"Didn't you just write about mortality?" you might ask. And, well, yeah, kinda. But I think you'll find this to be a bit of a different direction. The last post was more speculative, this one is unfortunately much more concrete. Just in trying to get my thoughts together, this post likely promises to be quite a mess, too. But what else could it be? It reminds me a bit from the beginning of Slaughterhouse-Five: "It is so short and jumbled and jangled, Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, never to say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like 'Poo-tee-weet?'" I've actually thought a lot about that book over the last couple days. Kristine's grandpa is not doing well, and it seems things are taking turns for the worse. The conversations have definitely drifted toward "when," not "if." I suppose it's "when" for everybody, but his "when" seems more at hand. Anyway. Kristine went to visit him on Friday, then we went together on Saturday. When we first arrived, we really didn't know what to expect. How responsive he would be or how coherent. He seemed to be a bit better than the last time I saw him. He was talking more and seemed to at least somewhat recognize us. He called me by name, which he did the last time I saw him as well. I don't know if it's just luck or what, but he has consistently recognized me through this whole ordeal. He asked me how school was going, but I was unsure if he was referring to my current master's program or confusing me for being about ten years younger. He also asked Kristine's brother if he had a heart attack, seeming to confuse him with his dad. It brought back some immediate flashbacks of my own grandmother and the way she would have a hard time placing her visitors and frequently getting them mixed up. My Grandma Parrish died when I was in fourth grade, the same month my Great-Grandma Summers died. I don't remember which one died first. Anyway. By the time she died, Grandma Parrish had been really bad for a long time. It had been years since she knew who I was, and it became a pretty regular occurrence for my dad to be confused for my Uncle Jessie. I don't have a lot of memories about my grandma, and I don't know that I can say I have any of her in her right mind. I gather that is a real shame. I haven't heard anybody who knew her say the first cross word against her. Maybe it's just people not wanting to speak ill of the dead, or maybe there's a measure of pity of how life worked out for her. But, I don't think so. The stories I hear speak of a genuinely warm and caring woman. I'm sorry I never really got to find out for myself. There are a few stories I do remember first hand. The first was when I first found out she was moving to a nursing home. I think I had just started school, or maybe just slightly before. I remember asking when she would get back from the hospital, because that's how it worked to my knowledge. You went to the doctor, maybe you stayed a little while to rest up, and then you came back up, ready to go. It took some explaining to me that she would be there for a long time, but it took even longer for me to really realize that she was never leaving that home. I don't think that was ever really told to me. I had to eventually figure that one out on my own. I don't know when I puzzled that one out, but I do know I spent a long time wondering when she would go back to living with my Aunt Connie. The other memory I have is a bit shameful. I can only plead ignorance, and I would certainly never do anything like this today. As you might expect for somebody who raised eleven kids, mothering was a huge part of my grandma's existence. During her time in the nursing home, she took to caring to dolls as her real, living babies. To my elementary school mind, it was just weird and I couldn't really comprehend what was going on. She was going on about one of the doll babies waking up and crying, and she was trying to rock it back to sleep. I said something snarky about it, I don't remember exactly what. But I remember the glare I got from my mom. It was a look to kill, and it hit me somewhere deep. I never did anything like that again. Now that I'm older, I see that whole incident in a different light. Instead of it being bizarre and pitiable to me, now I can see it in a more touching, sweet light. Grandma was too far gone for it to phase her, but it's still a moment where I'm deeply disappointed in myself. I've heard other stories that remind me more of Kristine's grandpa, how he gets people and times confused, sometimes within the same breath. Like I said, it was not uncommon for my dad to be confused for his eldest brother.* I also heard stories where my Uncle Jessie went to visit, and Grandma tried to attack his wife, believing her to be some other woman her husband had brought home. Or trying to convince another uncle (thankfully by marriage) to go to bed with her. *Again, with eleven kids and Jessie being the oldest and my dad being the youngest, there was quite a gap there. I don't think it was at all the point or subject Kurt Vonnegut had in mind when he wrote Slaughterhouse-Five, but it did occur to me over the weekend that the idea of being unstuck in time is a pretty good one when dealing with dementia. There is healthy literary debate about whether the things Billy Pilgrim experienced actually happened or not. It isn't hard to find arguments for either side. But that's missing the point here. Whether or not anybody else could ever confirm it, it was all still real for Billy. It all certainly happened as far as he was concerned. The same was true for my grandma. Maybe I couldn't see or hear her doll babies crying or wanted fed, but she certainly could, and she was going to care for them to the best of her ability. And if Kristine's grandpa could see her being three again in Beth while talking to me at the same time, that was reality for him. The rest of us may not be able to reconcile it, but it is the world as the clouds in their head can put together. I didn't understand it as a child. I hadn't developed that sort of empathy yet. I still don't know that I can say I understand it as an adult, but I certainly have a different capacity to roll with it and extend my sympathies. All we can do now is just try to make things as easy and comfortable for him in the meantime and worry about the rest as it comes. The rest is just too big and crushing to try to take on at once. It might be "when" for all of us, but God damn does it suck when that "when" is staring you in the face.
Mom
6/17/2019 07:23:47 pm
Well, that certainly hit me in the gut. I had no idea you were thinking Grandma Parrish would go home. I absolutely failed to explain that whole situation, didn't I? It was a tough one for all of us. What struck me the hardest when reading this though, was the "glare", the "look to kill". I know I can be harsh at times. I know nearly 100% of parents scar their children in some way they don't even realize. I am sorry Aaron. This very much brought home to me that you never know what hurt you can cause by just a negative look or gesture. Lesson for the day, be kind, just be kind. Love you Comments are closed.
|
Archives
March 2022
|