Grandma

My Grandmother died today, or was it yesterday? Well, actually, she died a few weeks ago, but there is a certain sick part of me that makes obscure references to French existentialists whenever I can, but I digress. Everyone said that they were shocked when they found out, but I think that we were all kidding ourselves. We all knew, but it was the pink Elephant in the room that we let just piss and shit all over everything and pretended that it didn’t smell.

Rewind seven years ago. My grandfather (Poppy), the patriarch of the family, with all his strengths, and what could only be called Shakespearian flaws, was sick. To say that this man was sick was an incredible thing, because until about that time, I had never seen him weak. This was the guy who, at 80, had more pep in his step than any man that I knew. Then, all of a sudden, he started to deteriorate. At times, he got sick and got pneumonia, and petty much went into a state of dementia. He would get better, and then, visit after visit to the frail chill of Upstate New York, we would see him slowly get worse, until one Thanksgiving, we saw him as a weak old man who could not do anything for himself.

I didn’t really know then what really kept him alive and going all that time, but I know now. Those last few years, my grandmother, the retired RN, pretty much waited on him hand and foot. I’m sure that that experience made my grandmother want to put arsenic in his drinking water, but I guess that the power of love is a little more powerful then I ever imagined.

So I was there, in Upstate New York, at my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving. My grandfather had been sick for a year or two, and seeing him in his weak state and absence of mind was quite discerning. Then, I see my grandmother, the caretaker, have a stroke in front of my eyes. She fell over the coffee table and was completely unrecognizable. We had her talk to her sister, who was also a nurse, and she told us to call an ambulance immediately, and we soon found out that she had a blood pressure of over 200 and had had a stroke.

For a few days, we didn’t know if she would live or die. It took me that long to even bare going to the hospital to see her. I’m still ashamed, to this day, that it took me that long to go there to see her, but at that time, I was hospitalized and health problemed out. My father had a heart attack and coded in 1993 and then, soon after got diagnosed with diabetes. He pretty much goes to the hospital every one to two years, to the point where my mother and I just laugh about it when it happens. Saying that my dad got hospitalized with chest pains is sort of like saying that little Jimmy has the sniffles. My mother spent the turn of the millennium in Temple Hospital, recovering from getting her infected Kidney taken out. My cousin, who took care of me so many times at my aunt’s house was lying in bed in Jersey with Breast Cancer and was not expected to live 6 months (even though I saw her today) My grandfather, who I thought would never die, was sitting there, only a fragment of his existence.

So of course, the family drama ensued, and we had to figure out what would we do with Grandma and Poppy. So of course there were family discussions and arguments and deep dark secret unveilings, and I learned more about my grandparents then I cared to know, and then I found out that we would spend the next Christmas taking care of Poppy.

I remembered when I found that out, and I was devastated. I, and my selfish self, am definitely not Jesus, but I thought that considering that because Christmas Eve was my birthday that it was “my time”, because frankly, it always was. I thought that it would be hell, but it was actually quite nice, but it just didn’t feel like it usually did. Needless to say, I probably drank half a bottle of Vodka that New Years Eve, but then again, what else was I going to do?

So a few days later, we left, and I gave Poppy one last kiss goodbye on his sweet bald head, and that was the last time that I saw him. A few months later, I went to see Cabaret when it came to Philly, which is probably one of the best theatre experiences that I have ever had. I came home, and my roommate told me that my parents called. I called them and wondered what was up, but I sort of had a clue. My grandfather had died the night before, and thus was the end of an era.

You see, you hear all these weird stories about animals who go off to die. The dog or the cat that sniff around the house before they finally slip out and go die alone in a ditch. But after that experience, I sort of understand it. I never really felt that the whole “Daddy is a fighter” thing had any merit, but at that point, I sort of got it. Poppy was holding on as much as he could, but then when he finally found out that Grandma couldn’t take care of him, he just gave up, and that was that.

So fast forward to the present. I’m at the funeral, and I find out that my Grandma was a part of the civil rights movement and was an activist to the core, especially when it came to the PTA. Now my grandmother was never one to hold her feelings. It’s funny, because my Uncle’s best friend said at the funeral that Grandma never said a bad word about anyone and she never raised her voice in anger to anyone. Well, we all laughed our asses off, cause Gradma never minced words. We all remember to this day how she tore the grooms family a brand new asshole at my cousin’s wedding. There was the infamous statement, “That old lady cussed me out.” For the record, the family deserved it, but that’s a whole other story for a whole other day. But even after knowing all that, I just never pegged her as the activist type.

I guess that we all find out what we need to know when it’s too late. I mean knowing now what I know about both of my grandparents, there would have been so many questions that I would have asked. But, then again, high and site is, as they say 20/20.