I don't have any idea about what I want to write about, specifically. I usually go to this blog because a narrative will start running in my head and not stop until I sit down to write it out. This time is different. This time I don't know what my next word will be. I don't know what my next day will be. I am confused.
A handful of people are aware of the chaos in my life, and I haven't had the time, or mostly the energy to sit down and write about it. I still don't- but I feel like I need to write something in order to sort it out.
Memaush died on November 21st. That feels like decades ago. I still have visionsof her beautiful face- the night she died. I arrived to Florida on Friday, November 20th, sat with her and held her hand. I'm ashamed to say I couldn't look at her for too long before I needed to look at something, anything else. Her face looked angelic and bore the obvious cues of death. Her mouth was dry and her eyes searching. She knew me, she knew I was there and she even raised her eyebrows and opened her eyes wide for me. I could have sworn she squeezed my hand. I love her so much. I miss her so much. Memaush was an image of who I was destined to be- for better or for worse! Her loving, nonjudgemental heart made her a favorite in any crowd. Her lack of filter and style for drama and stubborness made every day with her an interesting one. I miss her. Very few people in my family- if any- fill that beautiful combination of intense love and almost rude openness. As I write this, I am crying - and it feels so good.
I haven't had time to grieve.
Memaush died on Friday before Thanksgiving, Jessa, Mom, Stuart and Suzanne were with her when she died- I still want to talk about that with Jessa. Jessa, Mom, and Hunter and I all went to Palm City Sunday to gather our thoughts and live in sort of a twilight-zone period until the rest of the family arrived Wednesday. Jessa and I baked Christmas cookies and pies for Thanksgiving, something to do and keep the Christmas spirit that Memaush loved alive. Everyone came into New Smyrna on Wednesday- Thursday morning we had "Chrisgiving" where Kelly and I dreamed up a simple plan of ordering one nice gift for everyone and splitting the cost- no shopping- no pressure- except for Kelly who wrangled the whole delivery and cost splitting. We made puffs in honor of Memaush (a breakfast yeast roll fried and stuffed with however much butter or jelly you want!). That evening we did Thanksgiving with Stuart, Suzanne and the kids- a welcome family gathering that was good for every soul. Friday after Thanksgiving we had the memorial service for Memaush- Jason officiated and Jeff led the music. It was beautiful. I read a psalm, Jessa read a poem, Kelly read notes from the grandkids and Mom shared from hers and stuart's hearts. The service ended with Amazing Grace- and this song really was Memaush's song- and it broke my heart. I wept. That was the last time I got to focus on my grief.
That afternoon Hunter had a fever of over 102, and Jason and I just rocked him, changed his diaper (he had diarrhea), and gave him tylenol all afternoon. I didn't talk to many people at the reception. Hunter was sick for almost 3 or 4 days, with a cold to follow. We traveled back to Virginia by car and drove to Jason's parents house late Saturday evening. I stayed there with Hunter while Jason drove home to get the truck so we could pick up Bruno and drive home. 20 minutes into his trip back to the Snow's- the truck engine light came on. It was cold and raining- he decided to wait it out and get the truck looked at the next morning. Monday morning the truck was looked at, and $500 later, fixed. Jason came and got Hunter and me Tuesday morning, we drove to get Bruno and got home late Tuesday night.
Wednesday morning I got a phone call at 6:30am. My grandmother (the only one I have now) was being taken to the hospital. She complained of a back ache. This grandmother was last in the hospital for childbirth- so I was prepared for her to be dying. I got to the hospital- she was lying there in some pain but nothing a couple of vicodin couldn't knock out (I mean really- she is all of 89 lbs- who thought that was a good idea?). She was so relieved to see me- I couldn't believe how visible it was. So since then I have been with my Grandmother- for a week I was with her all day, every day, I have been with her every day at least for 4-6 hours. Jason juggled Hunter, home and work. I juggled negligent nursing staff and doctors who don't communicate. I found her a rehab place to transfer to, got her medicine worked out, consented to medical procedures (she fractured her back and had some injection of bone cement to stabilize and help it heal.) I was overjoyed when I could drive her in my car (familiar) to the rehab place that is connected to where her apartment is. Her anxiety has been through the roof, and her confusion ever-present. Each day I had to tell her why she was hurting, each day I had to convince her it was ok that I "came all this way out to see her." Each day I fought the same battles, because sleep erases all things. When we arrived at the rehab- I met the demon that is confusion.
