Knit Ho

My grandfather passed away last night, at around 8:30.

It doesn’t feel real yet, so far. My cousin had called me yesterday evening, to tell me that his time was very short. We talked for a while, and then she had to go check back in with the rest of the family — I knew she’d hung up pretty abruptly, but I didn’t think much of it. I called my mom to let her know what was happening, and in mid-conversation, Jennie called me again. She was hysterical, crying so hard I couldn’t understand her at first, but she told me that he was gone — his heart was still beating, very faintly and erratically, but it was only relfex at that point — his body was shutting down. He was gone.

I called my mom back (I’d tried to use my call waiting but ended up just hanging up on her instead) and told her, and she cried, and then after I hung up, I kind of don’t really remember very much. I remember Jeff crying, and holding me. I remember I couldn’t breathe. I remember hearing these horrible sounds, and figuring out that I was making them.

I haven’t lost anyone in my family, really — my maternal grandmother died when I was three, so I have only the faintest memory of it. Some very distant relatives have died, but I never really knew them. I adored my Grandpa. I keep hearing his voice in my head, and his laugh. I am so thankful that I got to see him in April, before his final decline started. I am so, so thankful that he got to meet Jeff.

I asked my cousin if, maybe when things there settled down — after the funeral and all — if maybe I could have some small thing of his to carry with me during the wedding. It doesn’t have to be much — a handerchief or something — but I want to have something of him with me. I have a cameo that he brought back from Italy during WWII for my Grandma, and I’m planning to tuck that into my bouquet.

I feel numb. I’m glad that he’s not suffering anymore — he was fighting so hard, for every breath — Jennie said that his jaw was jutting way out because he was fighting so hard to breathe. I’m glad he’s not hurting anymore. I know I’ll see him again. But I miss him already, so much. I would give anything in the world to just hear his voice again.

Grandpa is still in the hospital. He’s been having panic attacks, which I’m sure are triggered by his illness — he has pulminory fibrosis, which essentially means he’s very slowly suffocating.

His doctor is very kind, and very good. Grandpa is on some morphine, for the pain in his chest, and Xanax for the panic attacks. The update I got tonight was that the facility he’s in now can keep him for a week. After that, he has three choices: he could move into a full-time hospice, which would take care of him, but not my Grandma. He could move into a nursing home with my Grandma. Or, they could try to get 24/7 in-home nursing care for him. I don’t see how they could afford that, though.

My cousin told me that a very sweet social worker talked to Grandpa for a long time today, and told him that, after seeing him and my Grandma together, she feels that they have to stay together. She said that not being together would be brutal to both of them. I think she’s right, but… the options aren’t that great. Their apartment is small, but it’s cozy, and filled with all of the things they love. It’s home. Moving into a nursing home… I don’t know what they could keep with them, or how comfortable it would be… I really, really hate thinking about this.

And I should call my Grandpa, but… I’m afraid to. I don’t know what to say, and I know I would just break down and cry, and cry.

Cross-posted from my Livejournal:

A friend died of cancer this weekend. She was an online friend — I’d never met her in person, which sucks mightily, but she was dear to me. And she died, after a long, long fight with breast cancer, and it pisses me off. She was funny and smart and loving and snarky, and way too young.

And my Grandpa is now in hospice care. He fell last week and cut his head open, and is too weak to be at home. Grandma isn’t able to care for him alone anymore. I don’t have details yet on where he is (my aunt Debbie called my aunt Beth from the ambulance as they were taking Grandpa to the hospice) but I know he won’t ever be going home again. I know I won’t be able to get back to the Midwest for the funeral (and honestly, I wouldn’t want to. We saw him in April, alive and smiling and at peace. That’s the image I want to remember. I suppose that makes me selfish, but… that’s the image I want in my mind). Part of me hopes… it sounds cold, but part of me hopes he doesn’t linger too much longer. If I could get one wish, it would be that he goes to sleep, and God takes him quietly and peacefully and without pain. That’s what I want.

