When death comes knocking again

My grandfather is gravely ill and has been moved to a palliative care unit, to see out the rest of his days. Soon, he will die.

This change in his health has been swift. He and Grandma have been slowly going down hill for a few years now, but after a short stint in a respite home just last week, he was told he would not be able to go home. He's now in hospital, waiting to die.

Yesterday he turned 90, and given I had not seen him since my beautiful Hope's funeral, I told my Dad I would go with him to see him, and celebrate his birthday.

I got in to his small, awful looking room where he was sitting in his recliner chair (that he is pushed around in, as he does not really walk anymore) and gasped when I first saw him, as he really did not look good. But I was also not overly surprised. I had prepared myself for the worst. And really, I think it takes a lot to shock me these days - I am the woman who has given birth to a dead baby after all. But he did look bad, dead already in fact. And not exactly the way I wanted to remember him after so many cherished memories of happy years spent with him. He was so thrilled to have me there though. In fact he said I made his day. He had no idea I was coming, as really I don't go many places these days, so he was very surprised.

But when I got in to the small room the hospital had provided for us to celebrate his birthday, where the rest of my extended family was waiting (and I do have a very small family, so we are only talking about a handful of people here) I lost the plot.

Playing "happy families" with people who have been fairly "distant" with me in the last eight months and watching people fuss over my cousin's baby girl, born just a few months before my Hope, was all too much for me. She turned one last weekend. Yet another first birthday party I was not invited to. And she's family! Guess my sadness was not welcome at their happy, shiny event. I hate people making decisions for me. I feel alone enough these days, I do not need to be purposefully isolated as well. And by my family no less, the very people who are supposed to stand shoulder to shoulder with me through this grief. If you can't turn to your family in this hell, who can you turn to? Lucky, my immediate family have been brilliant though, so if members of my extended family fall by the wayside, then so be it. Lots of friends are falling away too. But that's ok, I will survive. I have already lived through the worst life has to offer.

So I excused myself from the room, took myself outside and had myself a nice long cry - alone. And it has been a long time since I've had a chance to do that. I have not been back to that "place" for a while now, but that's the thing with grief, it sneaks up on you and knocks you down when you least expect it. Yesterday I expected it though. I never thought it would be easy with a) the dying grandfather and b) the rest of the family complete with one small baby girl all in a small room together and c) a birthday celebration of any kind, when my Hope gets none.

I wondered what the staff thought when they saw me run from the room? Probably thought I was upset seeing my dying grandfather. Nope, I was just sad for me. And for Simon. And of course for my Hope. People may think I sound selfish, but when you are so wound up in your own sadness, it is hard to be sad for others. I'm sure my family think I'm a bitch, but like we all know "everyone grieves differently" so this is just the way I am chosing to grieve his death. Because when his death comes, it wont all be sadness and longing. It will be a celebration. A celebration of life. A life lived to the full.

Grandpa, while he is sick and dying, he was able to celebrate his 90th birthday, surrounded by those he loves and those who love him back, including one very cute great granddaughter. There should have been two god damn it.

My whole family seem incredibly upset and distressed at the thought of his impending death, but I am ok with it. I know if Hope was here I might feel the way they do, but she's not, so now I have a different take on the whole thing.

Grandparents are supposed to die. We are supposed to bury them. Great grandparents are not supposed to see their great grandchildren die. It is not the way life is supposed to go. He has had such a rich and full life. Lived on different continents, fought and was captured in the second world war before marching across Europe to freedom, travelled the world, had interesting work, married, had kids, grand kids then great grandkids. His life was lived. Hope was dead when she was born. She doesn't just miss out on her first birthday, she misses all of them. She was dead when she was born. Dead when she was born. Nothing in this world could be more screwed up than that. Grandpa is dying at the right time. In fact maybe he has even lived too long now. He's so ill and frail, it seems cruel he has to live out his final moments like this.

Once the other family members, including said baby girl had left, I felt ok about going back in to the party. I went and sat with Grandpa for a while, even though he seemed to fall asleep between sentences. He's still completely lucid and knows who we all are, but his body is just failing him. Its shutting down, and I can see he's ready.

So that was my day yesterday. A day I had been dreading. People had been saying for weeks I needed to go and visit him, as I may not have had another chance but I was never sure I wanted to go. People said I would have regrets if I didn't, but I know I wouldn't have. I have made peace with his passing, even though he is obviously still here. I have no regrets whatsoever when it comes to my grandfather, I can assure everyone of that. I'm just not sure that's the way I wanted to remember him - the way I saw him yesterday, and I also didn't want to be thrust back in amongst the rest of my family, with their shiny happy lives where nine months results in a live, screaming baby.

But what's done is done now. I saw him, I said some silent goodbyes. So now we all wait for death to come knocking.