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Lost

I haven't done this in a while. Please accept my apologies all around. But things have been happening over the past month (2 months?) that have kept me away. I'm still sorting things in my head and part of that, I've now decided, is getting everything out into words. I need a release, like loosening the top on a pressure cooker.

Full steam ahead.

March:

Phone call. It's my mom.

My grandpa has had a heart attack.

He's alive.

But he's in the hospital.

My mom is flying down to Florida the next day to stay with my grandma for as long as needed.

I keep my composure while on the phone, but start to cry as soon as I've hung up, trying to tell Andy what's happened.

I don't like crying. A part of me feels like it gives away too much. Like crying breaks down the connection between what you think and what you do. I'm usually even tempered in the most stressful of situations. I'm always ok. But when tears do break through I find it hard to stop. My body betrays me and I become compelled to cry.

After some time I settle down. I've refocused through laying down my tarot cards. While I don't take much stock in what they have to say, I find laying cards to be comforting. Like I've said, the cards allow me to focus. Think clearly. The physicality of shuffling and cutting the cards hovers between the need for concentration and pure habit. It makes for good meditation.

The cards predict a struggle, but keep hope.

My mother calls daily for the next 2 weeks with updates on my grandpa's condition.

He's still in the hospital and he's weak. The doctors do some tests. He needs to get triple bypass surgery. He goes under the knife. The surgery is a success. He's recovering. My mom heads back to Canada.

Another call. My mom's flying back to Florida. My grandpa has gotten an infection. It's called nocardia. It affects the brain, lungs, and skin. He will have to be on medication to treat it for the next year. There could be residual effects. Possible damage to his brain and lungs. He only has a 20% chance of making it through the year.

I hang up the phone and cry again. Less this time than before, but I am still overwhelmed.

April:

My grandparent's insurance company is preparing to send my grandpa back to Canada. There's no real plan yet. He could go to Hamilton or Toronto at a moment's notice. If he goes to Toronto my grandma will need somewhere to stay, and I'm the closest. My mom tells me to be ready to have my grandma stay with me. I tell her it's no problem and then immediately run to Ikea.

A couple days later it's confirmed. My grandparents will be flying back to Canada the that day. My Grandpa's going to Sunnybrook Hospital, Toronto, my grandma will be staying with me. I call up my work, minutes before everyone has gone home, and tell them that I wot be in the next day... probably the next week and explain the situation. My boss quickly tells me not to worry, just let them know when I'll be coming back. Family must come first. Thank you Pierre.

My grandma arrives late that night and I have everything ready. My futon of a couch is turned down into a bed. It has fresh bedding and the quilt my grandma made for me on it. Anything to make her more comfortable sleeping in my living room.

The following day we go to the hospital to see my grandpa. It's a long way from Mississauga to the East end of Toronto so we decide that we will get a hotel room closer to the hospital after the weekend. It's a Friday.

The first time I see my grandpa lying in his hospital bed I feel like I've been hit by a truck. He looks like a shell of everything that he was. He looks twisted and overcome by pain. He smiles and says he's ok.

My grandpa has had severe rheumatoid arthritis for most of his adult life. He isn't a stranger to pain. He's had long term treatment with the steroid prednisone, but it can weaken the immune system. It has weakened his immune system. He can't be on it while fighting the infection. It makes his constant pain even worse. He can barely move.

For the next week my Grandma and I stay in Toronto. Andy is in Texas for work so it's just the two of us. We keep a nearly constant vigil by my grandpa's side. He doesn't want to eat or get up, but the doctors keep working with him. He has good days and bad days. He always says he's fine.

I've always felt close to my grandpa. We always shared an unspoken understanding of each other. While my grandma, mom, and sister have all been whirlwinds personified, my grandpa and I could never manage their level of constant excitement. We would quietly observed their frantic ways and silently laugh to each other. He would tell me long stories of his youth when no one else was around.

