Grace and Grit

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The alarm pierces the silence, startling me.  It is hard to believe just 11 days ago, I jumped up in panic when three seconds passed without an alarm, certain my grandfather had flat lined.  It took me a moment to find my bearings and realize silence meant his heart was okay for those three seconds, it was all those other moments, the incessant beeps and squawks that said all is not fine.  Funny how frequency determines normalcy and bad can seem good when it is consistent.  

 

That was the day the doctor told us my grandfather was going to die.  Well, he tried to tell us.  We were standing by my grandfather’s bedside and my mother almost hit the little cocky SOB upside the head for trying to say that in front of my granddad. He was eager to tell us, like he’d gotten an A in Breaking-Down-Families 101 and wanted to prove how cool he could be when he told a family their loved one wasn’t going to make it.  We scuttled out into the hallway, insisting any conversation be carried on out there. 

 

I can’t say whether he wanted to prove to us that he didn’t do any wrong talking in front of the shriveled up dying skin of a man in the bed beside us or if he realized maybe he was out of line and wanted to prove his A in Bedside-Manner-second-term, but as we left the room he turned to address my granddad.  “I see you’re a Cowboys Fan, Mr. George”  (guess he gets points for noting the obvious since my granddad had his Cowboys hat firmly pulled over the wires and electrodes attached to his head).  “Well, we’re just gonna have to talk about that when you get to feeling better.  I’m a Giants fan myself.” 

 

What I would have given to have been  on the other side of the bed where I could see the expression on that doctor’s face when my granddad went to sit up and give the doc a piece of his mind!  Giants indeed!  Keep in mind, twelve hours earlier my granddad was dead on the table, code blue, brought back with the paddles.  He had been on what the nurses nicknamed the “milk of amnesia” for the intervening twelve hours, but death and drugs sure wouldn’t stop him from putting some cocky little shit in his place when necessary, especially if he was insulting the Cowboys! 

 

The doctor stepped out of the room, clearly flustered that my granddad was as with it as he obviously was.  He then continued to tell us what he had started to say before.  Granddad wasn’t going to make it.  Three hours later he went code blue again.  They rushed us all out of the room as half the hospital blue pants poured in.  We held each other outside the glass windows - at worst certain, at best fearful, that this was it.  And then, before a single paddle was touched, Granddad’s heart got itself under control. 

 

Two days later we took him off life support.  And a day later off the oxygen that had replaced it.  With no more tube down his throat, he got off the milk of amnesia.  They put in a temporary pacemaker while we waited and prayed for the fluid in his lungs to clear and the fever to go away.   By day 11 he was breathing on his own, sleeping through the nights, flirting with the nurses, and keeping everybody in stitches.  Monday they put in the pace maker. Tomorrow he will go to a rehabilitation to get his strength back in his legs.  He’ll be home in time for his 89^th birthday. I guess we showed that cocky little doctor a thing or two about good living and stubborn spirits!

 

My mother and I have kept a 24 hour vigil these last 17 days, passing the relay between us.  I would sit at my grandfather’s bedside for 24 hours while she got some sleep and worked at the office then she would take bedside duty while I did the same.  Hospital vigils can make you a bit crazy – they call it ICU psychosis.  Trying to keep together a struggling business that demands both of us 16 hours a day at the same time didn’t make it easier.  But what an amazing 17 days those were - seeing cousins I hadn’t seen in years, coming to know my grandfather in a way I never have before, standing by my mom, being a family. 

 

I never thought of us as that tight-nit of a family.  My grandparents were farmers and when my mother left their small town for the big city, she began a very different life from her brother who remained a good ol’ country boy.  I spent many holidays with my grandparents, fascinated by my cousins who roped cows and rode horses and worked the fields.  It was such a different life from anything I knew and I dare say a great deal of my solidness comes from that bit of country in my blood and soul. 

 

My cousins and I haven’t kept that close in touch – our worlds are, well, worlds apart.  We went on with our lives, raised our children most of whom have now had children of their own.  There are rifts in the family and issues that some picture in my mind of a “good family” didn’t include.  But boy I’ll tell you, when push came to shove, we were all there, standing by each other and the man who we all owe our lives to, literally.  One of the nurses stopped my mother in the hall one night and told her what a beautiful family we were.  “Unfortunately, we don’t see a lot of good families around here,” she said.  “I go home every night and say my prayers for Mr. George that he will get better and share many more years with you all.”  Well her prayers and ours must have found a voice in heaven. 

 

You know I would have never found the “time” in life to go spend two weeks with my Granddad.  Only a tragedy could slow any of us down enough to just sit with each other day after day.  And what a beautiful blessing that tragedy has been.  I had no idea my granddad was so witty.  He kept everybody in stitches all the time.  Watching him handle with such impeccable grace being hooked up to machines, poked and prodded, unable to move, depending on everyone for everything was an amazing thing to behold.  He taught me something about grit and grace that I will carry forever.  Seeing the sweet love between him and his girlfriend (my grandmother died 10 years ago just before their 60^th wedding anniversary) and her never wavering presence by his side is a testament to love that can bloom at any time in life.  Listening to his joy in life, even now as his sight is fading and life is running down to the end told me I have much to learn about what living is all about.  

 

We have stories from these weeks that we will tell and laugh about for years, long after my granddad has left us.   And I am left with an appreciation for what a “good family” is – a gathering of people with all their flaws and strengths standing by each other with grace and joy and gratitude for one another and life. 

 

Thank you Granddad, for living through such pain and giving us such joy. 

 

 

 

 

Comments

[steff]

Hi Sherry,

It feels nice to read from you, though I am unhappy to learn about your granddad health issues.
On my side I just learned yesterday that my grandmother broke her wrist. Her bones are getting more and more fragile with years, she has osteoporosis (does this make sense in English?). In a word her bones are almost as fragile as crystal but there's nothing we can do to make her leave her farm and live in a safer, less isolate place. Nevertheless I firmly believe it would kill her quicker than old age health problems. She has this feeling of belonging there, plus she needs her nature and animals around - she is not one to live in a city and to accept being taken care of while she can still cope by herself.

Your piece of writing about your granddad just made me think of her and how after she had broken her collar bone, she would NOT accept it when doctors said she would need a stick to walk. She does not use one actually. Stubborness might not be a virtue, but it does help recovering! Lol

I wish you and your granddad and family all the best.
And I have a saying for you. It says "C'est dans la sécheresse qu'on connait une bonne source, et dans l'adversité ses amis". This one is about friends, but I guess it applies to family even more. Family folks are the ones that are around through difficult times, however loose your bounds are the rest of the time.

Wishing you a lovely Christmas season, and sending hugs and kisses from Southern France,

Stéphanie

[julie]

Hey Sherry---

Sounds like your travels took you right where you belong...with your family.

In these tough economic times, it seems like all families are "pulling together" in order to make it through.

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and a healthy and prosperous New Year!

Much love,

Julie