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Jun. 27th, 2011 12:54 pmGrandma finally decided it was time to call for home health assistance for Grandpa. Mom said they've been asking her to do this for years, but this time she finally heard.
Mom spent the day there yesterday taking care of Grandpa, helping him to the bathroom, cutting his nails, giving him a bath. He asked if she would come back in July and August so that he could have baths then too. Mom said of course, but that he should probably think about having baths more often than once a month. Grandma can't possibly manage to get him in and out of the tub without further assistance. She is 93.
Yesterday Grandpa recognized and knew Mom, but talked about needing to go to the hospital and to see patients. He retired in 1999 at the age of 79 after a lifetime of medical practice: a surgeon in the Philippines in WWII and then for years back home, then practicing occupational medicine when his hands got too shaky.
When I was 8, my new ear piercing closed up from an infection, and Grandpa repierced it for me with surgical wire, just as he'd done Mom's ears. To this day I have one hole in the front of my earlobe, but two channels through the lobe to the hole in the back.
Mom said that for the first time since her dear friend died in September, she's been able to cry. She said she's been praying for years that she will be prepared to let him go, that she will be able to bear it. She knows she'll be able to do those things, but she also can't imagine not hearing his voice again. She's saved messages on the answering machine. "Hello Kathy, this is your father calling from Davenport"
Tonight I need to sit down and write him a letter. It's too hard to talk on the phone - his hearing is worse than his memory at this point, and I wouldn't be able to get out the things I want to say. A letter you can hold in your hands. A letter you can read slowly. There is grace in a letter.
I love my grandpa so much. I'm 31 and don't think I fully understood the depth and ferocity of this love for family until recently.
Mom spent the day there yesterday taking care of Grandpa, helping him to the bathroom, cutting his nails, giving him a bath. He asked if she would come back in July and August so that he could have baths then too. Mom said of course, but that he should probably think about having baths more often than once a month. Grandma can't possibly manage to get him in and out of the tub without further assistance. She is 93.
Yesterday Grandpa recognized and knew Mom, but talked about needing to go to the hospital and to see patients. He retired in 1999 at the age of 79 after a lifetime of medical practice: a surgeon in the Philippines in WWII and then for years back home, then practicing occupational medicine when his hands got too shaky.
When I was 8, my new ear piercing closed up from an infection, and Grandpa repierced it for me with surgical wire, just as he'd done Mom's ears. To this day I have one hole in the front of my earlobe, but two channels through the lobe to the hole in the back.
Mom said that for the first time since her dear friend died in September, she's been able to cry. She said she's been praying for years that she will be prepared to let him go, that she will be able to bear it. She knows she'll be able to do those things, but she also can't imagine not hearing his voice again. She's saved messages on the answering machine. "Hello Kathy, this is your father calling from Davenport"
Tonight I need to sit down and write him a letter. It's too hard to talk on the phone - his hearing is worse than his memory at this point, and I wouldn't be able to get out the things I want to say. A letter you can hold in your hands. A letter you can read slowly. There is grace in a letter.
I love my grandpa so much. I'm 31 and don't think I fully understood the depth and ferocity of this love for family until recently.
