“So, how is the writing going?” He asked me, my Grandpa as I stood in the doorway of his room one evening. Him, not even giving a slight acknowledge I was there, while he peered at the ceiling as he lied on his bed. As if he was only talking in mid air, talking out loud to himself, his heated blanket blast to full force. Lying my head against the door frame, leaning to one hip as I thought back to my stories I continuously wrote, five accomplished and thought to the most recent one.
“It’s going pretty well. I’ve recently published my fifth story on the app I use,” explaining to him, as if he would understand what an app was, for he was not into all the technology now a-days. However I didn’t think too much into it, just remembering the Wattpad app I used. A pause settled over.
“That’s good. You’re really into the whole writing thing, hey?” He spoke, more in a question as I nodded my head, for he should have known all of it before. Months ago, before my Grandpa started going down hill, I had given him a copy of the story I completed for my English class my last year of high school. The story of my Grandma, who passed away from cancer almost a year earlier. ‘In the House’ it was titled, for which he cried and read over three times. I was happy he enjoyed it, for the story was something close to home, something we all experienced.
“Yeah, I am. I’m thinking about going back to school soon, I just don’t know which one to go to,” I mentioned, still trying to decide between the University of Manitoba, or Red River. The idea of both still dwelling in my head, wishing the answer would come to me soon. The decision coming to me soon. I would have to wait only.
“Well, I’m sure you will figure it out,” he spoke, the little lamp on perched next to his bed, the tiny room crowded with heaps of clothes and clutter. The same room my Grandma had passed away in, for it would be the same one my Grandpa would.
The quietness sealing over us, as if trying to come up with what next to discuss. “How’s work going? You still working at the pet store?” He beat me to the punch, coming up with a question before I could even process one. As if I didn’t know how to speak or hold a conversation with this side of the family.
“Yeah, I’m still working at PetSmart. It’s going alright, nothing too new going on. The same old thing,” I spoke up once again, thinking back to the shift I had only worked the other day, however no stories about what happened could come to mind. As if I was blank. Although right after certain thoughts, one question returned to my head, one I always found myself asking when I would visit him, which became often then. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrible,” he spoke the honest truth, no sugar coating at all. That was my Grandfather. “I just always feel cold, and I know I have to eat but I just don’t feel hungry.” He had gotten into an accident at work months earlier, the pain not hitting him until a week after the occurrence. Even at the age he was at, he still worked full time, not giving that up at all. After my Grandmother passed away, he felt out of place, no longer having to take care of someone like he did for almost three years. Putting his dedication into work, he kept himself busy, like he always did.
“I gotta tell you, my Father will die the day he has to stop working,” my Mother had said very often, making a joke out of it as we all knew it was the truth. That’s exactly what happened. Him, doing things he wasn’t supposed to do at work, like carrying things up tall ladders for example, he only helped a customer carry a board to their car. Not bothering to ask one of the young yard guys who only smoked in the back, he figured he could handle it himself. Until a gust of strong wind blew the board over, causing it to make impact with my Grandpa as he fell completely on his back, onto a large tape measure he had hooked onto the back of his jeans. Nothing happened, he wasn’t hurt, at first. It wasn’t until a week later he started to feel the pain, becoming so bad he had to eventually take a leave from work. And that, there, was the start of the end. The start of the hill going down, tumbling as he tried to get back up onto his feet, however only continued to roll down the steep long hill.
More problems began to occur, ones my family and I weren’t too sure of then, at the time, and even now. He began to have muscle aches, the tingling feeling of being cold all the time, the gnawing thought that he had to eat, but was no longer hungry for anything. He grew really old, really fast. My sister having to move in there to help take care of him, moving with my nephew and her boyfriend. However that still didn’t help, more problems occurring, worse and worse his condition became. Soon, not even getting out of bed, depression sinking in we thought, no will to leave or move in the day. The paralyzed feeling of hopelessness, believing he would get better, however us as the family knew he wouldn’t. We were the hopeless ones, on the other hand he tried keeping that hope up, although at the same time I think he just began to give up. Didn’t eat much in the day, didn’t do much at all. Didn’t watch the Jets hockey games in which he loved, didn’t sit up watching the news like usual. That was all gone, almost as if he was a different person, one I didn’t enjoy to see.
