When my sweet Grandpa Passed away
It was January 30th of this year; we were about half-way through our Subway dinner, watching "World's Dumbest Daredevils", when he got the hiccups. His last words were, "Dammit, I have the hiccups". Then he kept looking at me as though he were going to say something. So I kept waiting (several seconds) for him to say something. Then when he started twitching, I knew that he was probably having a heart attack.
I did nothing. I just looked at him. Not only was I like a deer in headlights, but I also wanted to give him the respect of allowing him to go. He was so ready; had I performed CPR on him, it likely would have caused him pain. He was so frail that earlier that week when I'd caught him by the arm to prevent a fall on the hard ceramic-tiled bathroom floor, I was horrified to see the hand-print bruise that resulted, and I was anything but rough with him, I only wanted to prevent him from falling. So when he began to die, I couldn't bring myself to do...anything. When he looked at me with a look of surprise and fear (he must have known he was dying), I told him it was okay.When he closed his eyes, I called 911.
My mom (who is his eldest daughter) told me that my inaction actually gave him the ultimate respect. Who am I to try and keep him trapped in that broken, aching, tired body when he made it so clear that he was ready to go? On the other hand, though it may have hurt him, what if I had performed CPR on him? Would he have had any quality of life had that life been longer? It's been nearly six months, but tomorrow would have been his 93rd birthday. He was a wonderful, loving, intelligent, talented man and I'll miss him until the day my number comes up and I step from Time into Eternity. Now that he's there though, I can't help but wonder, did I do the right thing by him? It certainly can't be undone. So today is hard, I know it's hard for my mom, too. Love, healthy God-ordained, edifying Love, can be quite painful.
I love you, Mel; happy birthday.
I did nothing. I just looked at him. Not only was I like a deer in headlights, but I also wanted to give him the respect of allowing him to go. He was so ready; had I performed CPR on him, it likely would have caused him pain. He was so frail that earlier that week when I'd caught him by the arm to prevent a fall on the hard ceramic-tiled bathroom floor, I was horrified to see the hand-print bruise that resulted, and I was anything but rough with him, I only wanted to prevent him from falling. So when he began to die, I couldn't bring myself to do...anything. When he looked at me with a look of surprise and fear (he must have known he was dying), I told him it was okay.When he closed his eyes, I called 911.
My mom (who is his eldest daughter) told me that my inaction actually gave him the ultimate respect. Who am I to try and keep him trapped in that broken, aching, tired body when he made it so clear that he was ready to go? On the other hand, though it may have hurt him, what if I had performed CPR on him? Would he have had any quality of life had that life been longer? It's been nearly six months, but tomorrow would have been his 93rd birthday. He was a wonderful, loving, intelligent, talented man and I'll miss him until the day my number comes up and I step from Time into Eternity. Now that he's there though, I can't help but wonder, did I do the right thing by him? It certainly can't be undone. So today is hard, I know it's hard for my mom, too. Love, healthy God-ordained, edifying Love, can be quite painful.
I love you, Mel; happy birthday.
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