Today I received a text message that my maternal grandfather was rushed to the ER unresponsive. They resuscitated him, put him on oxygen and gave him a lot of pain killers. Later around noon the doctors decided it was time to take the breathing tube out. One whole side of his brain was completely full of blood. They expected him not to last a half hour but it has now been ten hours. I'm not sure how to react to all of this.
All week has been mental torture with anxiety and a full day panic attack on Wednesday. As of today I finally felt normal. Until the messages that is. I should have known there was something wrong last night when receiving a call from my dad's cell phone instead of my mom. My mother had had multiple mini seizures that kept them both up all night into the early morning. And then for my mom to receive a call from her mom at 6am was alot for her to deal with. Because of my mental and emotional exhaustion from the week I didn't answer my phone calls. Thinking of my grandpa on his death bed at Mosaic hospital scares me. Every call and text message is going to make me worry for a while.
Growing up I was told my mother's parents were always on the religious extreme and had beat my mother as a child. After not speaking to each other for nearly 20 years my parents and them finally let the past be buried. They have been taking care of my grandma and grandpa, helping out where they can, for the last two years. Though having no real contact with them since I was in grade school all I remember are the stories of their visits. Despite that gap my grandma sent a birthday and christmas card to me every year. Though endearing, the cards did not help me know them or trust them enough for me to ever seek them out on my own. So this situation is confusing for me.
What am I suppose to feel or think of this man that raised my mom in a terrible way and verbally abused her over the phone when I was young? How am I suppose to react to his inevitable death looming so near after all these years? When I received the message that the breathing tube was being taken out I did shed a few tears. Because no matter what, this was a human being that is having his breath of life ripped from him. This fact and the knowledge that my mom has been able to finally bond with him these past couple years, healing both of their wounds, is why I have feeling.
In my mind I have two pictures of my grandfather. When I was little he was an overweight cranky man in overhauls. Two years ago I saw him in a hospital gown crying of joy from the sight of me. With what little strength he had he hugged me and squeezed my hand not wanting to let go for fear I would disappear. That last one brings joy to my heart that he recognized me after all these years. He wasn't a terrible man, he simply grew up in a time when mental health was seen as weakness and anger was strength. Back then he probably saw discipline as his duty as the male of the house, I don't believe he has thought that since being put on the right medicine a few years ago.
As I convey my feelings into words upon this digital format, I'm feeling regret in not going to his bedside when everyone else did. Sure I could go now but what will that accomplish? Am I being selfish wanting to see him one more time or am I wishing to save face with my family. I wish I knew. Knowing my state of mind from this week I can hear my inner therapist saying they wouldn't advise it. There's nothing I can do and that hurts most of all. Despite not really knowing him I still loved him for being my grandpa. And I always will.
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