I have been on the fence about writing this post, and unfortunately it is not a happy one. But I feel that not posting it would be an insult to my loved ones. This is a documentation of my Grandfather's hospitalization and passing. It was a week full of adjustments and of sorrow, but it is nevertheless something I feel I should post.
I realize this is EXTREMELY detailed. But this is also for my benefit. So I can remember my last few days with my incredible Grandpa. I miss him so much every day, but I know he is watching out for me. If you read this whole post, you should win something. I know reading something like this before going through it would have actually eased my mind - knowing that what I was feeling was semi-normal, and that's part of why I wrote this. It's really ramble-y, but I can't take the time to make it perfect...
*The thing you have to understand is, my Grandpa never told us how bad he was feeling. He didn't call us or any of his friends.
Friday July 26, 2013: I went to work and had made plans to go to an Indian's game later that day. John picked me up from work and took me to his house. When we walked in, John's mom said I should call my mom because she had been trying to get ahold of me. My mom never calls John's house, so I knew something was wrong. I called my mom and she told me my Grandpa had a heart attack. He had apparently driven himself to the emergency room while having a heart attack and was in the hospital with kidney failure and congestive heart failure, along with horrible cellulitis. He also lost his wallet sometime between driving in and getting to the 9th floor. She told me not to worry about rushing to the hospital that night, and to go to the game. So I went. I was going to see him the next morning.
Well, we found out my Grandpa had felt absolutely awful for about a week. He said that the last good meal he had was on July 23 (his 91st birthday) when he took himself to Bob Evans. We weren't able to reach him on his birthday, and he never called us. It is really hard for my family not to "blame" ourselves for not knowing.
Saturday July 27, 2013: I went to Parma General where my Grandpa was being kept on the 9th floor cardiac area. He recognized me and smiled, and was still able to talk (something that wouldn't last long). He had a few visitors and was able to eat a little. He hated being in the hospital. He was always quiet and sweet, never asked for anything. We had to force him to ask to be fed and taken to the bathroom. (Let's just say the people at Parma General - not the brightest). My mom was worn out and I was worried and uncomfortable. But my great aunt who I love dearly was there and helped out a lot.
*I went to the hospital every day, but I didn't document everything so a few days are skipped*
Thursday August 1, 2013: My Grandpa was in a lot of pain. His shoulder was bone-on-bone arthritic, his legs were twice their normal size because of the cellulitis, he was nauseated, and he couldn't move his left arm without his shoulder killing him. On top of all of that, he was losing his ability to communicate - which was the hardest thing for me. My Grandpa and I had always been so close. I once said "Grandpa is the only one who understands me" and now I was one of the few who could understand him. He asked everyone to move him different ways and he started to get a little freaked out - like he didn't know where he was. He had apparently been hallucinating for about a week and a half and didn't tell anyone. He kept saying "Push down on my arm. Move my back. Shift me here." and it was not clear at all where he wanted to go. But we tried. A lot of my extended family came to visit and there was a doctor and a nurse in our family so they were able to really help my Grandpa get in the position he wanted to be in. It was hard for everyone to see him like that because he had always been so strong. That was a hard night. (Thankfully, though, we found his wallet)
I was told that night by a priest friend of ours that he thought God always made up for my Uncle Jay's death at age 17 by putting me into my Grandparents' lives. I nearly cried. Simple words can mean so much.
Friday, August 2, 2013: I didn't go into the hospital today, but my mom did. She said that my Grandpa wasn't speaking clearly. He was extremely nauseated and threw up once. Throughout the week he kept asking my mom "Am I dying?" which absolutely broke my heart. The doctors at the hospital said there was nothing more they could do, and our best bet would be to transfer him to hospice and "make him comfortable" - three words everyone hates to hear. We had met with a social worker earlier in the process and we decided on Seasons of Life Hospice in Parma. He was transferred on Friday night.
Saturday August 3, 2013: My Grandpa wasn't talking at all. He couldn't eat, he slept almost all the time. The hospice facility was BEAUTIFUL and the people were amazing. My mom, dad, great aunt, and I stayed for most of the day. We made phone calls to tell people where he was, etc. I couldn't say anything to him because I would get too choked up. Thinking about how little I said to him kills me every time I think about it. It was one of those "I never told him how much he meant to me" kinds of things, and it's really hard to forgive yourself for that. Anyway, we spent our day there. As we left, my mom told him what a wonderful father he was to her, and all I could say was "I love you, Grandpa. I'll be here tomorrow with John." Those were the last words I spoke to him.
Sunday, August 4, 2013: My Grandpa passed away at around 5:00 this morning. My mom woke me up to tell me, and she left with my dad to go see him. I chose to stay behind because I knew I couldn't take seeing him like that. I cried for a while, then just reflected on what he meant to me. It was one of the hardest days I can remember. Going to Mass was close to impossible just because I felt "cheated" out of time with my Grandpa. I know that sounds awful, but it's a pretty understandable response, I think.
Wednesday/Thursday August 7/8, 2013: Wednesday afternoon was my Grandpa's wake. I got through that with relative ease. Family really lifts your spirits. Close to 300 people came to honor my Grandpa that day. Thursday was the funeral. We met at the funeral home to say our last goodbyes to his body - and that was the hardest thing to do. All I could bring myself to say was "I love you, Grandpa." We drove to the church, which my Grandpa LOVED and served in for many years, and the service was lovely. I got through that just fine. We then drove to the cemetery. That's where it got even harder. There were three military servicemen there to play taps and present our flag, and the Joint Veterans Honor Guard was there to offer a 21-gun salute. As each went about their duty, it became more and more difficult to keep it together. My Grandpa was a WWII vet. There aren't many of those left. To see the pride on the servicemen's faces and the solemnity with which they folded the flag, the care they took, made me more proud than ever to be Jim Gantose's granddaughter. Honestly, there is nothing more moving than the folding and presentation of the flag. It was beautiful. There was a mercy meal after the burial, and that was that.
I promise my next post will be more cheerful. Thanks for reading, sorry if I depressed you! :/
No comments:
Post a Comment