My grandfather's hospice was next door to the hospital. He was within walking distance, yet I couldn't go see him. Relatives kept me up on his progress and sent me messages, but I NEEDED to be at the bedside of the person who was my best friend, my buddy, the person who filled my heart. And I couldn't be.
I was in the hospital for 1 week after delivery - I was ill. I was sent home and told to go back to bed rest until I was seen by my Ob/Gyn. The next day, we brought William home. I begged my husband to take me to Grandpa, but both he and I knew that I wasn't healthy enough and a hospice isn't a place for a preemie. I received a call from my cousin who told me that my grandpa asked if the baby had been named after him liked I'd always said. When she told him that his name was William Howard he smiled and slipped into a coma. The next day he was dead.
A few days later, our dog of many years died. I kept it together for the kids. I was also dealing with the knowledge that Tim would be leaving us for a while and I had to prepare the kids for that. I was in crazy exhausted pumping supermom overdrive.
1 month and two days after my grandfather died I got a call from my dad that I had to come to the hospital, but to not speed to get there. My grandmother had died instantly of a massive heart attack. I went to the ER and entered a room filled with my family and my beautiful grandmother, bruised from IV's, skin torn from a monitor, looking like she was asleep. She looked peaceful. I remember handing Will to my aunt, walking up to my grandmother and kissing her on the cheek. I stroked her soft silver hair. I held her fingers, slightly gnarled from arthritis. I touched her lips that had kissed me so many times. And I didn't cry. I was in too much shock. I had been at her house with Will and Tim two days before. She had held Will, counted his toes, kissed his forehead. We talked for a few hours. Now she was dead.
Except for when I think of something that I have to call grandma about. Or when I know the bass fishing will be good and my grandpa isn't there to do it with me. Or when I want to hear their voices in my ears, not just in my head. I miss the way my grandmother's skin felt and my grandpa's soft, wispy hair. I miss my grandmother holding me. I miss that the most. To say that they were like parents to me is a severe understatement. They helped raise me. They helped me form a moral compass and held me up when I needed it. They were amazing people.
Last night I was crying, and Tim said to me "you feel like a piece of yourself is gone, don't you?" and I had to say yes. I told him he's just going to have to give me some time to get through this because it's about time I deal with my grief. I've grieved so many things over the past few years, but not one of the most important things of them all. It's time to deal.
