If I were playing the lotto right now, I would say that I hold the lucky ticket: my Papa's hand. I have held it for days on end and always have held his hand. His hands have done 96 years of hard work, fishing, woodworking, cooking, helping, dressing, making, fixing, covering, warming, creating, shooting, cheering, clapping, touching, loving, gardening, moving, sheltering, shaking, dancing, supporting, welding, playing, squeezing, computing, giving and taking. I am consumed by his beautiful hands.
Tears come more frequently and easily. I want him to wake up and say, "Is there a game on?" I want him to get dressed, eat his prunes, drink his coffee, read the newspaper and pet Buddy. I think I stay by his side to comfort him and myself, but also, I don't want to miss the one time his eyes may open. I don't want to miss one little smile, one little word. I feel like a first time parent watching over a newborn living on their every breath, every move. It's exhausting but I don't notice it much.
Papa's body is slowly shutting down all of it's working parts. His body thermostat is broken, so he goes into hot flashes, cold sweats and a hot head and freezing feet. He hasn't had any control of his bowels for a few days and his urine output has ceased. Today, he didn't have anything to eat or drink and was only "awake" for about 2 minutes when Mom, Dad, Barry and I were changing his bed - and boy, it takes 4 people to change him. You try to be so careful, but poor Papa just doesn't want to move. His moans get a little louder and we tell him that we are new at this and we are doing the best we can. He understands and is very very patient. He hasn't talked really at all today, except for one time that I noticed. I am constantly whispering "sweet nothings" in his ear and always have told him how much I love him. This afternoon, he mumbled/garbled back, "I love you too." My heart grew wings.
The hardest thing above all is his breathing. It's comforting and troubling all at once. It is not consistent, it's loud, there are gargles, moans, groans, snores, sounds etc. He is not in any pain and doesn't have the faintest idea of how loud he is being. If anything, it just makes it hard for me to sleep by him (don't worry, I wouldn't be anywhere else even if he was screaming), but mostly, it's very difficult for Grammies. My girl, Grammies. She is such a trooper. I love her and am amazed at her strength. After 70 years of marriage, she is doing so well. She feels helpless like we all do, but even more so. With her left side unable to do anything, she struggles to hold his hand. She doesn't tire of fixing and unfixing arranging and rearranging the sheets/pillow/cannulla/catheter cord/bed remote/tv remote/pills/shirt/kleenex/chapstick/mouth swabs. She wants to help so badly, yet there is nothing for her to do except sit/watch/wait.
Today, it was another day full of love. We were visited by our dear friends Stephanie, Sally, Lois, Donna, Charlean, John and Terry. It was a beautiful distraction for Gram's. She is doted upon and receives lots and lots of hugs and smooches.
Tonight, as I fall asleep, I am playing some old music of Papa's. He loves Billy Vaughn. In fact, he has so many vinyl records that I started a log of all of them so that I knew when he requested a song - which album it would be on.
I'm going to go check on my Gram's, kiss my Bear, pet my Puppy, hold my Papa's hand and let the music and sounds of breathing lull me to somewhere between awake and sleep.
Good Night,
Dianna
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