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There is no better. Both ways suck.
November 5th, 2009
My Pa died seven years ago in November. He was my first, and so far only, grandparent to die (biological–unfortunately we have lost several of the hubby’s since then). I will be thirty in like a millisecond (January), so that is pretty incredible I suppose. The postcards which I am using for my banners come from my dad’s side of the family, and Pa was my mother’s father-but this month’s banner keeps making me think of him.
I was his favorite. Maybe all of his granddaughters thought that, but I really was his favorite. I was the only daughter of his only daughter. I was the girly girl who would still swim in the horse trough and walk barefoot through a hog pen. I loved following him through stall after stall of Thoroughbred horses and having him explain the daily tasks of caring for these animals each of which cost more than my house. He loved me best because I inherited his love of horses. He loved me best because I would argue with him. We would argue politics by the time I was 13. I was the republican and he was the democrat. He loved me best because I would snuggle up next to him. I sat on his lap two months before he died–I was 22. He would scrape my cheeks with his white stubble when he kissed me and the sound of his booming voice has yet to quit ringing in my ears. He taught me my first cuss word when I was eight. Walking through a pasture, “Watch out for that shit, darlin’!” He taught me to drive on his gravel road when I was eleven “You sure did get your Mama’s lead foot girl! Slow down!”
He would tease me, pulling the leg of a silly suburban girl. He told me that domestic turkeys had to stay in a barn because they were so inbred and stupid that if it rained they would look up to see what was getting them wet and drown. I still am not sure if that was a joke or the truth, and wonder every time I pull up thehuckablog lately. I think that is why I have not googled the answer yet. No one tell me, okay!
I remember him as healthy and vibrant, as loving and droll. I remember HIM.
He died of a sudden heart attack. I was so, so, so mad during the weekend of the funeral because people kept saying it was such a blessing he never suffered, that he never was in pain, that he was always him. I yelled BULLSHIT (not really, but I THOUGHT it strongly.) ((thanks for that word Pa, I almost never use it, but it comes in handy sometimes.)).
I wanted him to be at least a little sick so we could say goodbye, so we could say the things we wanted to say, so we could wrap our minds around the thought of him not being there for Christmas, of him not crying at my wedding.
I was selfish. Those people were right, it was a blessing.
Now I am concerned that I am not going to remember the good things about my Grandpa, the one here with me now. He was an awesome grandparent too, I have just as many wonderful memories of him. Will I remember those good memories ten years after he is gone, or will I remember the him that has a totally changed personality. The one who I think could care less about me, about my son. The one whom Alzheimers has turned into a crotchety old man.
Which way is better?
post edit: I must be needing to up the Lexapro because that was a morbid, depressing post. Sorry about that. Go think about bunnies and daisies and enjoy the lovely fall sunshine.
2 Responses to “There is no better. Both ways suck.”
Sweetie, I believe the title says it all…neither is better than the other. As you know, my own grandfather passed in a similar manner. Here one day and seemingly gone the next, only we had a day or two to deal with the fact that he was sick before he died. And for my grandfather it WAS a blessing. Had he not passed away right after surgery, he would have still been very sick and we would have had to watch him die a little more every day.
When my husband’s grandmother passed a couple of months ago, it was a huge blessing as her health had been going downhill for a very long time. It was difficult to watch, and it still hurt even though we all knew the end was coming sooner rather than later. You are right. Both ways suck.
I’ve been thinking about Dad this week too. Partly, because its nearing the anniversary of his death. Partly, because just as I was the week he died, I’m in the midst of major baking for a big craft bazaar/bake sale on Saturday. The day of Dad’s death I had the dining room table piled high with the supplies for 15 baking projects that week for the bazaar. Hey You, JHJ, and their Dad were so mad at me because I wouldn’t just drop every thing and leave for Kentucky right away. They thought I was in denial. I maintain even today I was merely taking care of commitments prior to departing. Bless their hearts I made calls to members of our church family and farmed out every one of those projects which were completed and sold prior to our return. We arrived in Kentucky at night and began making arrangements the following morning just as planned.
Every year since that our church has had this fund raiser, I’ve thrown myself into it whole heartedly. Its a cathartic, perhaps its my Lexapro.
I don’t have the answer to any of your questions. I personally, hope my end comes just as Dad’s did, but we don’t get to choose. Though I sometimes get angry at Dad J (the other grandfather), I believe we’ll be able to remember him as he once was.
Thanks for the memories. I laughed and cried as you presented my father, just as he was. I’d give anything to feel his whiskers rasping my cheek once more.