Friday, February 19, 2010

The Great Lion is Dead

My grandpa died on Monday, February 8th, 2010 in Mercy Hospital.

When Conner ran into the lobby to wake me, he told me that his breathing had dropped to zero, so I needed to hurry. I did, and I ran down to the ICU room.

There, Ronnie and Sarah sat beside my motionless grandfather. His heart monitor was still off the charts, though, but his breathing rate had, indeed, fallen to zero.

I sat in the chair beside him. I watched him.

The nurse ran in and switched the heart monitor to the 'private' setting, which means we don't see anything happening internally. Then she ran out.

I still watched him.

And I watched as he morphed into a lifeless, inhuman form.

The peaceful lapse into unconsciousness you see in the movies is a lighthearted, playful version of death. That's the stupidest thought, but it's what I was thinking.

The being that used to be my grandfather, my warm, honest, sturdy, musky-scented grandfather transformed into something alien and wrong before my eyes.

It was alien. It was inhuman. It was not supposed to be.

I watched him briefly resemble my peacefully sleeping grandfather.

And then I watched him melt into a soulless monster, an inanimate creature that wasn't supposed to exist.

He looked empty. Like a coffee cup filled with everything that mattered had suddenly been dumped out into a hellish abyss and all you wanted to do was rescue it. And all that's left is the cup. The empty, ugly cup.

His son entered the room. His son tried to close the empty vessel's mouth. It didn't work. His son pushed the lifeless alien onto its side, and I watched as this thing that mildly resembled my grandfather sank like a ragdoll under his son's touch.

Sarah whimpered and turned my face away. I squeezed eyes shut, but it's burned into my head.

I told her I needed to leave. She came with me and had her arms around me for about the next hour. She saw it too. She saw the monstrous, empty shell. She and I, and also Ronnie, will never speak of this experience, but we will always have the connection. We saw it happen.

Conner saw it too, but I think he saw it a different way. He doesn't understand how disturbed we are.

I'm now taking a healthy dose of Zoloft every day, so it's easier to push aside. I do have panic attacks every morning before school. But that's what the Zoloft is for, I suppose.

I want to melt into a puddle of water and curl up on the ground, just so I can sleep forever.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

He's not gonna make it.

My grandpa is slowly dying and there's nothing we can do about it.

We watch as his organs shut down and his body functions begin to disintegrate and he drowns in his own body fluid because we can't stop it from filling his lungs.

They say the morphine blocks out the pain of drowning, the pain of hunger, the pain of thirst, but there's no real way to tell, is there? Unless they really give him too much and guarantee that there's a lack of pain.

I'm still just a kid to them. I'm still just little old Katie, too young to understand the gravity of the situation. Here I am, just little old Katie, sitting in a chair, wondering in a clueless, innocent fashion what is going on.

Uncle Ron takes over. Uncle Ron knows what's best. He assumes the authoritative position and decides everything. He assumes we agree with what he says. He doesn't even bother to assume if I agree, though, because my opinion doesn't matter anyway. I'm just a kid. I don't know what's going on.

We are ALL going through a hard time. We all know how important and influential Grandpa was. We all have our own special connections with him. We all have a voice in how this should be handled. We all know that Grandpa is going to die. And we all know that we all have to watch. Why should it matter who the fucking LEADER is?

I am seventeen years old. I am six months away from being eighteen. I know that that's still young, but I will not be categorized as one of "the kids" and just thrown into whatever position is open. I refuse. And I don't give a flying fuck what Uncle Ron thinks about it.

I love my grandpa. I love him so much. He created this family. He made it into what it is. He kept us all together. He kept the peace.

I'm probably just overreacting and taking all this out on my uncle because I'm having a hard time dealing with all this, but I was never looked at as being more than a kid, even before this happened. And now, no matter how much effort I spend trying to take care of everyone else, trying to assure that everyone else is okay, trying to make sure everyone has what they need, I'm still going to be another kid, another dependent, another one to be pushed to the side with a lack of knowledge, a lack of understanding, a lack of importance.

I'm not important to this family.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

When it just seemed to be getting better

My grandpa had a massive stroke.

He's okay. I mean, okay as he can be. He can't talk and his right side is paralyzed, but he's awake and cognizant of what's going on around him, and I'm pretty sure he knows who we are and what we're saying to him. I'm just so grateful that he isn't in a coma. Or dead. There's always that too.

The last thing my grandpa said to me was about my depression. I live pretty much right next to where he works, and he was taking a walk as I was exiting my neighborhood, so I pulled up next to him to talk to him.

He said that I shouldn't let it get me down and move on. I was frustrated because I was not only having a bad day, but I'd also had similar lectures from different people, so I just sort of brushed him off. I told him thanks and I'd try, and then I drove off. I'm pretty sure that was the last time I saw him.

It's interesting, I guess. Thinking about it.

Right now, I'm at Mercy hospital and I'm staying the night here. And I'm skipping school tomorrow. I guess I can't catch a break when it comes to school attendance. Consider my exemptions kissed goodbye.

I look around at all the people in the waiting room outside of the ICU and it's a really eclectic group. Well, as eclectic as they come in a Catholic hospital. I wonder what happened to their loved ones and why they're here. There's one guy that has a gray and black beard sitting not too far from me and he's all by himself. Is it his wife in there? His estranged child? A sibling? Maybe just a close friend?

There's a family here and I just overheard that their loved one has stage 4 melanoma, which is the most dangerous type of skin cancer. Stage 4 is the worst stage and can't be cured by surgery alone.

It's just interesting to me, I guess, seeing all these people that support other people and would give up a planned weekend to be there for them.

I have a birthday party, a writing workshop, and a nine-hour rehearsal that I have to cancel. :/ I mean, not that I mind, but I was really excited.

I love my grandpa. He's the one person in my family that is invincible. And yet now, I guess it's pretty much proven that he isn't, and that's so heart-breaking.

He's the heart and soul to this family. He is what keeps everyone together. He is Mercer, you know? I dunno. I guess that sounds strange.

It's so sad to see him like this.

At the same time, though, I'm feeling sort of numb to it all. I don't even mean like I'm trying to numb the pain; I just mean that I don't really feel much. I feel upset that he's incapacitated, but most of my sadness stems from watching everyone else react.

Not that I don't love my grandpa, because I do. He's an amazingly unique person and has had a huge impact on my life. I could never forget my grandpa.

But right now, I feel just sort of mutely sad for everyone else. I got blankets and pillows and food and everything to take care of everyone else.

I especially ache for Cristin. She's taking this so hard. Grandpa is her rock, the only man in her life that really understood her and kept his word on everything he said. She just keeps crying.

Mom, too. Mom's hiding it right now, but I know she's gonna break down sooner or later.

It makes me think about my dad and what I would do if something happened to him. I don't know if I could take it. As much as I hate some things about him, I still love him unconditionally. It's just hard to get over the pride and the awkwardness sometimes.

I love being a part of a loving, supportive, close-knit family.