I’m sorry I’ve been quiet the last week. (And I’m sorry I was late on drawing names for the autographed copy of Hot (Sweaty) Mamas. I just had one of my fine coffee shop friends pull a name from a bowl, and it’s Cath C! Cath, send me your address, and I’ll get the book in the mail. Thanks to all of you who commented!)
Part of the reason I’ve been quiet is that I’ve been writing. June 1st is just around the corner, and I have a ton of work to do on Use Your Words to have it ready for my editor by then.
But the other thing I’ve been doing is sitting next to my grandpa, watching and waiting. Last week he took a turn—his heart was racing and he felt dizzy. On Monday, he realized he was going to fall before he fell, so he lowered himself to the floor and luckily didn’t break anything. But it took something out of him and he has been in bed ever since, sleeping most of the time, not eating much. And he may have had a mini-stroke on Thursday morning. As I sat next to him that afternoon, watching him sleep, I couldn’t help thinking how small he seemed, wrapped in the cocoon of this blankets, his body undergoing a metamorphosis that I wasn’t fully ready to accept.
I realize that he’s 102. He’s had an amazing life. But still, I’ve been hoping he’ll bounce back (as much as a 102 year-old bounces anywhere). I’ve been in that weird place, so excited about the book, about spring—feeling generally hopeful—and then I sit next to him, and watch him, and hold the straw to his lips, and it’s as if I cannot let the possibility of his death into my consciousness.
Yesterday after egg hunts and before dinner with the in-laws, D and I went to visit him. Grandpa was awake and seemed a little confused, but he was definitely better than he had been a day or so before. He asked whether we thought he had more color than he had earlier in the week. We said yes. Then he asked me to get the mirror from the bathroom, and I held it up for him. He turned his head slightly from left to right and left to right. I’m not sure what he was looking for, what he recognized in the image staring back. I’m not sure if he thought he’d look better or worse than he actually did. Finally I said, “You look pretty good, Grandpa.”
When I put the mirror down, he said in his no-nonsense way, “Sometimes a little bullshit goes a long way.” Ha!
So maybe he IS bouncing back, maybe he’ll be around a little longer. I don’t know. In the meantime, I’ll write and teach and sit beside him as much as I can, and I’ll let some of my hopefulness spill into his room. I’ll spin as much bullshit as necessary, and maybe it will make a difference.
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