Hallowe'en

I'm scared. Like, I really didn't think she was going to really have something. Every time she says, "Oh man, that one felt like death" I figure, "Ok, gramma had a bad cold." Not to patronize her, but she always jumped back. So she calls me on my birthday to tell me exactly that, she couldn't make it because she was so sick. So I told her exactly what I think: It's okay gramma, you don't have to come all the way here to wish me happy birthday. It's okay. It was that bad? That's alright. I had an okay day, but I was at work. Actually a bunch of people at work got me gifts. Yes, thank you for the card it meant a lot. Okay gramma, feel better.

The last time my gramma ever spoke to me was over the phone. In all likelihood, the last time gramma will ever speak to me will have been over the phone. The next weekend my dad dropped by her house, doing one of those things that people take for granted and think "isn't too important," he saw a sale on sardines at the local grocery store, so he picked up some for her to bring over. Coupons: Coupons are the reason my dad found her before it was too late. Coupons are why the stroke was not fatal. Gramma's neighbours are really nice and visit her all the time, but who knows if they would have been overly concerned to hear nothing from her apartment. I don't even want to visualize what it was like for my dad to see her there on the couch, unable.

The first time I visited her I thought to myself, over the last few years, I might have built some sort of a stomach for matters of mortality. I really haven't. I'm poised on the phone, poised in social interaction, poised intellectually, but faced with the idea of the end I'm very scared. I've really recently been feeling extra scared and this is part and parcel. I don't know what to say. The first time I saw her in the hospital she had lost all use of the right side of her body and her ability to speak. She was coming in and out of cogency and not necessarily on time. There was a brain hemorrhage that accompanied her stroke which has really dampened hopes of a quick turnaround. Then for one moment when my brother and I approached her and said "Hey Gramma it's your boys." She looked my brother and then me dead in the eyes. When she looked at me, I knew she saw me. I knew it. I felt that distinct feeling you get when you look into the eyes of a human being. Then her eyes watered, but nothing else emotive seemed to follow, and what felt so much like a communicative connection seemed very mechanical. So it started to feel more like when you look into the eyes of a cat; she knew someone was there and it made her feel a certain way. Then she kind of looked left I guess, and then at her wrist. That's when I broke. Very quickly I wasn't talking to gramma anymore.

I've learned of myself that I'm much better speaking about than speaking to. I know how to personalize a conversation but my comfort level is still conversations about. Recently I've noticed that my friends are finding this to be a point of difficulty with me. They don't know how to talk to me. They don't know what I want to hear, so they'd rather just try and tell me what they think I need to hear. So it's something new to work on. It's easiest to work on this with Gramma now, because I can't even really talk to gramma, for the most part I have to talk at her. Which is how the first day felt. All I could do was speak at gramma, and that pained me horribly. Growing up, the idea of speaking at someone or something seemed so pathetic and juvenile. 'Don't you know she isn't listening? Why are you wasting your breath? That doll is not real, you might as well keep those words inside.' Talking at someone seemed either ignorant or rude. Then again, I'm probably the biggest hypocrit in this respect, because I talk at myself all the time. Out loud (it's embarrassing) and well, even here, on this blog. So I ought to be good at talking at people.

Well today is her birthday. She caught an infection and had to be re-hospitalized, so it wasn't the best birthday. My mom had even bought balloons and stuff to take to the home. Oh well. We went to go talk to her and, blessing in disguise, the policies of emerg is that only one person can visit at a time. So I was given the chance to talk at her one-on-one. I think I did well. There was one part where I said, "Well looks like they got you set up well here" and she put her eyebrows together with a look of almost alarm, and I completed her thought "yea, well as good as they can set you up, right? haha" And then she kinda moved her head to the side affirmatively, like, "Bingo." I told her that I got a new job, and that I start tomorrow, and the nurse was here to change her drip, and that Khary's coming in next, and some other stuff. I really forgot how old she was, so it was great that the nurse came in and had her chart. I was always thinking to record this day and now I can. I still feel like she can stabalize to a degree in time, which is a small mercy to hold on to, so I'm happy to say that today is not the day on which Hyacinth O'Gilvie was born. There is no need for eulogistic references. No, today is Gramma Maggie's 87th birthday. And even though I was sick earlier this week, I got to see her. So for that I am blessed.