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Grief
Jun 6, 2012 1:33:50 GMT -5
Post by EbonyPatriot on Jun 6, 2012 1:33:50 GMT -5
My grandfather died tonight.
We had just been out with him Saturday and he had done so well, talking, eating his favorite meal of tea from me and spaghetti from my brother, taking big bites of pie and smiling at us.
Just today he was doing well, with my uncle smiling and happy.
He started having trouble breathing and by the time they called us and we ran out, he was gone. I didn't know at first and tried to wake him.
We waited until the funeral director came. Worst, I can't shake the feeling that he was sad when last left.
I fear that the nursing home overdosed him on vicadin despite us telling them to stop giving him it. (It's too strong for an 89 year old man).
It just feels like the nightmares both my brother and I had had about this: like it's just a bad dream. I feel so numb, so hurt through my throat. Just to think that I'll never get to interact with him now...
He had missed my grandmother terribly since 1999. I know he's better now, I know he's happier now and with her- but it hurts, it hurts terribly. It helps when I stay numb and try not to think of it, try to remember him as was. I pray he's happier; but I miss him already.
And indeed, it hurts even more than I thought it would. It was difficult sleeping last night and it hurts to think of him.
It's hurting my whole family: he was such a loving, gentle man, never complaining, right to the last. He spent his whole life taking care of us, giving up everything to make us happy. I miss him so much.
I had hoped to post again soon, but I don't know when I will now. I don't feel like playing.
God bless my grandfather. He did so much that I never could hope to repay him for, let alone the love he gave us.
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Grief
Jun 6, 2012 13:36:40 GMT -5
Post by Night Bear on Jun 6, 2012 13:36:40 GMT -5
Aww I'm sorry to hear that.
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Grief
Jun 6, 2012 13:43:09 GMT -5
Post by Truttle on Jun 6, 2012 13:43:09 GMT -5
It's never easy to lose someone you love and it hurts so much. I can't imagine what you're going through EP. I wish there was something I could do to take away your pain. I'm so very sorry. You take all the time you need. We're always here for you buddy. I hope you can mend from this deep wound, even if the scar will remain. You have my sympathies.
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Grief
Jun 6, 2012 17:57:42 GMT -5
Post by Blaise Zebrataur on Jun 6, 2012 17:57:42 GMT -5
I am so very sorry for your loss.
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Grief
Jun 10, 2012 0:14:20 GMT -5
Post by Epesi on Jun 10, 2012 0:14:20 GMT -5
I'm so sorry, EP. It sounds like he was a wonderful man. I wish you and your family strength as you get through this; it's no easy thing, I know.
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Grief
Nov 17, 2012 22:42:18 GMT -5
Post by EbonyPatriot on Nov 17, 2012 22:42:18 GMT -5
I thank you for your kind words and support Night Bear, Truttle, Orieus, Epesi- it's helped.
I'm sorry I haven't been on much. It's been hurting far worst than even I thought it would, for all of my family. I know my gradnfather's in a better place and happier now- but it hurts so terribly. I saw my grandfather everyday- he was like a second father to me. In fact, I think much of my depression and anxiety was linked to his illness.
If you guys don't mind, I'd like to post one last archive that I did for my classes before I try to post on the rest of the boards.
--
My grandfather died in June of this year. Though he had been sick, he had finally improved. He had been fine- talking, eating ice cream and pie.
They kept giving him Vicadin- even though he wasn’t in pain- they complained he was making a groaning sound, but he always did that- even though he was responding to it, itching constantly. My Mom tried to tell them to stop and the nurse agreed it was causing the itching, but they still kept giving it to him.
On June 5, they called and told us to come out right away since he was having trouble breathing. They refused to call an ambulance. My uncle, who was in, came too and we raced as fast as we could.
One of Vicadin’s side effects is restricted breathing.
When we got in, my Mom had tried to ask if they had Narcan, which reverse the effects of a narcotic and should be on hand whenever a narcotic, like Vicadin, is used.
They didn’t know what it was and when my Mom said they shouldn’t be giving narcotics without Narcan, the nurse replied, “well he’s gone anyway.”
I had started down to try and wake him when my Mom told me to wait. I still didn’t know and tried to wake him.
My uncle arrived soon and we waited until the funeral director came and got him. It was the first time I had been at a funeral and wake. We buried him Friday- we had no time to wait, since otherwise it would have to wait a week. This November we attended the mass of All Soul's Day when we read the names of those who have died (my family's Roman Catholic)- and it hurt again.
And to this day it hurts to think of him- he had taken care of my family so well for so long. I can go for days without it hurting to think of him- and then I'll see something like a favorite cookie we used to get him, or just think of him- and the pain will come rushing back.
To this day I can’t stand the Blake Shelton song “The Baby.”
What hurts the worst is that he had improved- I think it was the Vicadin that killed him.
If only they had listened to my mother, my grandfather could still be alive. _
And finally, and most touching of all. This is from September 19, 2010. My grandfather cried when I showed him this:
I am indeed blessed to still have my grandfather with me, to still have him as himself.
