Getting to the end

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the old man.

- - - - Shel Silverstein


I'm not really one to perseverate on death and dying. I know that it will happen eventually, but the feeling of life and health is so overwhelming that it's difficult to conceive of a time when my body will deteriorate beyond a point that I can counteract with exercise or diet or acupuncture or whatever. And people in my family live to be really old, and there isn't much of a history of cancer or Alzheimer's or other debilitating diseases. So I haven't been much exposed to people who were really sick or out of it for prolonged periods.

Which makes it hard to see my grandmother go through what she's going through right now. As I wrote about a year and a half ago, her health has been pretty crappy for a long time -- one thing after another has sapped her immune system and her physical strength, and then a few years ago her mind started to deteriorate quickly as well. She'll have conversations with my mother indicating that she doesn't understand who my grandfather is (she'll refer to him as "that man") or why she can't just go home. Meaning, presumably, her childhood home. It's heartbreaking for my mother to have to explain to her that she is home. I mean, think about it. How utterly depressing would it be to never feel like you're home, to never understand why you are where you are? It makes me want to cry just thinking about it. She has periods of lucidity, but they've been getting fewer and farther between her periods of confusion.

Then last week, she had to go to the hospital for surgery to clear up a problem with her intestines. It turned out to not be as serious physically as the doctors initially thought, but she's disoriented and not cooperating much with the doctors, pulling out her tubes and such, and is really, really out of it. Like, sitting up in bed but with her head hanging down to her chest and not really responding to the world around her -- that kind of "out of it."

My mother told me she doesn't think my grandmother will be able to go home. Rather, she'll probably end up in a home. One of those old people in a depressing nursing facility, restrained to avoid hurting themselves, that gets a little bit of attention from time to time. When I heard that, I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.

Since my grandmother doesn't really know what's going on, it's probably not so bad for her. But it must be a nightmare for my grandfather. Because even though he is 92, his mind is perfectly fine and he's tired but in great shape. So he's been taking care of my grandmother, which I know must wear him out, and now he's helpless, watching her deteriorate further. It has to be scary and lonely and overwhelming.

And as I type this, I'm crying thinking about getting to a point in life when all of a sudden, you realize that the end is near, and you're never going to feel strong again, or truly happy again, or hopeful for the future. Or, even worse, that you have to watch your wife of over 60 years fall apart, to the point that she barely resembles the person you know and love. It must be so devastating, and so exhausting. Particularly for my grandpa, who has been unfailingly devoted in caring for her, virtually single-handedly. To say that he's good people doesn't begin to describe the benevolence of this man. If there is a heaven, he's got a space reserved, that's for sure.

For a few months now, I've had a trip planned to take Zeke to the mainland to meet his great-grandparents as well as his aunts, uncles and cousins. We're leaving at the end of the week, and obviously, my timing couldn't have been better. While I'm relieved that my two grandmothers and my grandfather will be able to see him and meet him, and undoubtedly be thrilled with him, I don't have much faith that they will live long enough for Zeke to truly know them or remember them (at least, the grandmothers probably won't -- I bet my grandpa lives another 10 years).

And now I know how my mother feels when she tells me she wishes I knew her Grandma Fanny, who died either shortly before or shortly after I was born, so I never knew her. According to my mother, she was a wonderful, sweet woman who put up with a bastard for a husband and always managed to be loving and warm. But as much as I can get a sense of her from hearing stories and seeing pictures, it's not the same.

I'm not really afraid of dying. But the more I think about it, the more I'm terrified of growing old.