My Grammy

I got an email today from my dad saying that my grammy (my mom's mom) probably has weeks at most to live. Her husband, my Pa, died in June 2007, and she has been living on her own since then--something she understandably has not enjoyed. Earlier this year, she was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent radiation and a mastectomy. The doctors were optimistic that they had gotten it all but warned that this type of cancer was highly aggressive, and, if they had missed any little remnant, could spread very quickly. Within the last month, Grammy had developed a kidney infection and seemed to be recovering from it. But when the visiting nurse came last week, she recommended Grammy be taken to the hospital for an erratic heartbeat. Since then, she has undergone a CT scan, which identified various cancer spots throughout her body--mostly on the lungs and the liver. Her decline over the last week has been dramatic from all reports--very tired and weak and not eating much. She has refused IV fluids, a feeding tube, or any other life-support and today was moved to palliative care. I had hoped to see her when I got home for Thanksgiving, but it is looking highly doubtful she will make it that long.

Now I am torn. The only way I could get to her hospital would be in a day trip tomorrow, but with a 4 1/2 hour drive each way, it would make for a very long driving day. I spoke to my mother, the eldest child of the family who has been by her mother's side constantly, and she said it wouldn't be worth it to come out, as Grammy sleeps a lot and may or may not fully appreciate or recognize my being there. As the mother of nine children all with children of their own, Grammy has had a packed room--to the point of exhaustion, it sounds like. So would my persisting in going to visit just be an act of selfishness, my own need to see my last living grandparent while she is still alive? Regardless, I do believe I will see her again even if is not in this lifetime.

As a side note, I've never been terribly emotional. I get that from my mother, whose more emotional siblings no doubt would have told me to drop everything and get in the car now before it's too late to see Grammy. I can count on one hand the number of movies that have made me cry. I rarely get truly angry; indignant is something different altogether. I did, however, blubber like a baby (would a whale be more fitting?) at my Pa's funeral. It wasn't that I was even that emotionally connected to him, though of course I loved and cared about him. Nor did I see him more than once or twice a year since I had graduated from high school. I think my mourning was not necessarily even for him, because I knew he was better off, in a place without pain or deteriorating bodies. Rather, I found myself mourning my childhood, when I mistakenly believed that things would stay the same forever, and as another major piece of my childhood foundation was gone, I realized that even now I hold on to that view. Subconsciously, I believe that my parents will always be around, that life will always be "good." My grandfather's funeral jolted me back to the reality of mortal life, full of eventual grief and pain no matter who you are. And, for that, I was weeping.