Shutting off your mind
Trauma. Stress. Unexpected occurrences.
These cloud the brain, confuse you with thoughts, reactions. People deal with it in different ways. Some with tears, others with anger. Some are patient, they want to assess the situation, proceed with caution.
I lean more towards action. Quick, decisive, early decisions. For better or worse, this is what is built into my DNA. I'm not cocksure, certainly not a hero. Many of my reactions are wrong. Assumptions sometimes are made that are not my place. But in the grand scheme of things, this can be ok. These decisions were made with the best intentions.
Sunday at 7am my cell rings. It's mom. This can't be good, especially at this hour. My grandmother has suffered what is only described as a massive heart attack. I must get to FL to be with her, to help the family. I pack haphazardly, not thinking, not planning. Yet I know, I've got what I need.
I'm in an odd position as the eldest grandchild. Not quite adult, not quite child, odd juxtaposition, even at 37. What help cam I be, why am I going? Just the sense that I need to be there.
arrive at the airport, find my Mom. I just realized that this is the first time we've ever flown together. Once in my seat, the tears finally flow. First moment in two hours that I've thought, not simply reacted. The support from work is overwhelming.
"do what it takes, we've got you covered "
Land in TPA, grab an uncle. A cousin drives us north, with no news. Or at least none good. un Still the same. May not live the night.
Hospital. Small, satellite southern hospital. ICU. Nothing prepares me for this.
My grandmother was a kind sharp fun woman. She told me some of the best dirty jokes I know. Taught me to cook, more accurately cooked with a passion that I desperately wanted to duplicate. For her cooking was love, a way she showed it. A way she brought us all together. She made each and every one of us feel special in our own way. She was a confidant but would also gossip about everyone else. Somehow you trusted her, fully knowing she'd share what you told her. It never mattered.
Most of all she was willful. From my early teens she treated me like an adult. Spoke to me like one. Chided me when I was acting foolish, or immature. She was clear about she felt about everything. Especially death. No machines keeping her alive. No alzheimers. No wheelchair. No diminished quality of life. Don't mourn. Smile, know she's in a better place. Most of all, toast her. Have a party. No mourning. No tears.
So to walk in and see the machine. My heart fell. She was breathing on a ventilator. Her head was tossing and turning as seizures racked her body. Her eyes, open. As if she was frantically looking for help. We attempt to calm her, to make her see us. But the movement is involuntary, we are told. Her brain was without oxygen for too long. I swear she can see us, but I secretly pray that she cannot. It's too painful. For her. And us.
It's Alice in Wonderland. Everyone has their role. Mom is the rock, gathering info, creating consensus, making decisions. Dennis is the passion. His anger fuels our questions until we get satisfactory answers. Al is the spiritual one. Knowing its somehow God's plan, not letting us lose perspective. Denise is our cheer. Quick to laugh, first to hug, hold a hand. And I'm the worker. Hunger sets in, I grab subway for all. Where's everyone going to sleep? I go home set up the rooms and the air mattresses. Sheets blankets pillows, and hopefully rest for all. No one wants to leave on night three? I'll make a pasta and bring it for everyone to eat. We need hospice? I'll make the call, coordinate the meeting.
I don't remember doing these things specifically. The brain takes over and solves situations.
At 221pm, on 2-2-12, at the Hospice House in Citrus County, she finally drifted away peacefully. 48 hours later, I'm at the airport headed home. Finally with time to think. But I don't really want to. Or more specifically, I can't. It's feelings, pictures, moments in time.
What, if anything, did I learn? Will I learn more with perspective? With time? It gets easier, right?
I ponder this over a beer, and a Jameson.
These cloud the brain, confuse you with thoughts, reactions. People deal with it in different ways. Some with tears, others with anger. Some are patient, they want to assess the situation, proceed with caution.
I lean more towards action. Quick, decisive, early decisions. For better or worse, this is what is built into my DNA. I'm not cocksure, certainly not a hero. Many of my reactions are wrong. Assumptions sometimes are made that are not my place. But in the grand scheme of things, this can be ok. These decisions were made with the best intentions.
Sunday at 7am my cell rings. It's mom. This can't be good, especially at this hour. My grandmother has suffered what is only described as a massive heart attack. I must get to FL to be with her, to help the family. I pack haphazardly, not thinking, not planning. Yet I know, I've got what I need.
I'm in an odd position as the eldest grandchild. Not quite adult, not quite child, odd juxtaposition, even at 37. What help cam I be, why am I going? Just the sense that I need to be there.
arrive at the airport, find my Mom. I just realized that this is the first time we've ever flown together. Once in my seat, the tears finally flow. First moment in two hours that I've thought, not simply reacted. The support from work is overwhelming.
"do what it takes, we've got you covered "
Land in TPA, grab an uncle. A cousin drives us north, with no news. Or at least none good. un Still the same. May not live the night.
Hospital. Small, satellite southern hospital. ICU. Nothing prepares me for this.
My grandmother was a kind sharp fun woman. She told me some of the best dirty jokes I know. Taught me to cook, more accurately cooked with a passion that I desperately wanted to duplicate. For her cooking was love, a way she showed it. A way she brought us all together. She made each and every one of us feel special in our own way. She was a confidant but would also gossip about everyone else. Somehow you trusted her, fully knowing she'd share what you told her. It never mattered.
Most of all she was willful. From my early teens she treated me like an adult. Spoke to me like one. Chided me when I was acting foolish, or immature. She was clear about she felt about everything. Especially death. No machines keeping her alive. No alzheimers. No wheelchair. No diminished quality of life. Don't mourn. Smile, know she's in a better place. Most of all, toast her. Have a party. No mourning. No tears.
So to walk in and see the machine. My heart fell. She was breathing on a ventilator. Her head was tossing and turning as seizures racked her body. Her eyes, open. As if she was frantically looking for help. We attempt to calm her, to make her see us. But the movement is involuntary, we are told. Her brain was without oxygen for too long. I swear she can see us, but I secretly pray that she cannot. It's too painful. For her. And us.
It's Alice in Wonderland. Everyone has their role. Mom is the rock, gathering info, creating consensus, making decisions. Dennis is the passion. His anger fuels our questions until we get satisfactory answers. Al is the spiritual one. Knowing its somehow God's plan, not letting us lose perspective. Denise is our cheer. Quick to laugh, first to hug, hold a hand. And I'm the worker. Hunger sets in, I grab subway for all. Where's everyone going to sleep? I go home set up the rooms and the air mattresses. Sheets blankets pillows, and hopefully rest for all. No one wants to leave on night three? I'll make a pasta and bring it for everyone to eat. We need hospice? I'll make the call, coordinate the meeting.
I don't remember doing these things specifically. The brain takes over and solves situations.
At 221pm, on 2-2-12, at the Hospice House in Citrus County, she finally drifted away peacefully. 48 hours later, I'm at the airport headed home. Finally with time to think. But I don't really want to. Or more specifically, I can't. It's feelings, pictures, moments in time.
What, if anything, did I learn? Will I learn more with perspective? With time? It gets easier, right?
I ponder this over a beer, and a Jameson.
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