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Have you ever felt that no matter what you say, your meaning is lost? Or that it was pointless to even try expressing how you felt in words because you knew you'd fail? Unfortunately that seems to be a common trend for me right now.
Life is unfair. So simple a statement and yet it holds such truth.
As of late, everything I say seems insignificant to how I feel.
Two and a half months ago, my grandfather died. Well, he didn't just "die". We knew he was on his way out but that didn't make it any less painful. A few weeks before my parents phoned home to spread the news of his death we went on a vacational trip to Detroit to see my mother's side of the family. That has had to have been the hardest trip I have ever been on. My sister and I were sent ahead so that Mom could smoke a cigarette before she faced her Father.
As soon as we entered the nursing home, one of the patients came up to us and she told us, "I want some ice cream. Can you get me some ice cream? They have chocolate ice cream, see?" The worst part of it wasn't that she was a little old lady that needed help. The worst part was that she was pointing to a table top, her entire being focused onto that table top, and it was completely empty. I was so close to crying and I wasn't even twenty steps into the place.
We walked down the hall to the room, my sister and I, and I have never felt so close to my sister before or since then. There, lying on a little medical cot, was our stout, lovely polish Grandfather. He was a being I had always associated with strength and genuis. I had never seen him seem so weak - not even when he later lay eternally asleep in his casket.
He didn't recognize me and he seemed to think that my sister was my mother. If you've ever experience anything like this, then you know how painful it is to see such a strong person with a lost mind. I tried to attribute it to the drugs he was on. I tried so hard, but it didn't work.
The thoughts of the drugs only left me to stare at his weathered and beaten body and note their effects. Bruises in the shapes of handprints and fingertips adorned his arms like paint on a canvas. It looked like someone had smacked him around for hours on end. His hands were swollen and one of his legs wrapped. I could feel the tears burning at my eyes but what came out in thier place was my voice, "Hello Papa."
The rest of the family came in - my brother, mother, and father and we took my Grandfather into another room to have his lunch and talk. Throughout that entire visit, I don't think he ever really knew who I was. I don't thin throughout my entire LIFE did I ever truly know who he was. All I knew was that before me sat the invincible being slowly dying. Those two hours were the longest two hours of my life. They dragged on towards forever.
Leaving the room, I gazed at him for the last time. Kissed him on the forehead just above his temple and before where his "albert einstein" silvery locks began the last time. And told him, "I love you Papa." for the last time.
I ran out of the front door of that place when we got to it. RAN like the coward I knew I was, like the coward I still am. Ran. I had to get out of that place. That was my only thought as soon as I had entered and now I was running. Ran.
We got to the car and I told my mother I never wanted to go to that place ever again. Never wanted to see my Grandfather ever again. How was I supposed to know that, that wish would be granted by life?
"Holly, its not all about you! This isn't all about YOU! Its not ALWAYS ABOUT YOU."
Those words tore into my soul. Tore, and shredded, and maimed.
I know mother, it wasn't all about me. But couldn't you see? You were killing me inside by making me watch an immortal slowly die. I'm your ******** daughter! You're supposed to protect you kids. Not kill them. Don't you know how much it hurt to see him like that? To know that he didn't even have a ******** clue as to who I was? That he couldn't remember me?!?
I wanted to scream that at her. And when she told me later about how selfish I was, I think I did. Between the tears and the strangled voice, I'm not sure what I said... Or even if it made sense. Only that by the time I was done, she was crying as well.
Time passes slowly when you're home alone and you know someone you love is dying. So infuriatingly slowly. When the phone call came - I thought it was a telemarketer.
Standing before him as he lay in odd, fancy clothing. I didn't recognize the man that was my grandfather. He had a belt on. It oddly made me smile to see that. Smile, because I knew he'd never once before worn a belt. He wore suspenders. What were they thinking?
My father and brother stood beside me on either side.
"His eyes and mouth are glued shut."
"It makes him look like he's sleeping."
"Daddy, He has a belt on."
That's how the conversation between the three of us went.
The shortest most meaningful conversation I've had yet.
I've never liked churches. They're ugly to me.
Maybe its because every time I've gone, it was because someone was dead and I don't deal well with death.
I don't deal with it at all actually.
During the services, I didn't cry. My stupid, stubborn self didn't cry for that beautiful, genius, polish Grandfather. Not at all. What was I thinking?
We left the morning after the funeral - my brother, sister and I.
Left so that I could sit home alone again once more.
Hour. After Hour. After Hour. After Hour.
I haven't felt the same since seeing my Grandfather in that nursing home. Everything I say seems to be... insignificant.
Everything makes me sad after a while. I don't understand it. A lot has happened since then. Since watching my brother help carry that casket back from the church to the hearse.
But y'know. The thing that hurt the most?
The silence. The loneliness. The people I trusted. Weren't there.
They we never there even once.
The people I needed, never called even once.
I waited. Hour. After hour. After hour.
After hour.
 ~+xVANDALx+~ · Tue Nov 20, 2007 @ 03:10am · 0 Comments |
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