Three Weeks

March 29, 2003

That was the day my granddaddy went into the hospital.  The doctors would in the next 3 days find a tumor on his brain and send him home on hospice care with an estimated 6 weeks to live.  He lived exactly 6 weeks from March 29.  He died on May 10, 2003.

That 6 week period ranks up there in the hardest times of my life.

March 29 I was at home with a 2 year old and a 4 month old.  Oliver was on temporary duty (TDY) somewhere.  Maybe he was in Montgomery.  Someone called that afternoon - probably my mom, although it could have been my brother - to tell me that granddaddy was in the hospital.  I packed bags for us and drove to Middle Tennessee from eastern North Carolina.  It was a long drive.

I got to my grandparents' house late.  Everyone - my mom, brother, aunt, and grandmother - was at the hospital 45 minutes away.  So I got us settled at the house and tried to straighten up some.  I ran the dishwasher.  And remember getting up out of bed to put the dishes away that night because I knew my grandmother always emptied the dishwasher before she went to bed.

Granddaddy came home on Friday, April 1, on hospice care to a hospital bed in the living room where his recliner used to sit.  The hospice nurse didn't come until Monday.  On Sunday, my mom and aunt both left.

I'd said I'd stay to help.  I took a leave from my job teaching swimming and volunteered to stay.  But by Sunday my brother and I realized the job was going to be a lot of physical work and my grandmother and I alone could probably not really handle it.  So he stayed, too.  He was able to work from their house, mostly.  Thank God.

Granddaddy couldn't get out of bed.  His sheets had to be changed many times a day.  It was really hard to roll him over and wash him up - hard because he was heavy and he couldn't really help - and hard because he was my granddaddy and it was just difficult to see him in that condition.  No one gave us any tips on how to take care of him - how to change the bed linens, how to give a bed bath, how to position him while we tried to do those things.  That first weekend was ... awful.

Once the hospice nurse started coming once a day it was a little easier.  She changed his sheets and gave him a bath.  But in the evening, when she was gone, when he'd have a bowel movement we'd have to do it all over again.  We tried some things to make it easier - my grandmother insisted David and I go out for Depends.  They only made the job of changing him harder.  There were baby wipes by the bed, but he hated them because they were cold.

Granddaddy scolded David once for speaking lightly about a bowel movement.  David was trying to ease some tension, but Granddaddy put us in our place and we didn't talk about it anymore.  In fact, if I knew he needed changing I usually went to get Grandmother so she could get started and I could help.  It seemed more fitting for her to be the main caregiver/cleaner.

It was hard to be in that time and space.  Hard to hear my grandmother up in the night with him when he'd have a fever.  She'd put cold washcloths on his forehead and hold his hand.  More than one night I was sure it was his last.  One of those nights Grandmother called for me.  And I helped her cool him.  I called the hospice number for some advice.  They had none.  Basically told me that maybe it was just his time to go.  I stood at his bedside and held a rag on his head.  Without meaning to, I told him that I loved him.  And he looked at me and told me that he loved me, too.  I will never forget that.

I helped him eat when he couldn't feed himself. The steroid medicine they gave him helped for awhile and he could feed himself some.  Then he couldn't anymore.  I'd help him eat jello.  Make him coffee.  I'd feed my granddad applesauce and then go feed Holly some.  It was a strange thing in my mind.

I was there for 3 long weeks that now seem so short.  I did my best to entertain the girls with toys from the dollar store.  Julia spent some time with Grandma Sarah and Grandpa Bob who only lived 2 hours away.  I tried to keep the kitchen and house like I'd seen my grandmother do.  I have never been so tired in my life.  Then I think I had to get back to North Carolina.  My brother stayed on.

The day I left a lot of other family was there.  Granddaddy had been awake and alert that morning some.  He was sleeping when I left, and I hated to leave without saying goodbye, but then I really didn't want to say goodbye so I was kind of glad to not have to. 

Grandmother wanted to know when I was coming back.  I didn't want to tell her that I didn't know when because I didn't think I'd get back before he passed away.  I just said I didn't know.

The girls and I picked strawberries with friends the morning that my granddaddy died.  May 10.  My brother called as we were getting in the car to leave the patch.

I don't have many pictures from those weeks I spent caring for my granddaddy.  I didn't really want to remember him like that.  I wanted to remember him playing cards with me and my grandmom at the kitchen table and sitting in his recliner having ice cream with us. Walking through Wal-Mart with my grandmom. Golfing. Eating tomatoes with mayo or baloney and crackers or a hundred other meals. A million other things.

Now I look back and 3 weeks seems like nothing.  I'm so glad I had the 30 years I did with my granddad.  And I'm especially grateful for those 3 weeks.