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May. 14th, 2009 02:02 amI'm waiting, waiting all the time for a call to come that means Pa is dead. And wondering if my Dad will be able to call right away, or if he'll want to calm down first, or...
And thinking how glad I am that we got pictures and a card sent before it was too late, and that I got to visit him at the hospital before it was over, but mostly thinking about the huge chasm between the close interaction and looming significance of him, when we were kids...and this little bit of something, re-established at the very end. In between...well, I went to Key West three times in a month this year and I never stopped to see him :/ I mean it was special circumstances...the death of my other grandfather with my grief stricken mother in tow, a first weekend away for Grant and I wherein I saw no relatives and was on vacation, and a day trip for a baby shower that meant we only had a few hours on the island. Still and all. Bah. It starts to seem so hard - without Ma there to make it "Ma and Pa" there was no constant flow of relatives in and out, no endless interrupting-each-other conversation, no loud arguments to roll your eyes at, or huge meals always ready to be served up on plates...just him, chain smoking, hard of hearing and not one to intiate conversation much, in his tiny efficiency apartment with the tv always on. And that should be enough...I would want it to be enough, if it were me. If it is me.
He was the Easter Bunny, sneaking out to hide treasure and then telling us it was out there. He had a riding lawn mower I drove. He used to wake us at dawn so we could sneak to the windows and see deer in the yard, when they lived in central Florida. He made us "snack plates" that Laura and I both think of as perfectly current and appealing food. He LOVED Elise, the single time he met her, which was just last week. And told my Dad over the phone all about her, right down to how soft her hair is.
I felt really heavy and awful all evening. Grant was home late, again, he stops at his mom's on the way and checks on her. He doesn't really understand her condition because she wants to downplay it or talk about other things and Mindy exaggerates and dramatizes to the point of being fantasy... Somewhere in the middle it seems like she absolutely must quit smoking, needs to get away from her job and from stress asap, is having more doctor's appointments than usual and is taking new medications. She went back to work yesterday. I seriously cannot stand it for her to be in danger, too. From my perspective or Grant's.
My Nana got denied entry to the rehab place they were all so excited about, because based on doctors' reports they don't think she can handle the intensive therapy they offer :/ It leaves her with really unappealing options like going home unable to move one side of her body aside from a hand and wrist, yet, still with vision impaired and some major confusion, or checking into a nursing home, which is not really an option for them...they're trying to appeal. I selfishly think of how Christmas is never going to be the same as though it is a blow to my stomach. Perhaps I'm wrong about that.
Grant led me to bed after dinner and we layed together and I cried and he talked and I talked and we kissed and so on and so forth and by the time I came out shaky legged and warm to get kids into bed (he has to be up ultra early...) I felt like I lost 50 pounds of foreboding. I love that man.
This is the second night in a row that, with everyone else long sleeping, I have stayed up until past one am with Ananda and Aaron, reading 3 chapters at a time of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in my office. It takes longer than normal Harry Potter because we have to stop almost every page while Aaron works out a plot point that's giving him trouble, Annie excitedly expounds on some theory or other she thinks she has that explains every mystery, or we deal with something incredibly scary/sad/angering. We read The Tales of Beedle the Bard between Half Blood Prince and DH and they liked that and I was trying to stall, but really, it was so, SO fast. And between the harrowing ending and the trailers they're addicted to, for #6, I couldn't torture them anymore. I love it that they know those Tales, now, though, because it makes book 7 all fall into place so much better to be familiar with them first...Their room is plastered in HP posters from a book they bought with their own money, and Ananda is already asking me if I can make her bigger robes so she can be Ginny or Tonks for Halloween (they've long outgrown the ones I did for a costume 3 years ago...though the scarves still work, and that was the time consuming part).
We have to get the invitations and solid date and time and all ready, tomorrow, for her birthday party...she's having a formal tea for her birthday, of all things. Like, gloves and hats and I imagine I can find a lace tablecloth at a thrift store somewhere...I can't believe she's going to be NINE. 9. I have very clear memories of my own time being nine. I read Beaches, Stephen King's Misery and a Jim Morrison biography and went from a New Kids on the Block obsession to a burdgeoning interest in Motley Crue, that year. I wore pink flamingo earrings made of foam, that actually laid on my shoulders, and ripped up jeans, and those slap bracelets...I had a crush on a girl named Lula and nightmares about my mother dying. I stayed late after school to play chess with my teacher and won an award for a poem I wrote. I called everyone "Babe" and wrote "Tonight Hernandez" on my school work, insisting that was my name.
Obviously she is not me O_o (THANK GOD)
So far, for her presents, I've gotten her a vibrating, snarling Monster Book of Monsters that opens or belts closed from Amazon, a blue tshirt that says "I", then a picture of an owl, and then "U", and a silver fairy ring. It's all en route to our house.
