My grandfather is still alive. I believe that is unusual for someone my age. Just last month, my first bio grandchild was born. I have four step grandchildren that I call plain ole grandchildren, but the baby born to my daughter is actually my first. Now there are 5 living generations in my family. This is not the first time I have been one of five generations alive at the same time. When my daughter was born in 1980, my great grandmother was still alive and well. We have pictures that ran in the local papers.
Both of my maternal grandparents are still alive, but today I want to talk about my grandfather.
I have many good memories of him and just a couple of not-so-good memories. The not-so-good ones can be attributed to my own misbehavior as a child. My grandfather dropped out of school after the 5th grade to work on the farm. He was the son of sharecroppers and went on to be a sharecropper himself until 1969 when he got hired at the brand new Tupperware factory as a dock worker. From there, he slowly moved up in the ranks to Assistant Shipping Supervisor, a position he held until he retired.
My grandparents lived in a different era and in today’s world, their ways and lifestyle are out of date. My grandmother took care of everything. She waited on him hand and foot. She cooked every meal he ate, except when she was in the hospital, and then other relatives came to help him with the kids and cook his meals.
He has never washed his own clothes, made his own bed or cleaned up the kitchen. He can’t even boil water for his cup of instant coffee.
Even when my grandmother has been sick herself, she managed to get up and take care of him, even when he is healthier than she is.
Four years ago, my beloved aunt passed away. She was my grandparent’s daughter-in-law, but she loved them like parents and in returned, they loved her. She retired several years ago and spent many days helping my grandparents do things around their house and transporting them to doctor’s appointments. When she passed away after a battle that cancer won, my grandfather sunk deep into a depression that he still has today.
He wants to die. He tries to die. He would be so happy if he could just die. If he gets one itty bitty thing wrong with him, he plays it out as a fatal. He decided he couldn’t walk on his own and procured a walker. He doesn’t need it and seldom uses it.
My grandmother had a stroke last month that has left her physcially unable to walk or get up and down on her own. Her mind is still sharp, her spirits are high. She is happy and she laughs and talks. She is in a nursing home where she is happy and becoming well adjusted. In the meantime, my grandfather is at home, being beligerent and mean to everyone around him. He wants to be in control of my grandmother and barks out orders that are not necessarily the best for her. His children are having a difficult and frustrating time reigning him in. My mom put it the best “he has become an asshole.”
I had the pleasure NOT of taking him home from a family function last Sunday. It is the first time I’ve been alone with him in a very long time. The family event was a happy occassion, and my grandmother had a pass from the nursing home to attend so she was there also. My grandfather did not want her there, he was pissed that the arrangements were made against his wishes. My grandmother wanted to be there and we wanted her there so his assholedness was overruled. He threatened not to come to the event himself and no one argued with him about it.
On the ride home, I turned the radio station to the NASCAR race. My grandfather has always liked NASCAR and he and I have had fun conversations about races. I tried to engage him in conversation about the race and he would not talk back. He sat in the passengar seat just heaving and breathing as heavy as he could. He does not have breathing issues so there is no reason he should be heaving like that other than for attention. I kept asking NASCAR questions and he continued to ignore me.
When he finally spoke, it was to bitch about my grandmother being out of the nursing home for the afternoon. I ignored his smartass tone of voice and happily told him she had a great time and it was fairly simple to get her out for an afternoon and we would be doing that more often. He gave me all kinds of reasons she could not do that again and every time I countered him, he started gasping for breath.
Come on, even my 3 year old granddaughter drama queen can do that without being so obvious.
Next I commented on the paper bark birch trees in a neighbor’s yard. He and I have talked about those trees in the past. He told me where I could find them growing wild and gave me lots of information about the trees. But this time he ignored my comment and kept breathing heavily.
When we got to his house, I went in to see if I could do anything for him. He asked me to make him a pitcher of sweet tea and I did. While I was doing that, he went to the cabinet and pulled out medications. He told me he had to take 6 pills a day. I asked him what the pills were for just as a way to engage him in conversation. Most people who want to die like to talk about all that is wrong with them so I thought I had just found something to make him talk. Wrong.
He looked at me and with a very hateful tone of voice, one I have never heard before from him, he said, “HON. I’VE HAD A STROKE.”
Oh, lord yes, I know. Seven months ago he had a mild stroke. Was hospitalized. Is fine now. No issues really other than deeper depression that he is not dead.
I think he is jealous that my grandmother is “sicker” than he is. He is mad because she is happy. He wants her to get better and come home so she can resume taking care of him. It is not about her at all really.
I remember my grandfather as a happy person with a great sense of humor. He and I talked about many things over the last 48 years. He taught me to say my first word “backwater.” He and my grandmother borrowed money for train tickets to come to Chicago when I was born. I was the first grandchild. When I was 6, I had to have a cup of coffee in a cup with a saucer in the mornings, just like him. I guess he is the person who taught me to drink coffee.
I want to remember him the way he was, not the way he is now. I want to look at a paper bark birch tree and remember him telling me all about it. I don’t want to remember the awkward ride home and his heavy fake breathing and refusal to talk to me.
I want to remember the light in his eyes when he talked about NASCAR races. I want to remember him holding my kids when they were little. The patio out back where the men sat to fry fish in big homemade cookers, with my grandfather supervising.
We all believe he could get better IF the depression was diagnosed and treated. But he doesn’t want to be better. He wants to die and until he does, he is going to kill our fond and loving memories of him as the leader of our family.
Tags: Grandparents
