My Grandma Tanner is 91 years old. She's not doing too well, and probably won't last much longer. Honestly, it'll be pretty amazing if she makes it to the end of the month.
I had a nice chat with my Grandpa on Father's Day. . . He was there alone, at the house where they've lived for the last 50 years. He asked the usual questions, inquiring about how the kids are doing, what grades they're going to be in next year, what everyone's been up to. . . Then he asked if I ever get a chance to work on my drawing. Drawing? He said he remembered a time when I had 'done' some pretty good pencil sketches. . . I responded traditionally. . . Haven't had a lot of extra time, with the kids and all. . . I would like to take a couple of art classes. I'd like to go back to school sometime. . . He answered rather comically, some might think.
"Me too." he chuckled softly.
Sigh.
I wonder if he was trying to tell me something. . .
I'll miss my Grandpa. He's gradually becoming weaker, and has been for a while now, but these last few months, he's been declining more rapidly. I wonder what it's like now, there in the house, without Grandma. . . Pretty quiet, I would imagine.
Looks like many of our friends and relatives, people I know personally, intimately, are initiating that grand exodus to the great beyond. Oy. It's a journey that we all must take. . . eventually. Death and taxes, you know. We've heard it all before. It's just happening a little sooner, in some cases, than I would have expected. Deep sigh. . . At least there will be . . people over there, on the other side, that will know my name when the time comes.
Yeech.
(A new word that I have invented. Yeesh and ouch combined.)
The past few days, Grandpa has gone over to the house where Grandma is being cared for, and he's just sat next to her bed, or her chair, and held her hand. Sometimes she'll squeeze his hand. Sometimes she won't. Flash of pain. They've been together since the 1920's. He mentioned, he was saying Sunday, that it's been 73 years now since they graduated from high school . . up in Wyoming. They were high school sweethearts. Since they were 14 years old. They lived through the Great Depression, World War II, he built their house with his own hands, she gave him 2 sons, and had 'a time' with both of them, he worked 35 years at the steel plant, she kept a perfect house. . . Together, they saw the rise and fall, the ebb and flow, the good, and the evil of the decades of the 20th century, along with all the rest of us. . . In their later years, there were good friends, square dancing and bridge club, and 13 grandchildren. : ) I was number one, chronologically at least. . .
Grandma was an amazingly good cook. Recently, because she couldn't really do anything else, she has sat at her kitchen table, and remarked to herself, repeatedly, if not often, "Well, I don't know where I go from here. . ." Where do I go from here?
Where indeed.
It's a question we'll all have to face at some point, or other, in our lives. . .
I guess, this week, it's her turn. My Italian Grandmother. My parents got into town late last night. My dad tried to talk to Grandma today. They put on her hearing aid, and he spoke to her in English, and Italian. I wonder if she could hear him. At any rate, he was there. I think she knew that he was. . . And that's what's important.
I'm so glad we all went and saw them last Christmas.
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