The Dream
The matted, rust-colored carpet gave its familiar bristly
effect on my bare feet. The 1970’s wood
paneling was barely visible through the never-ending sea of framed photographs.
Where generation upon generation of family feigned smiles for the posed,
over-priced photos or the random snapshots which held the beauty of a smile
much deeper than the lips; a smile that could be seen through the eyes.
The younger of the great-grandchildren played randomly on
the family room floor. I was always
amazed that so many people could fit into such a small space. My brother and sister-in-law sat next to each
other on the floor, closely watching their three small children. My youngest barking orders at her younger
cousins as my older daughter teased my grandmother. The smile I held went far beyond my lips and
eyes; this smile originated in my heart and radiated through my skin.
I scanned the room, soaking in the love that is my
family. Sitting quietly in his old
rocker was how I first noticed him. It
was a little unsettling at first. His
rocking chair for as long as I could recall had always been on the other side
of the room; things in our grandparent’s house did not often move, including them. They spent 47 years in that that house before
they sold it because it was just too much for them to take care of any longer.
My grandfather was not a man who spoke often and smiled even
less. Not that he was an unhappy man,
just always in thought. When my eyes
connected with his, his face lit up.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
My tone was light and teasing, even as I leaned in to embrace him. His arms, tired and worn from 85 years of shooting
a .50 cal during WWII, working as sales man, embracing his wife, holding
babies, and his many other hobbies; still felt strong and warm.
He pressed his lips and scruffy goatee to my cheek. Closing my eyes I drank in his smell and the
feeling of just having him near. When I
pulled back, he held tightly to my hands.
“I just wanted to say goodbye and remind you how much I love you.”
I realized that I could no longer tell if anyone else was in
the room, the only sounds I heard were his words and the breaking of my
heart. The smile he held, as the tears
spilled down my cheeks, was one I had not seen in many years. It was free of all pain and made him look
many years younger. He was beautiful.
His hands clasp mine tightly, as though he had no intention
of letting go. As his smile grew more
and more bravura, he slowly brought my right hand to his lips and gently kissed
the back of it. As he did this, the room
seemed to disappear in a flash of bright light.
I awoke to find the blinds in my bedroom had fallen short of
the promise to block out the early morning rays. I realized my hands were clenched into tight
fists; my nails digging painfully into my soft palms. And though my heart ached, there was a peace
I had not felt in many weeks.
I replayed the conversation quietly in my head as I rolled to
the side to let the tears fall to my pillow.
I sighed, “I love you too, Grandpa.”
After Grandma passed, I had dreamed of her too. Only, I was shocked to see her. I believe my response was, "Oh, HELL NO. You do not get to come back."
I loved her. I really did. But in the end the pain of taking care of her, watching her forget who I was, where she was and even who she was............it was too much.
Her doctor told me that in the end she would be in very little pain.
I received a call from her caregiver while I was at work. It was a Wednesday. She wanted me to know that she was in a lot of pain and it had been getting worse. I went straight home. Caretakers are not allowed to administer meds beyond what is shown on the bottle. But the hospice pharmacy took so long to bring a more potent pain medication, I took it upon myself to give her more. And gave her even more after the new stuff arrived.
I sat on the be next to her and held her hand while she writhed in pain, often trying to climb out of bed and telling me how she had to "get out of here". I held her hand and placed my forehead to hers. I prayed, out loud for God to take her. I tried to help her focus on counting (sounds crazy, but for short-term extreme pain, it really does work). I cried. I prayed silently. I tried to talk to her. I got her up. Put her back in bed. Nothing worked. The pain lasted more than 11 hours before she finally fell asleep. She never woke up.
Right before she passed, she squeezed my hand............and then she was gone.
Many people told me that she was lucky to have lived such a long life and she was elderly so it was not like it was a surprise. What most people do not realize is that is one thing to lose someone. It is entirely different to watch them die.
Death does not come quietly in the night. It is not peaceful. It is horrific. And it steals away part of all those who witness it. But I do not regret being there. I would not have had it any other way.
I still have dreams about her. Most all are that she is still alive and in a much more deteriorated state. These are nightmares.
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