My 80-year old grandmother fell last night and broke her hip in four places. She has been addled by Alzheimer's Disease for several years now, unable to recognize anyone or hold a conversation, and now she's in tremendous physical pain and doesn't know why. She endured a long surgery today, putting a pin in her hip, and on Monday will begin therapy so she might be able to walk again, and she won't understand why she's in so much pain and will probably scream just like she screamed last night after the fall.
Grandma hasn't strung together two words in English for two years, offering only occasional babbles in German. However, this morning when she came out of the surgery, she looked into my uncle's eyes, and said, "I'm tired and want to be with Ta Ta now." Ta Ta is grandpa, who died in 1991. It was the most lucid statement she has made in years.
What a horrible way to go. She's been dying for eight years and I'm hoping she will not have to suffer through much more. I'm struggling to maintain the memories I have of her as a formidable presence in my youth and adolescence and not the haunted ghost she is today.
I love living. I want to die at the age of 119 in a duel with a jealous lover. But I'd never want to live like this.
Leaving Bad Enough Alone
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Vaughan Bell cautions against “psychological debriefing,” a single-session
therapy treatment intended to help trauma victims process their experience:
In o...
12 minutes ago
4 comments:
Oh, Epiph, I'm so sorry.
My grandfather was miserable for the eight years he had to live without my grandmother. As much as I hated to lose him, I knew at least he didn't have to live each day without his soulmate anymore.
I've always said I wanted to be shot by a jealous lover at 90. You must be a more glass half full type person to think you've got those extra 29 years til 119!
I'm sorry to hear about your beloved grandma and what she and you and your family are going through.
Lacey: Thanks for the sympathy.
Anon: While I'm definitely a glass half full type of person (I'm a teacher, I think most of us are), I can't take credit for the line - I heard this 93-year old guy on NPR say it in an interview.
I'm so sorry. My grandfather also died a particularly long, slow, lonely death after he lost my grandmother. The only comfort was that his mind was gone, and he wasn't aware of it. I swear, we treat our pets better than we treat our loved ones at the end of their lives.
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