Life, Death, Family, Blah

Yesterday I received the news that my grandmother has terminal cancer. She hasn't seen an oncologist yet, so we are not sure how long she has left. My guess would be a few months, maybe a year? She has been in the hospital for a couple of weeks now because she couldn't keep any food down and was having stomach pain. They found some tumors in her colon, removed them, and did a biopsy, which showed them to be cancerous. Afterwards, they tested her lymph nodes and found that the cancer had spread to them. Apparently, there is no surgical option at this point. I don't know about any chemotherapy or radiation, but the woman is 87 years old, so I don't think they will very highly recommend those, either. My mother says they are going to let her recover from the surgery she just had, then send her home and start the hospice nursing process.

They haven't told her yet, either, because they're afraid she'll just give up immediately and we'll never get her home. She is on some heavy pain medication right now, too, and doing a lot of moaning and groaning. I am going down to Georgia on Friday and will be spending the weekend there, coming back on Monday night. It's strange to think it could be the last time I see her before she passes away. I hope that isn't the case.

Most people know that she isn't my biological grandmother. But she is the only grandmother I have ever known on that side of the family. My feelings for her are very complicated because of the way she treated my mother when she was growing up. My real grandmother died in 1956, when my Mom was three. My grandfather re-married to Minner (as we call her, her real name is Mildred) five years later. She was a widow with two children who were older, and I guess she didn't really want to raise some other woman's daughter. I'm sure she did her best, but my Mom always felt the difference. Other kids would have their school art projects hung up on the fridge, she never did. When she asked for help in her Home Ec. class, she was told she had to learn it herself. She had to do a lot of chores that her stepbrother never did, meanwhile, he was drinking and flunking out of school--she was an A student. On the day of my Mom's marriage to my Dad, Minner cried and admitted she had never done right by her. How sad that she couldn't reach out to a little girl who was yearning terribly for a mother.

Anyway, she was always good to me when I was growing up. She always made a chocolate cake for me when I visited, always bought me nice gifts for Christmas and birthdays. I won't lie and say it was the same way my real grandmother on my Dad's side made me feel. There just wasn't the same sort of connection. But I can't in good conscience say that no effort was made when it came to me. So, as I said, it's complicated.

It's probably not a good idea to revisit the bad feelings when she is about to die, but it can't really be avoided. I feel the worst for my Grandpa, who how has to go through the death of a second wife. He is blind, so after she is gone, he will probably have to move down to Florida and live with my parents, or perhaps in one of those assisted living communities. He might enjoy that, he has always been active and sociable. Who knows?

It's very sad how quickly life really does go by. Eighty-seven years sounds like a long time, and I'm sure at points it feels like a long time. But it isn't really. When I think of how fast thirty years seems to have gone, and the fact that after my grandparents have gone, it will be my parents who are next in line (theoretically), it does seem quite small and fleeting.

As for me, I kind of hope I die very quickly around age 75. I have considered just killing myself if I reach 80, because, while you might be robbing yourself of something, what are you really robbing from the rest of the world? Not that life isn't valuable, but the progress of society requires death. Is it more selfish to cling to something you know will end soon, or is it more selfish to end things before it gets too troublesome? I don't know.