"it makes a difference
that i’m feeling this way
with plenty to think about
and so little to say"
This morning I sat with Gramma. That's about all it was ~ just sitting. We talked a little, but she was tired and lost her train of thought often.
Her health is deteriorating rapidly. It could be days, weeks, or maybe months (but "months" is far more fantasy than reality, I think).
She's a fighter. I've written about her before, and we've been blessed to have far more time with her than I thought we would at the time of that blog. So maybe there's more time now than I think. But I kinda doubt it.
She can't be alone anymore. Her legs are giving out. Her lungs are giving out. And several other organs have already gotten to the point of "critical."
In explaining the situation to my 6yo, I used the typical, cliched and, frankly, hollow lines:
"She's going to stay with Jesus.""You can still talk to her whenever you want to; she'll hear you.""We'll see her again someday in heaven."
And his response was, "But I'll miss her; we should have gone to see her more." And this is what everyone regrets when a loved one passes on.
I don't do good-byes. I don't even say it. I yell at people for saying it to me. It's just "Later," or "See ya," or just hugs & kisses ~ something that says, "This is not good-bye; it's just a chance for us to miss one another until we see each other again."
But I'm tired of saying good-bye to Gramma. I'm tired of seeing her in pain. I'm tired of knowing how defeated she feels. I want to let her go. I want to see her as I saw her when she drifted to sleep today: in peace and rest.
And I truly believe what I told my son. We have our memories, and we'll have the things she made with love for us. It's not good-bye; it's just a much longer parting than I like. And it means I'll miss her. A lot. I should have visited her more.
Soundtrack for this post: "Films for Radio"