On preparing to let go …
I’ve had a challenging few weeks organising an event for work, I was hoping to relax a little, when some news came from the UK which upset me.
My grandfather is currently in hospital with suspected pneumonia, and it’s pretty bad. He might not make it through the weekend. But nothing is certain at this point.
He’s 95 and has lived a remarkably independent life, only needing to go into a care home a few years ago. Through him, I’ve seen that curse of a long life and you witness your wife, your family and your friends all diminish until you’re the last of your generation.
And 95 is a remarkable achievement!
That said, as I learned with the death of my Grandmother in 2014 who’d been suffering from dementia for over a decade, as much as their death is signposted, you are still losing someone incredibly special in your life. And it hurts!
In mentally bracing myself, I’m aware my mind is wandering back to our first scare with my grandparents. It came in the early 80s just before Christmas. Grandad’s brother had died of a heart attack suddenly the year before, and he was rushed to hospital with what originally was thought to be the same issue. My brother and I had to abandon the church nativity we were in to go see him urgently, my parents had hired the film Arthur which we only got around to returning days later (having racked up several days late fees). It’s weird how these details stick in your mind.
In the end, it turned out to be an ulcer that led to some diet changes for him. But it was the first time I experienced my grandparents as vulnerable.
Both my grandma and grandad would have issues going on. I can remember a whole period at University when I was supposed to be coming home but ended up being picked up at the train station and taken straight to the hospital one of them had been admitted to.
Likewise, when I got my own car, I used to drop in to see my grandparents regularly only to find I needed to detour because one of them had been readmitted.
There have even been several comedies of errors along the way. Like the time my mother rang for an update on Mrs Taylor who was admitted last night, to find she wasn’t expected to survive and we should come in soon. It turned out that mum had rung the wrong ward (where they too had a Mrs Taylor, a common name).
Or the time that my grandfather rang us to let us know that grandma had died in the early-2000s, which was followed fifteen minutes later by news that, “no, she’s actually still breathing”. She’d actually fainted and was barely breathing.
I mention all this because my grandparents being taken to hospital became something I lost any fear in. At times it even felt like a running joke in our family.
This time though, it feels serious. Back in the 80s and 90s, I wasn’t ready for if it happened. I wanted a little longer before I faced a world without someone I loved so much.
Today, though I’ve done all the stuff with my grandparents I wanted to. But all the same, I still find myself sad and a little afraid. I think it will always hurt to face losing someone you love.