I thought I saw fear and confusion at the hospital. At least then she couldn't move. We arrived at the rehab Friday afternoon- by far the worse time one can ever arrive anywhere except maybe a bar in Key West. I had to look for someone official, get them to please get a wheelchair and escort us to where we should go. Imagine this- you bring your fragile Grandmother- to a rehab place that has no identifiable "front desk." The person I found pointed out a lone wheelchair sitting in the lobby and suggested I use that to take her up- where- I didn't know and neither did she. The smartest thing I did was insist on an escort. He got the crappy wheelchair with no foot rests, wheeled Grandmother upstairs into a room where the heater didn't work and there was no phone. I requested we moved to the next room over that was also vacant and not barren of comfort. We sat there- she was in a nighty, no underwear at all, my sweater because it was cold, hospital socks and a pair of hospital pants that would fit Jason. Every time I left her to ask a question- she wandered in search for me. I couldn't leave her- but I needed to get her clothes, something. She sat in the chair- in more pain because the pain medicine scripts hadn't come in and the tylenol was wearing off (but of course it hadn't been 6 hours yet- so she was up a creek). She looked at me with the eyes of a scared 3 year old and told me "I'm not hurt, I'm frightened!" I didn't know what to do.
A tiny angel in the form of a volunteer, Ellen, stopped by and gave me some information (no one had given me one welcome sheet of info or anything)- the most important being that I could take grandmother to her apartment with me and pack her clothes. All grandmother wanted to do was be in her apartment- and she was starting to wonder if this one bedroom hell was her new home. I took her to the apartment- feeling like a fugitive the whole time but knowing we just had to make it to home base. We got there- I packed her things and she showered. She was reluctant to go back- but we did- with her wheelchair handle laid down with clothes- my wrist nearly sliced with the weight of a plastic bag full of her personal items and underwear. And she had to lift her feet the whole ride. When we got back at 6:30pm- the dining hall was closed. I burst into tears and told the staff there folding napkins that grandmother needed to eat. They kindly brought her a sandwhich and hot tea- and then got me some too.
I got her ready for bed, tucked her in and gave her instructions on the help button, gave her a path of steady objects to the bathroom since she had no walker and wrote her a note that I would be back the next morning. The first couple of days I arrived to her still in bed and discouraged, eventually she got a little more comfortable- but every day was the same battle- encouraging her, explaining to her what happened- and not feeling comfortable leaving her until I tucked her in a night. The entire weekend passed without one visit or mention from a doctor or physical therapist. Monday evening we saw a doctor who asked me what seemed to be the problem. I almost murdered him on the spot. She didn't see a therapist until Tuesday. The facts of her misfortune trickled in from the staff. I learned why there was no sign showing where the bathroom was (I made one), why she didn't see a therapist and why no one seemed to get to see her or care for her until late Monday, early Tuesday:.... paperwork. Yes- our medical system needs to be reformed. She couldn't even get a walker until the therapy place loaned her one on Tuesday- that means 4 days without proper means to get around. And supposedly we were in the rehab for her safety. There are too many details to tell- but let's just say it was a disaster and slowly the disaster lessened.
Then Dad came- Thursday morning. I was with him (training) Thursday and doing things for grandmother Friday. I had Hunter 4 days out of all this madness- the rest was on Jason or a babysitter we finally found (yea for college winter break). Hunter is busy. Dad and grandmother were going to fly to Florida for Christmas break- giving her some familiarity and family care (and warm weather) and me some time off.
Then as our youth director calls it: snowpocalypse 2009 occured. We had a blizzard on Saturday. Seriously. 2 feet of snow in a place that cancels school if we have 4 inches. Flights are cancelled- Grandmother's anxiety is through the roof at the possibility of traveling and we're all snowed in. Today Dad had a heart-to-heart with Grandmother and she put down her foot- she's not going. He is sitting in the airport right now waiting. Possibly for hours. Grandmother is by herself in the apartment. We hired an aide that will check on her 4 times a day (I interviewed and contacted people to be aides in this time as well- when? You tell me.) My uncle Tom's trip to the carribbean was cancelled due to snowpocalypse '09- so he is going to be with Grandmother this Christmas. His flight schedule? He arrives Christmas day and leaves the next day.
So- I now am going to look for Grandmother's missing ID, prepare time sheets for the aide, get a notebook so we can keep information on her visits, update Grandmother's "in case of emergency" file, make sure her apartment is safe (bar for the toilet, chairs out of the way, etc), order her a walker because she is borrowing one from someone, and of course keep my house from becoming a pig sty, keeping laundry going, take care of my 15 month old and keep promising my husband who is doing everything that he can to keep things going- that one day- one day- I'll give him a back rub.
Me? I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm plagued by the demon of confusion. I wrote this while Hunter was sleeping, waking up, eating, changing his outfit, calling Jason with the grocery list, making sure Grandmother was ok when Dad left, making dinner plans and Hunter playing on the floor in the kitchen (God bless him).
This post is too long- but so was my story- and it isn't over. Pray for strength in everything.
