August 28
Haiku for Deletion:
where there were once words
now there is gentle haiku
too much sharing: bad
I've been sort of struggling with whether to write about this or not, but because I don't much think there's any point in documenting my life online but leaving out giant things, so it seems foolish not to.
Last week, Angelo had what the doctors think was some kind of a stroke. My grandmother noticed that something was wrong because it was taking him a strangely long time to get dressed. When she went upstairs to him, she asked if he was going to go down to the box and get the paper, he just looked at her blankly. She asked him questions, he was unable to answer. She pointed at the quarters on the dresser, and said "just take the quarters, and go down to the box, and get a paper". He didn't know what quarters were, or for what they were used. Eventually, the episode passed, but it went on for more than an hour and was frightning for everyone involved.
I don't know that I talk about how it makes me feel, watching my grandparents fail. I mean, I am aware enough to know that when you hit 80, things aren't going to work the way they used to, and that you need to begin to think of life in years and sometimes months rather than decades, but because he is my grandfather and my love for him is so irrational, maybe I am in and have been in a little bit of denial as to how he's been acting for a few years. Certainly, he's always been a bit daft. He's a good 60 percent deaf, but has steadfastly refused to get a hearing aid. He doesn't follow conversation, and is one of those old men who regale you with intricate, excruciatingly boring stories of wacky hijinx from World War II when, at the same time, he is unable to correctly remember his home phone number. As I said, he's always been a little bit daft. It has unquestionably gotten worse. Forgetting his phone number, what he did the day before, acting irrationally--becoming furious if my grandmother (or I--remember the story I told about driving to New Jersey?) suggest that he had forgotten something, or had done something the wrong way.
I have been able to really ignore a lot of this, though not entirely my fault. My presence in my Grandparent's life is still enough of an excitement that a visit from me is a special occassion, and Angelo is almost never sharp with me. In fact, it's often suggested that I be the one to tell him things or ask him things, because my grandmother knows that he will listen to me without losing his shit, no matter what I have to say. Whether or not he follows through on my advice is a whole different matter. Really, if he ever did anything anyone else told him to do, he'd have a hearing aid (honestly, I am committed to the idea that it is pure vanity that's prevented him from getting one, all these years.) Angelo is unquestionably the source of my own stubbornness, I see it, for good or for bad.
Since I am emailing this to myself, there might be breaks in continuity, but that's part of my charm, I think. My blatant disregard for the "rules" about stuff like "Spelling" and "good grammar" and "complete sentences". Continuity! feh!
I didn't mean to turn this into a sad story about Angelo. He is an old man. Of course, he will not be healthy forever. Of course, he will not be around for me forever. I would be lying if I said that I was able to even really begin considering a life without my grandparents. On those nights when I am unable to sleep, which are happening with more and more frequency, I will often lie there with my eyes closed, sort of taking stock of my life. All the things I'd like to change. The kind of job I'd like to have. The things I want to do, and I will find myself thinking of my grandparents, and how my life would be without them. I feel guilty that I don't make more time to see them, when I know that's what they want more than anything else. That they are lonely, and in a new state. That they bravely made this move from New york to here, and have no one to talk to besides eachother. I feel like I am failing THEM, when they themselves are beginning to fail, and I can not stop these thoughts from coming and I can not stop them from being elderly.
It's funny when a balance of power changes. Always, it has been my grandmother who was unwell. heart problems and an almost entire life filled with pain have made her tough. Angelo breezed through life without catching a cold. Now, in old age (she, 78?--he turning 82) he is needing help, and she's feeling ok--I feel very much like a spectator. I can not help her fix his rage, his forgetfulness, his unwillingness to do anything other than exactly what HE wants to do, and I know that she does not find it cute, you know, in the way people often find the anger of the elderly exactly like the anger of an infant adorable. She finds it annoying that during these last "golden" years of their lives, that they can no longer spontaneously get up and go somewhere, and that Angelo's increasing fear of being left alone is preventing her from having even a moment to herself.
So, Friday, I am bringing Angelo to St. Raphael's hospital to have an MRI he'd flatly refused to have just six months before, at the suggestion of his doctor. I believe that the recent episode--for lack of a better word- frightened him enough that he can no longer deny that there is something going on. It reminded me of what he'd said to me, right after he told everyone that he wasn't going to have the MRI, no matter what. "Dane. I'm old. There's just some shit I don't want to remember anymore."
the other day - home - email - tomorrow