Gram

"Her grandmother, as she gets older, is not fading but rather becoming more concentrated." Paulette Bates Alden, 'Legacies,' Feeding the Eagles, 1988

She's doing better. They drained the fluid and her bnP which is the indicator for congestive heart failure has dropped from 700 to 300. 250 is the goal. 100 is normal.

I keep having fits of crying both when I'm at the hospital with her and when I'm alone. Part of it is just the situation. I'm sure my mom has had her share of crying jags in the last few days. Part of it is hormonal. And part of it is my brain. Emotions can run high with TBI folks.

I don't know how to do this - say goodbye to someone I love in stages. Everyone I've ever known who has died has died suddenly. On some levels that's the preferable way to go. Lord knows, it's the way I'd like to shuffle off this mortal coil.

I know that I'm decompressing now because it looks like she'll be coming home and be ok for a while. This condition is manageable; she could live for years. I hope she does. Death is inevitable, sure. But this experience is teaching me that we, as a society, really do not have any good transitional rituals to accompany the process. There certainly aren't any to facilitate the process for the dying.

God, I hate this. I don't even know how to write about everything I'm feeling. She is so precious to me. As frustrating as she is, and as much as I have wished for her to do and say different things in the past, she's perfect and I see that now. It's a gift, really, being able to see this and know this now, while I still have her.

With any luck, I may be able to remember this and apply it to all the other people that I love. I have a sneaking suspicion that they are precious and perfect in their own ways as well.