I watch my grandpa while he sleeps in his hospital bed. I attempt to complete sudoku puzzles but can't. I catch him watching me when he's awake. He rolls his eyes when my grandma putters around him. She doesn't notice. I manage to smile back.

The rest of my time is spent assuring and comforting my grandma. I keep her occupied. I get her to eat well, take breaks from his bedside, and translate what the doctor's tell us into a less scientific English.

By the end of the week my mom has returned from Florida after having packed up my grandparent's trailer. My grandma is comfortable staying in the hotel and getting to and from the hospital on her own so I decide that I need to get back home and back to work. My mom and sister come to Toronto to visit my grandpa and drive me home to Mississauga. I feel that coming back to my apartment will give me my first chance to breathe all week. Andy will be home later that night and I'm looking forward to sleeping in his arms, in our bed.

I enter my apartment. Things look out of place.

Why is there a bag in the middle of the floor?

Why are some of the kitchen cupboards open?

I pass our office.

Our computers are gone.

Our computers are gone.

We've been broken into.

Things have been taken.

I'm frantic and and hurry around the apartment. My mind is trying to assess what is missing, and comprehend the situation as a whole. I collapse on my living room floor, a self imposed pause and breath, before running down to my superintendent's apartment and calling the police.

I'm a crying, shaking mess.

I call my mom and she says that she's turning her car around and will be there soon. I can't cal Andy. He's still in the air, flying back from Texas. I wait for my mom in the super's office. Still crying and shaking. I don't start to calm down til my mom and sister arrive and comfort me. We further assess what's missing and manage to get a hold of Andy. He takes the news much better than I did. We spend most of the night waiting for the police to arrive to get our statements and try to get as much sleep as we can.

I have to work the next day, Saturday, at my part-time, retail, job. There's a new woman working with me. I'm tired and have no patience for her, but I can't bring myself to tell her what I've been going through so I keep smiling.

Sunday morning. My phone rings. It's my mom.

My grandpa had another heart attack in the night.

He didn't make it.

He's gone.

I need to go to my sister's and pick her up. We'll all be meeting at my uncle's house after my mom and him get my grandma in Toronto. I cry again when I'm off the phone. But my crying isn't as hard. I'm don't know if it's because I've been preparing for this call for weeks, or if I just don't have anything left in me to cry out.

Andy and I pick up my sister and then head to my uncle's when we get word. When we get there my mom and grandma are both crying. Their tears come and go throughout the day. Later we drive to my grandma's house and more family converge there.

Monday I return to work. My throat is dry and sore throughout the day. I think I have a cold.

Tuesday I know I'm sick but I need to work. I've been away too long. The visitation is that night and I can't go home to rest. I go to the health centre at work and demand drugs from the nurses before leaving work. The visitation is full of I do and don't know. Family members and old friends of my grandpa. I survive the night by taking cold medicine, more than the recommended amount.

Wednesday morning is the funeral. I hold back tears throughout the ceremony. My hands are held in tight fists. They take the tension from the rest of my body. Squeezed tighter with ever look at the coffin. My grandmother and mother are both crying without restraint.

There's a gathering after the funeral. Everyone looks lighter and they share their stories of my grandpa.

On the drive home I'm quiet. Andy tries to talk, and at one point mentions how he's annoyed with my grandma having slighted him. She made a joke about his spending habits before we left. It takes all of my energy to not tell him to "Fuck off. Not today." I shrug it off instead. I'm too angry to say anything to him the rest of the way home and remain silent for most of the afternoon. He doesn't bring it up again, but we later talk. The rest of our night is quiet and I mostly read til I fall asleep.

Thursday I don't have to work. I'm home on my own. I do nothing all day except reflect on everything that's happened.

I've lost the closest person to a father that I've ever had. I'm having a hard time adjusting. I keep making mistakes with my tenses when I speak about him. Like my mind hasn't completed the connection between my grandfather and death. But I'm getting better.

My grandfather.