And thinking how glad I am that we got pictures and a card sent before it was too late, and that I got to visit him at the hospital before it was over, but mostly thinking about the huge chasm between the close interaction and looming significance of him, when we were kids...and this little bit of something, re-established at the very end. In between...well, I went to Key West three times in a month this year and I never stopped to see him :/ I mean it was special circumstances...the death of my other grandfather with my grief stricken mother in tow, a first weekend away for Grant and I wherein I saw no relatives and was on vacation, and a day trip for a baby shower that meant we only had a few hours on the island. Still and all. Bah. It starts to seem so hard - without Ma there to make it "Ma and Pa" there was no constant flow of relatives in and out, no endless interrupting-each-other conversation, no loud arguments to roll your eyes at, or huge meals always ready to be served up on plates...just him, chain smoking, hard of hearing and not one to intiate conversation much, in his tiny efficiency apartment with the tv always on. And that should be enough...I would want it to be enough, if it were me. If it is me.
He was the Easter Bunny, sneaking out to hide treasure and then telling us it was out there. He had a riding lawn mower I drove. He used to wake us at dawn so we could sneak to the windows and see deer in the yard, when they lived in central Florida. He made us "snack plates" that Laura and I both think of as perfectly current and appealing food. He LOVED Elise, the single time he met her, which was just last week. And told my Dad over the phone all about her, right down to how soft her hair is.
I felt really heavy and awful all evening. Grant was home late, again, he stops at his mom's on the way and checks on her. He doesn't really understand her condition because she wants to downplay it or talk about other things and Mindy exaggerates and dramatizes to the point of being fantasy... Somewhere in the middle it seems like she absolutely must quit smoking, needs to get away from her job and from stress asap, is having more doctor's appointments than usual and is taking new medications. She went back to work yesterday. I seriously cannot stand it for her to be in danger, too. From my perspective or Grant's.
My Nana got denied entry to the rehab place they were all so excited about, because based on doctors' reports they don't think she can handle the intensive therapy they offer :/ It leaves her with really unappealing options like going home unable to move one side of her body aside from a hand and wrist, yet, still with vision impaired and some major confusion, or checking into a nursing home, which is not really an option for them...they're trying to appeal. I selfishly think of how Christmas is never going to be the same as though it is a blow to my stomach. Perhaps I'm wrong about that.
Grant led me to bed after dinner and we layed together and I cried and he talked and I talked and we kissed and so on and so forth and by the time I came out shaky legged and warm to get kids into bed (he has to be up ultra early...) I felt like I lost 50 pounds of foreboding. I love that man.
This is the second night in a row that, with everyone else long sleeping, I have stayed up until past one am with Ananda and Aaron, reading 3 chapters at a time of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in my office. It takes longer than normal Harry Potter because we have to stop almost every page while Aaron works out a plot point that's giving him trouble, Annie excitedly expounds on some theory or other she thinks she has that explains every mystery, or we deal with something incredibly scary/sad/angering. We read The Tales of Beedle the Bard between Half Blood Prince and DH and they liked that and I was trying to stall, but really, it was so, SO fast. And between the harrowing ending and the trailers they're addicted to, for #6, I couldn't torture them anymore. I love it that they know those Tales, now, though, because it makes book 7 all fall into place so much better to be familiar with them first...Their room is plastered in HP posters from a book they bought with their own money, and Ananda is already asking me if I can make her bigger robes so she can be Ginny or Tonks for Halloween (they've long outgrown the ones I did for a costume 3 years ago...though the scarves still work, and that was the time consuming part).
We have to get the invitations and solid date and time and all ready, tomorrow, for her birthday party...she's having a formal tea for her birthday, of all things. Like, gloves and hats and I imagine I can find a lace tablecloth at a thrift store somewhere...I can't believe she's going to be NINE. 9. I have very clear memories of my own time being nine. I read Beaches, Stephen King's Misery and a Jim Morrison biography and went from a New Kids on the Block obsession to a burdgeoning interest in Motley Crue, that year. I wore pink flamingo earrings made of foam, that actually laid on my shoulders, and ripped up jeans, and those slap bracelets...I had a crush on a girl named Lula and nightmares about my mother dying. I stayed late after school to play chess with my teacher and won an award for a poem I wrote. I called everyone "Babe" and wrote "Tonight Hernandez" on my school work, insisting that was my name.
Obviously she is not me O_o (THANK GOD)
So far, for her presents, I've gotten her a vibrating, snarling Monster Book of Monsters that opens or belts closed from Amazon, a blue tshirt that says "I", then a picture of an owl, and then "U", and a silver fairy ring. It's all en route to our house.