One night, I had gone with my sister to sleep the night at the trailer, walking in, the lights shut off completely, no light absorbing the room. And our Grandpa was sitting there, in the living room, in the dark in his favourite blue chair. His jacket on, his toque pulled and mitts while he waited.
“Grandpa? What are you doing?” My sister asked, our confusion rising as we placed our bags on the ground, taking off our winter gear as we checked up on him.
“I’m waiting for the garbage truck. They’re going to be here soon,” he spoke to us, a slight pint of fear rising inside, confused more than even.
“What are you talking about? It’s nine o’clock at night. The truck doesn’t come till the morning,” my sister voiced up in concern, while I only stood there in a manner of slight terror, my nerves spiking as it freaked me out a bit. What was happening to him? Was he loosing it? It is a scary thing watching someone you love begin to disintegrate, loosing themselves, turning into another thing. Watching them forget things, forget who they used to be, forget the things they once did, enjoyed doing. Watching someone you love fall apart. That’s what freaked me out the most.
Home care was soon organized to make visits to the trailer, helping him make food and assisting him with other things, things he could no longer do. Sure my sister was a big help, however she couldn’t do it all. She needed someone else to help. However that still didn’t help that much, and soon, home care would no longer have to return to the house every day.
That night, the night we spoke in his room, my Grandpa lying underneath his heated blanket, me standing in the doorway, that was our last conversation together. And now, I am grateful for that, for speaking to him that evening, for I had no clue what lied ahead, but I would soon. My sister took me home that night, after the quick discussion I applied with my Grandfather, kissing him goodbye as I assured him I would be back tomorrow to see him once more.
“I love you, little bunny rabbit,” he spoke before I exited his room, turning around slightly and smiling a bit. Little bunny rabbit was a small nickname he always referred to me as, for he once owned a garden, and I always ate the carrots he picked. The fiddling memory floating in my head, happy thoughts occurring once again.
“I love you too Grandpa.” And then I left the room.
It was the next morning, we got the call. My parents in the house moving back and forth, as if in a hurry while I slowly woke up around nine o’clock in the morning, early for me. I didn’t mind though, for I had to work later in the day, meaning I had to shower soon, and eat something. Confusion beginning to rise inside me, for it was a Tuesday, and both my parents were never home on a weekday. My Dad always at work by now, and my Mom having the daycare kids, in which she worked from home. I wasn’t curious enough to get up and investigate, for I only enjoyed laying in my bed letting the day sink into myself. Checking my phone, I had only a few notifications from my friends. Nothing much at all.
A knock soon extenuating at my door, followed by an entrance, it was my Dad.
“Hey, we’re going to the hospital. They found Grandpa today in his bed and couldn’t wake him up. We’re meeting your aunt there, and we’ll keep you in touch when we know what’s going on,” he spoke as my mind was shot into full force, very much awake now as I heard the news, slight shock spreading through again. I didn’t know what to think, for I only lied there in my bed still, trying to process it. I wasn’t too shocked he had been transported to the hospital, for the last few months he had gone various times, all for different reasons, like I mentioned earlier one thing after the other while he travelled down hill. And not knowing at the time, but this would be his last stop.
My parents left a little while later, the house settling in silence as I just lied there still, trying not to let my mind wander into scary territory, and remained on my phone awhile after. Although soon, my phone ringing crazy, my Dad calling as I picked up the line. Slow speaking came next, as it had been about an hour since they arrived at the hospital. “He had a stroke. He’s on a ventilator now, they are going to take him off of it soon, but he isn’t going to make it,” my Dad sounded upset, for silence was the only sound in the background, and I could only imagine tears were being shed that very moment. “I’m going to come pick you up, you should call work and tell them you can’t come in,” he spoke next, and I agreed with him as I quickly said goodbye, hanging up and dialing the number for work.
