February 3rd, 2010 · 7 Comments
When I was kid I stood up for a little neighbor girl when a boy called her racial slurs and told her to go back to her own country. I was only ten years old but I knew that was wrong. She has just as much of a right to be here as the stupid little racist brat. When I told him to pick on someone else he punched me in the eye.
Right now I’m feeling like ten year old me. I wish that I didn’t get so incensed when I see injustice. Why aren’t the people around me upset when they witness felonies within our own family? Everyone says crap like, “No harm no foul.” Well, I say fuck that! A felony is a felony.
Life would be a lot easier if I cared a little less. But then I guess I wouldn’t be me. So I’m just sitting here, taking deep breaths, getting ready to be around my family tomorrow and not lose my shit.
Categories:Anxiety, Assholes, death, my dysfunctional family is better than yours
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January 30th, 2010 · 3 Comments
The past week has been full of emotions, sadness and frustrations. I have been caring for my grandma and grandpa full-time since November. Previous to that I was cleaning their house and doing little errands for 2 – 4 hours per week. I quit my job and took on caring for them full time when grandma was having trouble keeping up with the demands. Grandpa was not well when I started and I was aware I would likely be caring for him until his death.
He was 92 when he died and grandma will soon be 90. His rapid aging and health issues greatly overshadow the fact that grandma is only 2 years younger than him. He was a difficult man; he was not the most caring or considerate and this seemed to get worse as he aged. I would not have made it through helping to care for him into death if not for my kind and loving grandmother. I’m not sure if she’s an angel or insane, or perhaps a bit of both. (I’ve also started to wonder the same of myself!)
Modern medicine and science have been keeping grandpa alive for a very long time: he was on his fourth or fifth pace maker and had regular blood transfusions for more than a decade. Initially, just a few times per year but before going onto the hospice program in November he received 7 units of blood within 3 weeks. His body was just not able to keep him alive anymore.
The hardest part was watching him die while grandma made excuses for his controlling and manipulative behavior. He couldn’t do anything by himself, not even go to the bathroom. She would shuffle behind him once or twice an hour when he would declare, “I have got to go!” I could see the sadness and exhaustion in her eyes as she would shakily stand from her pink recliner but she rarely talked about it. As much as possible I ran around fetching things for him to save grandma’s aching arthritic legs and knees. Lots of microwaving his “friend” (wheat filled heating pad), grabbing phone, preparing and serving his meals, housework, paying household bills, gardening, preparing his medications, etc.
I have so much more to say and explain but I’m feeling exhausted from the week, so perhaps I will write more later. I’m looking forward to his funeral service on Tuesday and having the funeral preparations and stress end so I can start helping grandma recover and heal from her exhaustion.
Categories:death, my dysfunctional family is better than yours
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