Tuesday before last our great grandfather fell and broke a hip. This break was the worst kind, up in the joint and the surgery was very traumatic. The day after his surgery, his body began shutting down. This Wednesday night, he was brought back to my mom's house with twenty four hour hospice care. He is dying and this will let him do so in the comfort of the home he has known for on two years now.
He is eighty seven and was in advanced stages of Alzheimer's disease. People make jokes about this disease, but it is horrible. A horrible, mind stealing monster.
I felt uncomfortable letting the girls see him in the hospital. Eldest has seen death before, but only at a veiwing, not in its processes. The youngest have not even seen that. When he was brought home, I felt better. I let them get everything settled and took the girls over this morning.
I stopped at a store and let the girls pick out flowers. Three bouquets of matching purples (Grandma's favorite). Youngest picked a perfect card. We stopped at the cafe Grandma likes and got a triple order of nutbread sandwiches for the house. Then we went over.
I had spoken with the girls, but the reality couldn't be conveyed in words. It certainly didn't come across to them. Then Grandma lined them up and spoke to them about the series of events and what they meant and how they shouldn't be afraid to speak to him or touch him.
Then she took them back. I had peeked in earlier to be sure that they could handle the scene. He looked very peaceful actually. I thought the girls would be fine.
Youngest didn't make it past the doorway. And I didn't push her. I stood behind her and let her snuggle in while she peaked around the doorjam. The older three went in, with Eldest, who had spent the most time with him, sobbing her glasses off. They read him the card and spoke to him about the flowers they'd brought with Grandma standing right there the whole time.
Littlest, in the meantime had retreated to the darkened office down the hall, where I pulled her in my lap and rocked her while I let her cry. She's only eight. Death isn't real at that age. And she loved Great Grandpa.
Finally I scooted everyone out to the back porch so the nurse could get back to her chair. They calmed out in the fresh air, speaking with grandma and the great uncles that are in town for now. A little more crying and we left. I deliberately timed the visit before I had to work so it would HAVE to be brief.
The girls asked to go back tomorrow. It is my hope that this will allow them a healthy exposure to this very necessary cycle of living.
Yes. I cried a little too. You cannot watch your child sob without doing so as well. It simply isn't possible. It's why I'm such a reluctant disciplinarian.