Flipping my head over the tub, I washed it quickly as I then got dressed in a hurry, my Dad picking me up as we left right away. We didn’t have to rush too much, for the doctors were all waiting for the family to come by first, before they would take the breathing tube away. I didn’t know exactly what I was thinking, a wave of shock still flustering inside me as we headed to the hospital. I didn’t feel this way with my Grandma, for I knew weeks ahead she was going to pass, however that was an unusual situation. The one I was in now was a normal one, for this time I didn’t expect it at all. The expectancy was what most people felt when someone passes.
Tears streaming down my face as I saw my family in the room, at the hospital, the hugs that I held onto for long, the tears I shared with everyone else. I wasn’t alone, wasn’t the only one crying, many others joined in. It seemed the day went by so fast, the family all rushing over to meet us, to say one last final goodbye. The grandkids were left alone in the room for awhile, the five of us surrounding the bed where he lied, his leg still twitching from the muscle spasms, his chest rising with the machine doing most of the work. I couldn’t see his face with the tube plunged down his throat, and at the time I didn’t want to see. Sobs were let out, loud ones with pain and grief soaked in, however my cries were silent, tears only running down my face. My hands digging into my pockets of my black winter jacket, my face becoming itchy from the salty tears. I couldn’t wipe them away, for if I did new ones would fall over my face, the flaming itch to return once more.
The five grandchildren stood there first longer than I imagined, as the slight thought from my recollection returned to me. I had been here before, in this very situation. Almost a year before, when my Grandma passed away. I had been there with all of them, their painful crying faces all jogging my memory, a sight I didn’t enjoy seeing. A situation I didn’t enjoy being in. I don’t think anyone does.
In and out of the room, the doctors letting us stay in another room beside the waiting area. A room with couches and chairs, as if a grieving room of some sort, and I spent lots of time in there while other members of the family wanted to say goodbye. I was given the option, once again, to go into the room alone to say goodbye. However just like with my Grandma, I refused the offer. It sounds terrible, but I just didn’t find the need to. I didn’t. I did spend more time with him during the last few weeks of his life, and the night before. That counted for something, didn’t it? There was no need to go back into that room, I had said goodbye to him the night before. When he was actually there, actually alive, not just a machine keeping him alive.
It was time. My parents on either side of me, my aunt and cousins in the room as well. My sister didn’t want to be in there while it happened, she didn’t want to see it at all. But the seven of us hurdled around in the room, the doctors on either side of the bed, shutting off the machine as they reached the tube out. And for a few minutes, he seemed ok. His leg stopped twitching, however he was breathing. Breathing. His eyes glued to the ceiling, not shut at all. He wasn’t dead, not yet. He was alive, he was breathing on his own, and for a split second, that gave us some hope. However that hope was soon stricken down, his chest frozen from movement, as he stopped breathing. The image still haunting in my head, as I watched the colour from his face instantly drain, turning into a cold grey as his eyes still remained wide open, his mouth mimicking it as well. The slight beeping sound on the machine next to him, we knew what happened before the doctors informed us. He was gone. He had passed. The tears running down at full force, those waterworks breaking loose from the gates as the seven of us held each other for awhile, just like a year earlier in the tiny room located in the trailer. A trailer no one lived in any longer.
Minutes ticking by, his body shutting down as organs did as well. Gurgling noises reaching his throat, appearing as if he was coming back to life as my eyes watched in horror. Fear washing over myself, I was scared to say the least.
“What’s happening to him?” I looked over towards my Mother asking in a shaking voice, not able to take my eyes off of him lying there.