Because I can’t concentrate on anything lately. There’s a whole list of things I really should be doing: finishing wedding invitations (174 days, aaiieeee!), cleaning the sty — er, apartment, answering a pile of email… but then a shiny thing distracts me, and my brain turns off. Case in point: I paused a game of We Love Katamari to come in and check my email, and ended up playing Dofus for an hour instead. I’m in a knitting slump — I did finish one project, but it’s a gift, so I can’t post pictures of it. It’s damned cute, though. My pile of sock yarn is gathering dust because it’s finally warm out — knitting wooly socks isn’t as appealing when it’s warm out. Still, it keeps me occupied on the subway.

My mom is doing much better — she’s in the rehab wing of her local hospital, getting tons of physical therapy, and should be going home in a couple of days. She’s still hurting a lot, and the therapy is really hard work, but she’s tough, and she’s a lot of progress already. The new knees will be worth all this.

And my brain is turning off again, so here, pictures:

My cousin’s daughter, Gabi, charming my Grandpa:

Gabi with my Grandma:

And Gabi again, with my cousin Josh:

(Josh is such a great kid. The trip to Wisconsin last month was the first time I met him, and he’s just awesome. A 17-year-old who likes hanging out with his older, dorkier cousins! Who he just met! His sister Becca is the same way. Just great, smart kids. I wanted to bring them home with me.)

Wilbur and Sam are buddies:

Cesar, Wilbur, and Sam are sharing a cage most of the day now. They get too hyper at night, though. When we got back from Wisconsin and put Sam in with Cesar and Wilbur, he got so excited and crazy-hyper that, when I tried to pick him up, he bit the fuck out of my little finger — right through the fingernail, which hurts like crazy. Small pigs have very sharp little teeth. Ow.

Just tired. Jeff and I flew to Wisconsin to see my grandparents three weeks ago, which was really nice. Grandpa is very frail, and on oxygen all the time — the worst thing is sort of hard to explain. My grandpa is really tall — a bit over six feet. A few inches taller than me. But now his chest is very sunken, and he’s stooped over, and… I’m taller than him. That hurt, seeing how thin and physically fragile he is. But I’m glad I did get to see him. He doesn’t talk much, but then, he never did — he’s very quiet. He did talk to Jeff a lot about baseball, which was so nice to see. Both he and Grandma loved Jeff — no surprise there, I knew they would.

The best moments were, when I’d walk past Grandpa’s chair, I’d touch his hand, and he’d take my hand with both of his and smile at me. I know that doesn’t seem like much, because I can’t possibly describe how loved I felt. It was something I will never, ever forget.

It was hard leaving, because he gave me a hug and a kiss, and said he would see me soon… and God, I wish that were true. This sucks, you know?

I’m worried about my Grandma, too — she’s not dealing with this well, and I don’t think she’ll outlive my Grandpa for long. The thing I hate the most about this is, I never stop learning new things about them. On this trip I learned that Grandma and Grandpa have known each other since they were toddlers! They were four years old when they met! They have literally spent their whole lives together. That makes me happy and breaks my heart, all at the same time.

The rest of the visit was just icing on the cake — my cousins Jen and Greg, and my Aunt Beth and Uncle Dave, and Jen’s daughter Gabi all flew in from Florida. (Erm, Beth and Dave are Jen and Greg’s parents. I did mention I’m tired, yes?) So I got to see them for the first time since 2002, and to meet Gabi, who is three, and the cutest child ever to grace the earth. Seriously, she is a wee knockout. I have pictures, but I’m too tired to post them right now. Soon!

I also got to see my Uncle Brian and Aunt Debbie, who I haven’t seen since their wedding, back in… 1981? It was nice to catch up with them, and to meet two of their four kids. Josh and Becca are teenagers, and are so sweet I wanted to bring them home to live with us. Honestly, they are both so level-headed and nice, they are happy to entertain a toddler, or to sit and talk for hours with the grown-up cousin they just met… they are the nicest kids. I’m actually waffling about emailing them, because I liked them so much that it’s making me all shy! God, I am pathetic sometimes.

