It all started on July 8th, when I lost my Grandma Howard unexpectedly. I'd really like to, at some point, take the time to write out how I feel about that. But now is not the time. Simply because I don't have the energy, and that's not what this post is about. A couple days later, my friend Madison went through absolute hell with personal issues. Then, my great-grandma was placed in the hospital due to her having trouble breathing. The next day, my grandma was taken to the hospital after her blood sugar dipped below 15. Which, even if you're not familiar with diabetes, is so near death that even we are baffled as to why she's still with us. After that, my grandpa was admitted to the hospital after having a mini-stroke. And on Friday, my great-grandma was placed back into the hospital. That's what this post is about, really. Her. She's not doing well. Not well at all. I guess there's a part of me that knew this was coming. It's why I moved home this summer, to be near family. I knew that she was getting worse and worse and worse, but I didn't want it to be true.
I don't know all the medical terms for it, or even really what is going on. But what I do know is that she can't breathe. Ever. She's consistently on oxygen because she just can't breathe otherwise. She can't even get out of her chair and walk to the kitchen - a distance of less than twenty feet - without feeling out of breath. She's scared to take a shower because the steam makes it too hard to breathe. My great-grandma is literally suffocating to death, and there is not much they can do except watch her. They can postpone the inevitable, but they can't stop it. Or even make her feel better. Over the last couple days I've seen her go from sitting down and being able to breathe, to simply sitting up in her hospital bed and being breathless as though she'd ran a mile.
Quite frankly, it's breaking my heart.
Today, my mom informed me that when my great-grandma says her prayers every night, she tells God that whenever he's ready for her, she wants to go. She's ready to die. And that's a thought that both terrifies me and makes me happy. Utterly, completely selfishly, I don't want her to die. I don't want to let go of this person that I love so completely. I want her to be around forever, to give me advice and tell me stories. I want the woman that helped raise me, that made me mac & cheese and mashed potatoes summer after summer because I didn't want to eat anything else. I don't want her to go anywhere, because she's my great-grandma, and she's so, so important to me.
However, then I think rationally. I think about the way she's living, the way she can't do anything. Almost everything she's loved has been taken from her. She can't work puzzles anymore because the movement wears her out. She can't cook because she can't be on her feet. She can't go shopping or go outside or go to church or play with her grandchildren. She doesn't have a life, she has a stationary position in a chair in front of a tv. She is miserable. She is suffocating to death. Every day she gets a little worse. And while I don't want her to go away, I realize that there comes a time when she needs to. Because she doesn't have a life anymore. She's not happy, and as much as I want her, I realize that it's getting to the point when I need to let go.
I'm scared. I don't want to have to come to that. But it's coming, and I'm trying to prepare myself for that. But for now, I want to be there as much as I can. Because I only have so much time left, and I don't want to waste a minute.
