our lives could have been if we still had the backbone and strength of my grandpa behind us.
It makes me sad because he never saw me graduate from high school and college. It makes me sad to know that he won't be at my wedding although at this rate, he probably would have died before I got married. It makes me sad that my grandpa died fighting a losing battle. It makes me sad that the only time he smiled like that was at the last few weeks before his death.
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