I'm home from the hospital. I called my mother today to inform her that I'd be coming down for dinner. It certainly had been awhile since the last time I saw her. I hang up the phone and get ready to leave. I send a text and all of a sudden she is calling me again.
My grandfather had been in an accident. He's 85 years old and still rides a motor-scooter (similar to a vespa) for enjoyment. Apparently he was on his scooter and wasn't in great shape. He had a broken leg but was stable. They were going to transfer him from Kingston to albany. Okay. Family was already on the way to Albany so mom and I decided we'd wait to go until we found out more.
Each phone call after that moment brought more news. Different news. Worse news. He wasn't airlifted to Albany because he had gone into cardiac arrest. He needed blood transfusions because he was bleeding out. He was on a ventilator and was resuscitated several times. Mom and I drove to Kingston to be with him. By the time we arrived they had already stabilized him enough to drive him to Albany. Upon arriving to Albany Hospital, he was being given CPR again. 20 minutes later, my grandfather was gone.
I sat in the waiting room of the Kingston Hospital offering my mother tissues and making the calls. The doctor who treated him have me his home number in case I had any questions. I didn't cry, didn't stumble. I just did. I cruised through the rest of the night on autopilot. I had my grandfather's personal items in a bag in my purse. I was carrying his teeth and it didn't seem to phase me.
When I left mom's I called Trista to vent a bit and let her know what was going on. I started to tear but hadn't really cried. Now that I'm alone, not so much the case.
My grandfather, while not the best man I've known, was so strong. He was strong-willed, strong-minded and had a strong spirit. He died riding his scooter despite all of the warnings of danger. He died doing something he enjoyed.
Last week, a friend of the family and a former co-worker of mine passed away. She finally lost her battle with cancer. She was, even on the days that were tough, the most positive human being I have ever crossed paths with. She was always optimistic. Always had something good to discuss. All of that strength couldn't manifest itself in the strength needed to beat the cancer.
I'm a strong woman. Strong enough to carry my family through trials such as this. I'm strong enough to work with disabled kids and find joy in the tough days. I'm strong enough to workout and kick my body into shape 4-5 times a week without even thinking twice. If I'm so strong, why can't I be strong enough for myself? Why do I feel so weak right now? Why can I not allow myself to break down and express my heartache to my best friend or even my own mother? Why do I wait until I am alone to allow this moment of weakness?
I'm rambling. It's time to sleep.
http://www.recordonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20110820/NEWS0301/308209989/-1/NEWS03 My Grandfather's obituary.
-Jess
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I think much like people who are so used to being the pity party, you are the opposite. You are the strong one because you always have been. You've always been proud of the fact that you are strong, so to allow yourself to be anything other than that goes against the grain. That's like allowing myself to be unorganized. I just can't do it! Being strong is the role you are accustomed to playing.
ReplyDeleteThe ability to show weakness is, in itself, a strength. It shows you are human. And believe me, there have been times where I've thought "What the butt...is Jess super woman or something?". But I know that is not the case. I don't have to tell you that you can talk to me anytime about anything, but you should know that when you decide to, I will not judge you in the very least.