This past week my father called me to let me know my grandmother's health is deteriorating. Last August the Dr.s gave her a year to live. She has prooved that theory wrong, but through the year she has had increasing heart problems.
This past week she had a check up to see how the little engine of hers was running. When my father had called her she told him everything was going well and she was fine. Later he was talking to my uncle who is out there with her and his story was different.
The upper valve to her heart has ceased to work. The lower valve to her heart is working. Her heart is shutting down...slowly. My uncle informed my father that she doesn't go far when she finds herself out of breath and because of the poor circulation her hands and feet feel like ice. The Dr's have been impressed with her however because most people her age and condition would be in hospice by now. However she is still doing things for herself, be it knitting, making it to the ladies room, or just some basic things us whipper snappers take for granite.
My father is going to try and go out and see her before she leaves us. I might try to do the same...I don't know though. I would need to take my little ones and I don't know if that would be over whelming for her or not. I was thinking it would be fun for my children to have a last picture with her if nothing more than for memories.
Both of my grandfathers have passed on, and I have no pictures of my own of them. I have memories. My maternal grandfather was a step-grandfather, he was a carpenter. I have memories of him sneaking me into his shop and letting me hammer away on wood and nails. I remember him humoring me and cutting out the outline for a doll(Imyself had designed), and then letting me glue wood chips for hair. He left me a dresser, and toy chest and a cedar chest. Others memories fill my mind of him climbing a tall ladder with me on his shoulder. He would place me on a high branch, letting me pick cherries to my little hearts content then when I called he would come and carry me down the ladder with my cherry stained fingers and face.
My father's father didn't leave me with as many memories. However, near his death I remember being by his side. The look of a frightened child was on his face when he realized that his life was drawing to a close. I remember telling him there were other people on the other side awaiting him, to welcome him. This seemed to give him some comfort, and a couple of days later he joined those on the other side.
This life is so fragile. I think it is so easy for each of us to get caught up in being alive and the moment of living that we sometimes forget how temporal it is. Then there are times we are reminded how temporal it is and we sometimes forget this is only the beginning, for our spirits, our souls it is only a season. These are a few of my thoughts this evening.
This past week she had a check up to see how the little engine of hers was running. When my father had called her she told him everything was going well and she was fine. Later he was talking to my uncle who is out there with her and his story was different.
The upper valve to her heart has ceased to work. The lower valve to her heart is working. Her heart is shutting down...slowly. My uncle informed my father that she doesn't go far when she finds herself out of breath and because of the poor circulation her hands and feet feel like ice. The Dr's have been impressed with her however because most people her age and condition would be in hospice by now. However she is still doing things for herself, be it knitting, making it to the ladies room, or just some basic things us whipper snappers take for granite.
My father is going to try and go out and see her before she leaves us. I might try to do the same...I don't know though. I would need to take my little ones and I don't know if that would be over whelming for her or not. I was thinking it would be fun for my children to have a last picture with her if nothing more than for memories.
Both of my grandfathers have passed on, and I have no pictures of my own of them. I have memories. My maternal grandfather was a step-grandfather, he was a carpenter. I have memories of him sneaking me into his shop and letting me hammer away on wood and nails. I remember him humoring me and cutting out the outline for a doll(Imyself had designed), and then letting me glue wood chips for hair. He left me a dresser, and toy chest and a cedar chest. Others memories fill my mind of him climbing a tall ladder with me on his shoulder. He would place me on a high branch, letting me pick cherries to my little hearts content then when I called he would come and carry me down the ladder with my cherry stained fingers and face.
My father's father didn't leave me with as many memories. However, near his death I remember being by his side. The look of a frightened child was on his face when he realized that his life was drawing to a close. I remember telling him there were other people on the other side awaiting him, to welcome him. This seemed to give him some comfort, and a couple of days later he joined those on the other side.
This life is so fragile. I think it is so easy for each of us to get caught up in being alive and the moment of living that we sometimes forget how temporal it is. Then there are times we are reminded how temporal it is and we sometimes forget this is only the beginning, for our spirits, our souls it is only a season. These are a few of my thoughts this evening.
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