I do miss when he was stronger, when he could come and go freely. When he could hear better, when I could see him every day. Does he remember, how my brother would stay with him constantly? How he would go to ride the rides and ‘throw a dollar away?’ Does he remember doing the jumbles with me, ever since the day I correctly guessed that the answer was ‘Broom mates”? Does he remember all the games he played with my brother? Does remember how he cried when my brother had his first accident, how he picked us up every day even if it meant he couldn’t eat, how much he gave in the most precious gift of love and time? If only I had known how quickly that could end!
But I know that I’m still blessed to have him, let only have him still be himself. Yes, he forgets some things, but his mind’s still there. He can still remember memories, he knows who he is, and he knows that he loves us. Oh, how I hope he realizes how much we love him back! I hate not seeing him. It’s one of my worst fears, that he’ll think we’re avoiding him or don’t care. I hope he never, ever even thinks for a moment that we don’t care for him. Do we show it? Oh how I hope so.
I owe him so much. As far back as I can remember, he was always there. Always picking us up, always there in a heartbeat if we gave the slightest sign of needing him. I didn’t realize how lucky I was.
After his meningitis attack in 2007, he spent the summer with us, sleeping in my room while I slept on the air mattress and then downstairs. That was really hard. Come the end of summer, we decided to move him into assisted living place.
Does he remember that place? He lived there for quite a bit. I remembered looking around at various nursing homes.
The assisted living place wasn’t bad. The staffing wasn’t great, and at first my grandfather was reluctant to go out. But he got better as time went on though and would come out to hang out, crash other people’s parties, etc. We loved to place pool with him, he was quite good.
We would come and take him out, although he quite strict in saying that he had to get back 9:00. It was hard to get out to get him. Ah, if only we knew then what we know now!
It was summer of 2009 that things got horrible. The assisted living place had never had great staff; they tended to overlook things like cleaning his dentures. As it turns out, the also overlook shingles. Wednesday the person had noticed a rash on him, but they waited until the end of the week to call us and show that he had contacted shingles.
Since they had waited so long, there was nothing to do but let it run its course. We were so angry: angry because thanks to them my grandfather would have to suffer (my uncle had caught shingles when he was younger and said it was torture) and worst, we had considered giving him the singles vaccine earlier, but had turned it down- it wasn’t approved, covered by insurance, and besides, he had faced shingles before and been fine. I still regret that so much.
My grandfather just would not eat; he was convinced that the pain was from being full. The singles wrapped around his belly. Does he remember that? I hope he doesn’t. I remember having a big argument with him, trying to talk him into eating a single slice of pizza.
Then after I was back in school, my grandfather started having trouble. He wasn’t drinking anything, and his body was crashing. They would get him in, stabilize him, and send him back to assisted living place. Once there, he would refuse to drink, his body would become messed up again, and the cycle would repeat. Finally, we decided to move him and, thinking that the good word of mouth would protect us, moved him into a new nursing home.
Remember how I had said that the old nursing home was bad? I’m not sure which was worst, the old one or this one. The old one drugged him, but this one was starving him.
Oh, not intentionally no, not maliciously. But he kept loosing weight. The problem was they would ask him if he wanted to eat, to which of course he would say no, and they would let it go. All of the patients were unresponsive; the receptionists so hot-tempered (she hated unreasonable wants by the families such as actually calling the doctor) that they later replaced her.
We had learned our lesson. We now check the nursing home’s rating first (not surprisingly, the old one is 2 out of five, although since the new one is 4 out of five, I wonder about those…). My grandfather’s gained weight since…
No matter how bad the situation- the deadliest forms of shingles combined, drugging, shingles, thirst, starvation- he conquer it, perhaps a bit weaker, perhaps a bit shakier, but the victor.
That’s they way he’ve always lived her life, my grandfather. He have a fire, so to speak, inside he- the fire of strength- that nothing can defeat. That fire helped he through her mother’s death even when he were four, his stepmother, the war, working three jobs just so his wife could stay home, helping her when she became sick, helping to raise us when he should have been enjoying her golden years, conquering illness and nursing home neglect. That fire refuses to be defeated.
Yet the fire is tempered by gentleness. By all rights, he should have ended up like his stepmother, abusive and cruel to spouse and children alike. But he didn’t. He choose to be incredibly kind and gentle, devoted to all. That comment I wrote about him being so kind and gentle was as true today when I wrote both three years ago and eighty-seven years ago. he are truly a man of God, doing His work. I don’t just believe, I know that my grandmother’s waiting for him. But, like my Mom said, I beg her to wait. We still need him.
Oh my grandfather, how much we still need him!
He was indeed, the best grandfather ever. He's shown what love truly is, of the values of devotion and patience. We need him still. I beg him, stay strong for us. I hope he stays with us, for many, many years to come and share his kindness and fire of strength. And I hope to reflect his love for us.
-3:57AM 09/19/2010 4:08AM
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