Day 11: Don’t Get Old

My grandpa had a stroke yesterday and I am convinced that the universe is telling me something this week. The universe is wanting me to pay attention.

Perhaps that is too self centered a view, but I can’t help but think that when so many things go wrong in a small span of time that there’s something I am supposed to be learning.

I don’t know yet what it is.

I am hoping that my grandfather is fine – that the doctors are providing him good care and that his road to recovery will be smooth. It is my hope. I am keeping cautiously optimistic because they were able to administer TPA in time to break up the clot and within a short span of time he went from being unable to move the left side of his body to touching his nose with his left pointer finger, from no speech to slurred speech to clear speech. To being able to state his full name and birthdate as well as where he is. To asking me about my children.  To trying to boop my nose.

My grandfather overcame stomach cancer in the 1980s – I was a kid then. I don’t remember the details much. He had part of his stomach removed. Chemo. We were in California. We were far away.

He is a funny little old man and I love him and I have said often that he’s my favorite man in the world – I don’t think it’s an exaggeration. When I was a kid, he’d send mail addressed to “Haras” (my name backwards) and he always had a roll of Lifesavers on him to share with us kids, and he’d write me letters and I’d write back. He’s never stopped telling the story of the time we drove down to Carmel and I cried the whole way. Nor has he stopped telling about when I was about to start my first job out of college and how nervous I was about it – but he’s always quick to say he knew I’d be fine, and look how well I did.

He loves my kids. Like he did for me, he pays Ten for the As on her report card (and he better heal up because that girl has a paper full of straight A’s to show Great-Grandpa). He puts the emphasis on the wrong syllable of my youngest daughter’s name in a way that is unique to him. And every time I see him he says, “That’s a nice lookin’ family you’ve got there, Sarah.”

So, he really needs to be okay.

This week has been one thing after another but this makes some of those big things feel small and maybe that’s my lesson. That what really matters is the health and love of people I care about and the rest is just… extra. That stuff will work itself out.

I don’t know.

This is the kind of week that makes one weary, that’s for sure.

Not sure what is in store for grandpa in the next few days, but I’m hoping that he quickly makes his way out of the hospital into whatever rehabilitation program they deem will best suit him.

He’s a survivor. He’s made it through so much. He just has to keep hanging on because I’m not ready to let go just yet.