A bit of sadness and introspection

My grandfather was put into hospice on Tuesday, and my mother just told me that it looks like he won't make it through the night. His decline has been quite fast, and despite his old age, unexpected; though his health hasn't been strong this year, he was only put in assisted living several weeks ago. I wavered over whether to fly down -- my mother and my uncle and one of my cousins are there -- but after talking with my grandmother, I decided that the best thing to do will be to make a longer visit sometime in the coming weeks, after the mourners have left. It sounds like my grandmother will be spending some time in Massachusetts (how disconcerting it is to plan things in advance of an anticipated death...) and I'm glad that for a while I will have her close by.

When I called my mother earlier in the day, she said she was at his bedside and that it was unclear whether or not he was conscious, or could hear anything. She offered that she could put the phone to his ear and if there was anything I wanted to say I could say it. I wished, right after she left the line, that we had set a time for exactly how long I would speak before she picked up the phone again, because I felt somehow embarrassed by the idea of her hearing any of what I said. I felt embarrassed, also, by my silences, as I thought of what to say. I wanted a constant stream of conversation -- or monologue, really -- just so my mother wouldn't pick up the phone and suppose I had nothing to say to my grandfather. Silly, I know. But there was a piece of it that felt like a performance. My mother told me when she did get on the phone that my grandfather tried to speak into the phone, but that he was too weak. She said she was sure he'd heard me.

When I was with my grandparents in February, at their retirement community, we saw a man collapse, having had a massive stroke, and the man died soon thereafter. If there is such a thing as a calm emergency, that's what it was: as the man lay lifeless on the ground, his wife sat next to him and held his hand, with a composure and quietness that seemed to belie the seriousness of the situation. It's stranger, perhaps, that it truly didn't occur to me then that that visit would be the last time I would see my grandfather. I do feel some of the same calmness of that woman, now. Even as my grandfather stayed relatively healthy, he has suffered a lot this year, health-wise. I'm most worried about my grandmother, and the fact that she remains so far away from the rest of us.

That's all for now -- more later.