This past weekend was spent in Vermont, visiting my mom, who had both knees replaced on Thursday. Jeff and I got to the hospital just after she got out of surgery, which went perfectly, according to her doctors. When we saw her later, she was in a LOT of pain, which wasn’t a surprise. She’s doing okay at the moment — she was upset on Saturday because, during her physical therapy, she was hoping to be able to stand up and shuffle a few steps to a chair. It didn’t happen — her legs weren’t strong enough, and the pain was too much. She was very frustrated by that — she wants to go home, and I can’t blame her for that! Being in limbo like that must be so hard. When I talked to her this afternoon, she said she’d been cleared to go back to her hometown hospital for rehabilitation, but then a blood test showed that her blood counts were low, so he was waiting to hear about transfusions. Thus, more limbo. I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I know I’m going to be useless, fretting about her. But she’ll be okay. I keep telling her, she has to get through the really bad pain and ickiness to get to the good stuff — knees that don’t hurt so much she can’t walk! Mobility and freedom and feeling much better! I suspect she sees through my upbeat facade, though. I am tired, and stressed out, and I haven’t really let myself think too much about anything (including some very nasty ugliness with my brother, which oh God, do I not want to talk about it) because if I do, I’ll break down.

Thank you for the kind words and well-wishes. They really do help, a lot. I’m looking forward to this weekend — not just because I’ll get to see my Grandma and Grandpa, but because my cousins Jennie and Greg are flying in too, and I’ll also get to see my Uncle Brian and Aunt Debbie, who I haven’t seen since I was eight! Right now, my biggest worry is whether I’ll be allowed to bring my knitting needles on the plane (the short dpns for the socks I’m knitting — I’m leaving the project on the circular needles at home, since circulars look most like something that could cause harm). I’m also fretting because Jeff and I aren’t sitting together on the flight to Wisconsin — he’s across the aisle from me. This wouldn’t be a big deal, but I am embarrassingly afraid of flying. The last time I flew, I started hyperventilating and crying during takeoff. I am NOT a good flyer. I’m hoping we can swap seats with someone, but if we can’t, at least Jeff will be close enough for me to cling to his hand.

The other thing that’s been keeping me busy this week… well, I shouldn’t go into Petco, ever, because…

Meet Sam!

We stopped off at Petco on Friday to buy treats for Cesar, Wilbur, and Rufus, but there was a cage full of guinea pigs right near the door, and Sam was one of the littlest, hopping around and chasing his cagemates and just being unbearably cute… I always vowed I would NEVER buy a pet from a pet store (because it supports unhealthy breeders, and the pets from pet stores are often ill because they were born into awful conditions) but I’m not made of stone, and I loved this little pig. So, we took him home, and settled him into his own cage for the night. The next day, I learned my lesson about buying from a pet store — I took Sammy out for some cuddling, and found a scab on his side. I thought it was an old scab, maybe from playing with his cagemates at the store, until I touched it lightly and blood oozed out. It turned out to be a deep abscess, full of pus. We cleaned it out, and put some antibiotic ointment on it, and it seems to be healing up nicely now. He also has a runny nose, and is sneezing — guinea pigs are prone to respiratory infections, so it’s worrying me. He has a vet appointment tomorrow, and our vet is very, very good with guinea pigs, so I think he’ll be fine.

He also approves of yarn:

You can’t tell from this angle, but the skeins of yarn are bigger than the pig. He’s very, very small! Only six weeks old!

Jeff is working to fix the technical problems — the site went away for a while, which made me very unhappy, and now he’s just fixing the images. So if things look odd for a bit, don’t worry, it’s being fixed.

I would love to write about happy knitting stuff — I finished some more socks, but I can’t upload pictures until the glitches are fixed. I would love to write something happy, but my mind is on something else, and it’s breaking my heart.

My Grandpa is dying. He has pulminary fibrosis, and is sinking very quickly. Jeff and I have tickets to fly to Wisconsin to see him and my Grandma the weekend after next. I’m trying to feel happy about the visit, and push the thought that this is the last time I will see my Grandpa alive, ever again, out of my mind.

