I get to slug the first asshole who says he’s in a better place
It almost seems unfair when you lose someone you love (at the hands of others’ incompetence, which makes it worse) that the sun should shine. It should be rainy and miserable, just how you are. Because someone magnificent no longer walks this earth, and for that, the whole world should mourn along with you.
Last Christmas, I bought my grandfather a TV. It’s not that I had money to burn but I wanted to do something for him that he wasn’t expecting — something that he needed. Something that I felt couldn’t wait another holiday, another year.
Last Thanksgiving, he and Mom moved to their pretty little house that we have to give up after the funeral as money does not grow on trees. I remember Mom fretting that they couldn’t afford it (it’s a 3BR house that costs half as much as I’m paying in D.C. for a 1BR) and I told her that good times don’t need to wait any longer than they have. It’s that whole “if not now, when?” mentality. We’re always trying to wait until the right time to be happy, to start living, to show others what they mean to us.
I have nothing left right now. Tears, sure — I’ve got enough for the next three generations to see. But if there’s any small bit of comfort I can take today, it’s that I was good to him when I had the opportunity. I brought him here to see my apartment, I got him out of the house to meet me in Breezewood so that the months between me dragging my ass up to Pittsburgh wouldn’t seem so long.
But there’s always more I wish I would have done. Like getting him out of that piss-poor excuse of a hospital, that goddamned VA. I promised him that as soon as we got him out of there, we’d take him to a real hospital next time. No more morons playing doctor on him — no more half-assed care and negligence.
No more, indeed. *sigh*
I know I will be expected to give the eulogy. I always do. I have lost so many people — watched so many of my family members just die right in front of my eyes — that it comes second-nature to know what to say.
Today, I got nothin’.
I don’t know how to even pay for the services. Mom used to work for a funeral director so I’m sure we’ll get a break, but it costs per visitation, as well. Mom doesn’t want us to do any, but I reminded her that he was a well-loved man. He’s had the same friends for the past 60 years and it would be rotten of us to keep him away from them. Sure, I don’t feel like dealing with his brothers — he sat at all of their bedsides and I have yet to see their stupid asses, all of whom proclaim that if a brother needs them, they’re there. Yeah. So-called Christians. We wonder why I lose my faith, time and again.
I’m trying very hard to not be mad at God, to not give up all my faith like I did when my grandmother died. Who am I to demand a personal counseling session with the Almighty? I guess I’ll stick to my little candle rituals and believing in justice; it’s all I can do. Well, that and clean my house to welcome my mom down here.
I knew it was Russian Roulette what with the holiday season. We have a death on every holiday. Not only was it Thanksgiving, but it was also my grandparents’ 56th wedding anniversary. I can’t imagine that my grandmother was ready to have him back — she’s probably arguing with him to turn around already and get out of her hair for a little while longer. 😉
I still don’t believe any of this. It’s not right, it’s not fair and it’s not acceptable. I don’t understand how checking into a hospital is an automatic death sentence. I don’t get how we’re supposed to trust that our loved ones are being treated — and treated well — and that we shouldn’t expect that anyone other than a fucking funeral director is going to be the one to take them home.
I try so hard to find the life lesson in everything that happens, and today it’s just not coming. Maybe it’s that alternative medicine is the way to go. Maybe I should give up the health insurance and just go get my fucking Tarot cards read and find a good acupuncturist. Couldn’t hurt, right?
Anyone who has any ideas on how to heal a heart that’s been liquefied, however, I’m open to suggestions.
November 27th, 2006 at 11:54 AM
Dawn, there are no words. You have mine and Bayou’s most heartfelt condolences.
You were, from what I have read and can glean, the most amazing granddaughter someone could ever hope to have. He knew you loved him, and he took so much joy in your presence. No one was a greater advocate for him during these times of trial and pain than you. I’m so very proud to know someone as tenacious and wonderful- and to call you friend.
*hugs*