Yesterday at around 8:00 a.m. my grandfather stepped into eternity. When I received THE CALL, I rushed to my grandparents' house. I had the honor of seeing him before the funeral home took him. Although viewed by some as macabre, I had to see him. Even though his spirit was gone and humanity is merely dust, I needed to touch him. He was still warm and his eyes were open and fixed. It's been a tough journey; however, in my heart, I feel it was his appointed time. Witnessing dying and death makes one introspective and cognizant of our spiritualness. It reminds us, at least me, of how we are spiritual beings.
On Tuesday night, my mother and I stayed over at my grandparents' house to take care of him while my grandmother had a rare opportunity to sleep. She was exhausted and weary. We took shifts. My shift was the first shift of which I still maintain was the more difficult shift. He was restless and, I suspect, in pain. I had to give him more medicine, morphine and lorazepam, in an oral syringe. What broke my heart is I had to call him George so that he didn't know it was his granddaughter taking care of him. He was such a strong and proud man and did not want his daughters and granddaughter to see him in a weak state. But, even though he wasn't talking and I'm not sure how much he could see, I felt like I was deceiving him and he knew it. As he moved, his sheet kept coming down revealing his body wasted away from the cancer. Silently, from behind him, I had to pull his sheet up to help him preserve his dignity. Petrified, my heart was racing because I felt like he was more aware of who was there than what we thought. Desiring him to know how much we valued and loved him, I was hoping if he was perceptive that he understood we weren't trying to shame him but to help and demonstrate our deep love for him.
The night before he died, I was able to rub his arm and kiss his head after my dad and I helped position him in the middle of the bed. He opened his eyes and I don't know if he knew who kissed him but, in my heart, that was my goodbye. Through it all, I had the privilege to have a very small part of his care and illustrate the depth of love and admiration I have for both of my grandparents.
As I made his bed yesterday, after the funeral home took his body, I looked around his bedroom and saw the painting my aunt had done for him, a goofy cat I drew as a child tacked on the wall near his dresser mirror, and pictures of his family. I thought to myself, this man loved his wife, his two daughters, and his granddaughter. In his mind, his most valuable possessions were those that reminded him of the loves of his life.
That will be the legacy I will remember...
On Tuesday night, my mother and I stayed over at my grandparents' house to take care of him while my grandmother had a rare opportunity to sleep. She was exhausted and weary. We took shifts. My shift was the first shift of which I still maintain was the more difficult shift. He was restless and, I suspect, in pain. I had to give him more medicine, morphine and lorazepam, in an oral syringe. What broke my heart is I had to call him George so that he didn't know it was his granddaughter taking care of him. He was such a strong and proud man and did not want his daughters and granddaughter to see him in a weak state. But, even though he wasn't talking and I'm not sure how much he could see, I felt like I was deceiving him and he knew it. As he moved, his sheet kept coming down revealing his body wasted away from the cancer. Silently, from behind him, I had to pull his sheet up to help him preserve his dignity. Petrified, my heart was racing because I felt like he was more aware of who was there than what we thought. Desiring him to know how much we valued and loved him, I was hoping if he was perceptive that he understood we weren't trying to shame him but to help and demonstrate our deep love for him.
The night before he died, I was able to rub his arm and kiss his head after my dad and I helped position him in the middle of the bed. He opened his eyes and I don't know if he knew who kissed him but, in my heart, that was my goodbye. Through it all, I had the privilege to have a very small part of his care and illustrate the depth of love and admiration I have for both of my grandparents.
As I made his bed yesterday, after the funeral home took his body, I looked around his bedroom and saw the painting my aunt had done for him, a goofy cat I drew as a child tacked on the wall near his dresser mirror, and pictures of his family. I thought to myself, this man loved his wife, his two daughters, and his granddaughter. In his mind, his most valuable possessions were those that reminded him of the loves of his life.
That will be the legacy I will remember...
