nachtspiegel
November 13th, 2008, 06:28 PM
I'm thinking about my grandparents.
On the maternal side, I have a grandfather (who died when my mother was seven because of suicide by cop) and a step-grandfather who raised my mother (and who was a heroin addict and an alocholic,) and of course, a grandmother who died in 1990, two years before I was born, due to lung cancer. I only got to know my step-grandfather, but he died eleven years ago this month. He passed due to cirrhosis of the liver (undoubtedly from the heroin and the drinking.)
On the paternal side, both grandparents were alcoholics. Both of my paternal grandparents died of complications from repeated strokes, my paternal grandfather in 1983 and my grandmother when I was 11. I watched my grandmother, basically, starve to death. She had both a DNR order and an order to stear clear of artificial means. She was taken off of a feeding tube in the spring of 2004, and I missed several days of school to stay at her house with my parents. I still have nightmares sometimes, seeing her the way she was, hearing the noises she made. She looked like a ghost. Her skin looked almost transparent, and she made a lot of terrbile screaches in howls, especially in the middle of the night. She died slowly, over the course of twelve days. I was there for the last four, minus the actual day she did, when I had to go back to school.
I've been thinking about all of them. I've seen pictures and been told about the ones I never met, and I have memories with my maternal step-grandfather and my paternal grandmother. I idolized them, but when I was eleven, after my grandmother died, I learned a lot about them (on my own) that I never knew. When I was five, I knew that my grandfather used heroin and alcohol, but I never thought much about it - my dad was an alcoholic, and at one point, he did crystal meth. I learned that my grandmother was abusive, just like my dad. I've learned things.
Here lately, I haven't put much focus on the negative sides. I remember the bi-monthly visits to my grandmother who lived at the edge of the county. We could only stay for half an hour at a time, but her freezer and kitchen table were always loaded with candy and ice cream, and she was sweet as I knew her. Half of the time, I wondered if we'd make it out there alive because my dad was usually drunk when he drove, with an inclination to go 20+ mph over the speed limit on narrow roads with drop-offs. My grandfather used a power wheelchair to get around, and I used to sit in his lap while my sister and brother held on with roller blades, and we'd go rolling through the local cemetery.
I would've posted this in Loss and Grief, but I don't feel sad when I think about this. Other than the occasional nightmares, back to my grandmother's house as she was dying, I don't give them too much thought, except for now.
I don't really expect a reply to this, but I really just wanted to type it out somewhere and get it off of my chest.
I love this place. And, in addition, I am either at or almost back to a thousand posts.
Edit: this is post number 994
On the maternal side, I have a grandfather (who died when my mother was seven because of suicide by cop) and a step-grandfather who raised my mother (and who was a heroin addict and an alocholic,) and of course, a grandmother who died in 1990, two years before I was born, due to lung cancer. I only got to know my step-grandfather, but he died eleven years ago this month. He passed due to cirrhosis of the liver (undoubtedly from the heroin and the drinking.)
On the paternal side, both grandparents were alcoholics. Both of my paternal grandparents died of complications from repeated strokes, my paternal grandfather in 1983 and my grandmother when I was 11. I watched my grandmother, basically, starve to death. She had both a DNR order and an order to stear clear of artificial means. She was taken off of a feeding tube in the spring of 2004, and I missed several days of school to stay at her house with my parents. I still have nightmares sometimes, seeing her the way she was, hearing the noises she made. She looked like a ghost. Her skin looked almost transparent, and she made a lot of terrbile screaches in howls, especially in the middle of the night. She died slowly, over the course of twelve days. I was there for the last four, minus the actual day she did, when I had to go back to school.
I've been thinking about all of them. I've seen pictures and been told about the ones I never met, and I have memories with my maternal step-grandfather and my paternal grandmother. I idolized them, but when I was eleven, after my grandmother died, I learned a lot about them (on my own) that I never knew. When I was five, I knew that my grandfather used heroin and alcohol, but I never thought much about it - my dad was an alcoholic, and at one point, he did crystal meth. I learned that my grandmother was abusive, just like my dad. I've learned things.
Here lately, I haven't put much focus on the negative sides. I remember the bi-monthly visits to my grandmother who lived at the edge of the county. We could only stay for half an hour at a time, but her freezer and kitchen table were always loaded with candy and ice cream, and she was sweet as I knew her. Half of the time, I wondered if we'd make it out there alive because my dad was usually drunk when he drove, with an inclination to go 20+ mph over the speed limit on narrow roads with drop-offs. My grandfather used a power wheelchair to get around, and I used to sit in his lap while my sister and brother held on with roller blades, and we'd go rolling through the local cemetery.
I would've posted this in Loss and Grief, but I don't feel sad when I think about this. Other than the occasional nightmares, back to my grandmother's house as she was dying, I don't give them too much thought, except for now.
I don't really expect a reply to this, but I really just wanted to type it out somewhere and get it off of my chest.
I love this place. And, in addition, I am either at or almost back to a thousand posts.
Edit: this is post number 994