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Sometime in 2001, after my grandfather passed away, it was decided my… - Jim Stark [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Jim Stark

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[Nov. 18th, 2005|07:27 pm]
Jim Stark
Sometime in 2001, after my grandfather passed away, it was decided my grandmother would come and live with us. We decided we would put an addition of a second larger master bedroom and bathroom on the rear of the house, which was to become my parents. The room that was theirs would become mine, and my old room would now belong to my grandmother after the addition was completed. I'll note that perhaps a year earlier my grandmother started showing signs of Alzheimer's. One night, or morning perhaps, as it's become a blur since then, she woke up and notified us she was having a hard time moving. It was determined that she had a stroke in her sleep, and was quickly taken to the emergency room. After this event, it was decided that in her state she wasn't really fit to live with us; her state being the combination of Alzheimer's and a stroke, which severely inhibits the brain and basic motor functions apparently. I remember my parents looking around and finally finding Menorah Manor, an assisted living facility that seemed to fit our needs. We moved my grandmother in, and she seemed happy; well, perhaps pleasant is a better word. She seemed well taken care of. She spent the better part of four years there. Tonight the phone rang and my mother answered it. A cheery voice responded and asked for Rosemary Lepore, and was informed she was speaking to her. In such a nonchalant way as could be understood but not expected, my mother was informed that my grandmother had passed away at 7:05 PM tonight. My mom was taken aback to say the least, primarily by the nurse's tone, but she, like me, didn't know how to feel. She was numb and quite rattled. I'll explain further.

I remember at first, I visited her here and there, which over time was reduced to not visiting at all. In the long run, it has become one of those things that both frustrates and comforts me. On one hand I wish I did visit more, she was my grandmother after all. Yet on the other, the last coherent conversation I would have with her would not have taken place within those walls. She barely remembered my name. In some ways I feel like I lost my grandmother four years ago. It was heartbreaking, and it was not how I would have wanted to remember her. It isn't how I remember her, and for that I'm thankful. However I'd love to attribute my lack of visitation to this miraculous hindsight, but the truth is I'm just bad at things like this. Things of life and death and sickness. I'm bad at confronting them and I'm bat at accepting them. I'd like to say this was a quality I've all but done away with, as I'm quite eager to go to any sort of service for my grandmother. To say goodbye, or to say that I loved her, an event that, five years ago, would find itself narrowly avoided. I remember when my grandfather died. I accepted it, but not fully. I think it took me a week or so later to finally break down crying in Gali's driveway as I tugged at her pant legs. I remember mentioning I would never get to say goodbye, or tell him I loved him. Regardless, I don't feel as bothered by this as I assumed I would. I knew the time was coming, morbid as that is, and in some ways I'm relieved. It was akin to watching someone die very slowly and live very arduously, and in a sense I've had four years to come to terms with this. This isn't about me though, not at all. When all is said and done my grandmother passed away tonight, and I shall never get another opportunity to avoid a visit. That sentence will always carry weight, no matter what the preceding circumstances are.

Her name was Rose Freda. She was loved and she will be missed.

From: gator7870
2005-12-01 12:58 pm (UTC)


In my best British accent:

It's really laughable when a chap gets on the lift and pushes the button that is already lit.
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