November 18, 2008

Last night, Clare and I were monkeying around on the bed after we arrived home from work/daycare. My cell phone rang and it was in the other room, so I let it go to voicemail, not wanting to interrupt the brief time I had with my daughter before her bedtime. A couple of hours later, I remembered the call and checked my phone. It was my dad. The fact that my dad called, and actually left a voicemail was telling in and of itself. My father rarely calls me. He’s not so much of a phone person and when I do call home one or two times a week, it’s usually a brief “Hello. How are you? Did you want to talk to your mother?”

So, seeing “Dad” on my cellphone and then hearing his somewhat cryptic message had my nerves on edge immediately. I quickly dialed home and reached my father only to learn that there was bad news awaiting me. My grandfather, Poppa, had fallen yesterday, splitting his head, and was at the hospital. He was having lots of complications and the prognosis was not good. He wasn’t expected to pull through.

The fact that Poppa’s 93rd birthday is next month should have prepared me for a call like this, but even so, it was hard news to hear. I immediately thought of my mom, and how she must be dealing with the pending loss of her father. I thought of my 89 yr old grandmother, Nanny, suffering from Alzheimer’s and what this would do to her. She would be alone without Poppa. Would we lose her, too, in the coming months?

As I struggled with each of these heavy thoughts, my daughter ran into the kitchen with her new polka-dot footy pajamas and I was struck with another thought. I am so glad that we went to visit Poppa and Nanny last month in Miami. Grateful, in fact, since our last visit had been in May. Thank God we got on a plane and spent time with them both.

So now we wait. This morning, Poppa was doing somewhat better. There are still the tubes, a ventilator, and diagnostic tests to be done. But, he is conscious and appears to be in no pain. He is 93 years old though. This could very well be it. His body has long been giving off signs that it has had enough and is ready to call it quits. He is the longest living relative in our family. No one has ever made it to their 90s. But, maybe 93 is long enough. We’ll have to wait and see.

We could be heading back to Miami sooner than we thought.

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November 18th, 2008

Oh Sharon, so sorry to hear this. I wish him a speedy and full recovery.

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