My grandfather is not doing well. He's in the hospital and the prognosis isn't the best. He just turned 80 in April, but he hasn't been healthy since his heart bypass surgery two years ago. I left work today in tears because it just feels like the black cloud is hovering. I hate it.
Dad called me this morning on my cell phone and I just cringed, knowing that the news wasn't good. It wasn't. Grandpa fell again and had to be taken by ambulance to the hospital.
My grandfather has always been a big part of my life. I loved to listen to his stories of growing up and working on the farm, of his Italian heritage, of his love for the New York Yankees. He used to call me "turkey legs" when I was little because of my chubby calves. When we played slapjack, no one wanted to get caught by Grandpa because he always slapped the hardest.
I know death is a part of life, but darn it - it's the waiting that is the worst. Somehow, you just know that a person isn't going to live very much longer. I know that now. I dread it, yet I don't want him to suffer anymore. He is a shell of his former self, the man that I adored and still do.
I guess my grandmother is staying strong - she is a remarkable woman. Her own health was declining a few years ago, but when my grandfather took a turn for the worse, it was as if she called on her inner reserves of strength and rose to meet the challenge. She has been caring for him ever since.
Tomorrow morning, I'm leaving for home - a five and a half hour drive that I will undoubtedly make by myself since hubby needs to work because of those darn bills. I worry for my Dad - of us three kids, I think I am the closest to him and I really want to be there as a support system for him. He is the oldest child in his family, so a lot of the decision-making and responsibility will fall on his shoulders.
I hope to check in if time permits, but I won't have direct access to a computer very often.
Hugs to all...
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