Thursday, September 20, 2012

It was one year ago today that I saw my Grandfather alive for the last time. Although most would morn his passing on the 21st, I find today to be so much harder than the next.

Three hundred and sixty eight days ago my gut told me something big was about to happen. It told me to visit my Grandfather at home with my family to celebrate his 92nd birthday before being admitted to the hospital the following morning for an experimental procedure. After years of bitterness and resentment, this visit felt so very important to me. So, we went over with all the kids to give him a special birthday card.

This visit was so much more memorable for my kids than they had had before. My Grandpa hadn't felt well in the last few years and couldn't handle company for long. He'd get short of breath and tired out not long after our arrival. What I anticipated would be a brief visit turned into an hour long play session on the floor with Dzia Dzia. His eyes were big and warm and he was delighted to see them. Everyone had such a great time. I left that night with a sense of unrealistic hope that once he got home and recovered that we could continue to rebuild our strained relationship.

For the next two days my Dad called in a few times with updates. To this point all seemed to have gone well and he was slowly recovering. My kids had made him homemade pictures to put up in his hospital room for something to make him feel better. My Dad had brought it to him to show him, but he wasn't quite with it enough to really look at it just yet. Thanks ok, he can see it when he's feeling better, right?

8:00 a.m. on the 20th I got a phone call from my Dad. He didn't even have to tell me, I could tell by the sound of his voice that it was serious. I jumped in the shower and ran out the door to get downtown to the hospital. When I arrived there was a somber tone that lingered in the air. When I asked to see my Grandpa I had no idea what I'd be walking into. There laid a man, so strong who fought everything life had given him, helpless. I held his hand and stroked his hair letting him know that I was there. On the wall were my kids' pictures that he hadn't even seen. I begged him to wake up to see them with no response. I stood there next to him praying he heard me and told him everything I felt he needed to hear from me. Still to this day I have no idea if he did and I battle the guilt of my tardiness.

I spent the whole day there. I didn't want to go anywhere. I felt like I owed him that much. I talked about the kids, his visitors, we even watched the Tigers game. This is my last memory of him. I was asked to leave the hospital shortly after. It was getting late. I knew I shouldn't have left, for he still had not woken up.

I shot up out of my sleep at 1:26 a.m. with a sense of horror. I called my Aunt who had stayed behind to see how he was doing. I was just minutes too late. Calling my father was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I'm not sure if he knew already or not, to be honest I don't remember anything that was said. That's probably a good thing.

Life has continued on for one year and I still can't seem to shake it. I never thought I'd be as broken as I feel still to this day. I still dream of his voice, so vivid it's shakes me to the core in the middle of the night. I still think about it every day and still battle holding back the tears at the mention of his name. I selfishly wish I could have gotten further with my apologies and had just a little more time like we had our last vist. I've come to wonder if he knew that night would be the last time he saw us. Part of me hopes this wasn't true, for if it was I wish he would have prepared me. The last year has just tore me apart, and no miracle can ever fix it to change that.

Dear God,
Please tell my Grandpa the kids say "hi". Please tell him I love him and miss him so very much. Please tell him I'm sorry. Please tell him today like I asked you yesterday, the day before that, and for the last 362 days before that.


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