“That’s everything inside him shutting down, his organs and all,” my Mother said something like that, my mind still foggy from that very day. I had never seen someone die that way, never saw someone die naturally before, a horrified look spreading across my face as it freaked me out further. The gurgling noises intensifying, watching his limp, grey body move a bit, I couldn’t stand there any longer. I took off from the room, joining the rest of my family in the waiting area while more tears rained down my face. Shame spreading that I was afraid of what I just saw, causing me more sadness to come. That was all I could handle seeing.
My Grandfather passed away on November 27th, 2018. Almost one year since my Grandmother’s passing, which occurred on December 1st, 2017.
That Christmas was a hard one as well, another passing occurring close, as my great uncle (my Grandpa’s brother) travelled from Ontario to visit, like he did annually. However it was tough seeing him, the faint reminder of my Grandpa who was gone, for the two shared very similar characteristics. My small nephew of age two referring to my uncle as ‘papa’, what he used to call my Grandpa. More tears being shed from that small name, that small identification. It was heartbreaking almost.
I have to say, I don’t enjoy the memory of that very day; the day in the hospital, when he left us behind. Behind to return to my Grandma, a thought I’m sure he had been thinking of. I only enjoy remembering the good memories, the ones I recollect from long ago. From when I was a child, all the way to recent time’s.
The times he would refer to me as ‘bunny rabbit’, bringing over fresh vegetables from his garden, like carrots and peas and cucumber etc. The time he would make soups and bring them over. His chicken soup was my favourite, not so much when I was younger however as I got older I appreciated it more. Saving them for sick times, when cold and flu seasons peaked, as if treating the soup itself like a healing god. His homemade apple sauce was the best, alone with his pickled beets, I loved those items. His little apple tree he had only recently planted years ago, the year earlier had been the best year for them.
The times my cousins and I would sleepover at their place, the trailer, watching movies all together. The times we had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners at their place, for I had looked forward to those every year as I grew older.
The faint memories I have when I was younger, my parents explaining to me we had a family dinner at my grandparents house later in the evening.
“The Grandma and Grandpa with the cats or the dog?” I would ask, for this set of grandparents owned a dog when I was a lot younger, my memory foggy a bit from that time.
The time my Grandpa came over to fix our sink, my curious little three of four year old self watching him a bit.
“Not much hair you have up there Grandpa,” I spoke in my munchkin voice, referring to his bald head as only a few whisky pieces of white hair feathered over his head. Laughter emerging after that.
And then a memory from something more recent, my graduation, an event that occurred last June. Seeing him in the crowd as I walked up upon that stage, him handing me a gift which was from him and my recently deceased Grandmother. The gift being a small floating heart on a chain, one in which all the granddaughters received at their graduation. I hadn’t taken it off for months after.
And now, I still keep the last two cards my Grandpa had given to me, one my graduation, one my birthday.
‘Happy Graduation. We love you.’ -Grandma A & Grandpa A
‘Happy Birthday. Love you Bunny Rabbit.’ -Love Grandpa A
The two very cards, still hanging in the corners of my mirror, still in full display, a happy memory filling inside myself. Happy ones, not the scary, disturbing ones on the last day.
My Mom and aunt finally sold the trailer my Grandparents once lived in, fixing it up as we sorted through piles of things they once collected, they hoarded. The sad realization sinking in that that would be my last time visiting the trailer, the last time walking through as a memory lane appeared before my eyes. Recollections of events that occurred in that very house; birthdays, Christmases, Easter’s, family dinners, sleepovers, and day trips to visit each other. Those will forever be in my memory now, instead of locked up in the trailer where my memories used to be held. However as many good memories occurred in that trailer, so did some bad ones, although the enjoyable, happy thoughts over powered the bad. Like things should work in the world. The love I have, had for both of them in my memory as well, keeping it alive as I re-embrace those captivating thoughts.
Both my loving Grandparents have left now, joining each other once again, surrounded by their love, appreciation for each other. Surrounded by each other’s company, their spirits, the way it should have always been.
