While we were on our trip to Port Townsend, I received a phone call from my mom. My Grandpa had taken a turn for the worse and wasn't expected to make it over the weekend. The doctor had advised her to start making phone calls to family. They put the phone near my Grandpa's ear and I told him we loved him and that I was sorry we couldn't be there right now to be with him. Later that same day, I got a follow up phone call with an update on him. I guess after all the visits from family and phone calls, his vitals improved (the doctor explained this is normal in patients, that it's their "will to live"). As for us, we continued on with our trip, though we did discuss whether or not we should leave early. We also tried to figure out how it would work out if I made a trip down for a few days, but with having only one car, boys in school, and Pete's early work schedule, we just weren't sure how we could make it work. Plus we didn't have any friends or family who we could call on to help us out.
That next Monday (April 6), I woke up early as normal to make Peter his lunch while he hopped in the shower to get ready for work. When he was done, he came out and said he'd take the day off and we'd keep the boys home from school so we could make a day trip to Yakima. So I rushed about to get everything ready, and off we went. We stopped first at my mom's house to visit and talk with her. Around lunch time we made our way to where my Grandpa is being cared for. As soon as I walked into his room and saw how small and frail he looked, I started crying. We had just visited him for his birthday exactly a month prior, and it was shocking to see how much weight he had lost. It just tore me up. He laid in his bed with the covers tucked up under his chin, like a little boy.This is not what I imagined for Grandpa. He was just suppose to stay the same as I've imagined him since I was a little girl. He was just suppose to fall asleep one evening and not wake up because of old age. Not because of some stupid sickness. When we arrived, other family was there as well visiting, but left shortly after so we could have time alone with him. Peter ended up taking the boys out to run around outside, and I had my small moment alone to talk with my Grandpa and say goodbye (well, I talked as best I could...I had a hard time controlling my crying). My Grandpa wasn't able to say much, but he was alert...he knew who I was and he listened. It was just so hard. I sat in a chair next to his bed the whole time I was there, which just wasn't long enough, since we still had to make the drive back home. The boys, Peter and I each gave my Grandpa a hug, told him we loved him and said goodbye before we left.
So it's been almost a week since that trip. My Grandpa is still with us, but is in a semi-coma, as it was explained to me. Each day his vitals slip a bit. I have cried every day since, though as each day passes, it's not as much as the day before. Poor Peter and my boys, dealing with my emotions, which are like a roller coaster. I start off the mornings feeling anxious, annoyed and/or mad, then by the afternoon/evening, I'm sad and crying. I'll think of a memory or how he looked in that hospital bed and the last moment I had with him. I'll beat myself up because we didn't visit as much as we should have, or I didn't take as many pictures as I should have. This is just so hard. I really don't want my Grandpa to go, but I know the reality is he's going to pass, and I sometimes I wish it would be done with because I'm tired of feeling so sad and I want him to be at peace. I just thought my Grandpa would always be here. I'm so heartbroken :(
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