I’m scared. I can’t picture Grandpa frial and sick. He was always a rock — so tall, over six feet, and so strong and stoic. Always there to lean on. Always.

When I was little, and we’d go to visit Grandma and Grandpa, he towered over me. When he’d lean down to kiss me hello, he’d pretend that there was a crank in his side that he had to turn to bend himself down to my height. He’d make the cranking noise, and lean down, and kiss my cheek while I giggled at his joke.

He spent many years making gorgeous scale models of English country houses. He was always quick to say that they were NOT dollhouses — these were not toys. He and Grandma would spend months in the English countryside, touring and taking pictures of houses. Then, when they came home, he’d build those houses, in miniature. Every floorboard would be cut and laid by hand. Every shingle handcrafted. And the houses were beautiful. I remember his workshop in the basement of their old house, and how it was strictly off-limits… unless Grandpa was in there working, and I crept in very quietly, and sat down on the footstool near his workbench. He’d start talking to me, telling me what he was working on, showing me each tiny piece, and it enchanted me. I loved his soft vice, loved having his attention all to myself.

When my asshole ex-husband cheated on me, I called my grandparents, and when Grandpa answered the phone, I broke down in tears. He listened to the whole horrible story, and then told me how much he and my Grandma loved me, and told me to take care of myself. He told me I was beautiful, and deserving of better than my ex.

He has this great, dry sense of humor. He LOVES to talk politics. The last time my mom and I visited, we got to talking about politics, and halfway through the conversation, he slapped his knee and said that he hadn’t had so much fun in ages. See, he and Grandma thought they were the only liberals in the family. They didn’t know my mom and I agreed with them. I remember him leaning over and asking me what I thought of our current administration, and after I told him about all the things that were wrong and scary and needed fixing, he smiled at me and said “You’re a smart girl!”

I remember, during that same visit, following him outside to his backyard garden, and him staunchly pretending not to notice me smoking a cigarette while he showed me all of his flowers. I’m looking forward to telling him that I quit more than two years ago.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. My heart is breaking. I wish you could meet him, he’s such a wonderful person. I can’t stand thinking of losing him… but he’s going, and going soon. And I can’t stop crying, this hurts so much.

… we’re having technical problems at the moment. The site disappeared for a little while, which made me fret a lot. Jeff saved the day and fixed it, though, so now we’re just waiting for the issue with images to be fixed. Sorry!

My friend Joanne posted this excellent idea to her journal — I’m quoting it in full here because the more people speak up about this, the better:

I just used his handy online form to send this email to the Governor of South Dakota:

If the complete abortion ban bill is signed into law, I will no longer consider South Dakota as a tourist destination worthy of my notice.

I could not financially support any state which forced women to die when they need an abortion for health reasons, or which force victims of rape and incest to carry the resulting child to term. I am pro-choice, and support abortion on demand, but as a minimum I believe the state should not threaten the lives of women or be a party to their abuse.

Thank you for your time.

Feel free to steal it or reword it if you would also like to see him veto the bill. Go here: http://www.state.sd.us/governor/ and then click Contact Governor and Email Governor.

That would be me, having a cuddle with Wilbur, while watching CSI this evening:

Note the shiny new glasses! (Also the hair in dire need of a wash, and Lord, I am tired!) I like them, even though they’re kind of freaking me out with how light they are. My last pair, bought in around 1997, were heavy and cheap and clunky and horrible. I didn’t care, though, since I usually wear my contacts. I decided I wanted a change, though, and ordered glasses last week. I picked them up tonight. The prescription is stronger than my last glasses (again, bought in 1997!) so everything looks a little warped and funny. The ground looks further away than it is. And I have a bit of a headache. It’ll pass, I know, once I get used to them.

Oh, and the best part? You can’t see it in the picture, but the earpieces have a red stripe down them, like a racing stripe. I didn’t notice it until we got home tonight; I thought the frames were plain black. I like the racing stripes, though.