Monday the 31st.

Today would have been the day I went to my Grandparents. My sister did instead; I went to school.

You know how new moms sneak into their kids’ bedrooms to check and see if their baby is still breathing? I realize I had been doing that with Grandpa. Every week, I would check on Grandpa–not quite to see if he was still breathing, but yeah, pretty much.

He is in decline.

And he’s running out of how much further he can go.

That last thought hangs like a dark, vile secret in the back of my mind. I don’t think about it, exactly. It’s more like knowing it’s there and trying not to let myself find out about it. But every week, I’d sneak over to my Grandparents and check:

Nope, he hasn’t run out yet.

Sometimes I would get there and find out he dropped a lot further than I had thought. Then it would be all anxiousness until the next week, when I could check again:

Nope, he hasn’t run out yet.

Now I’m going to school. I can’t check anymore. I know where I left him, and I know where he’ll have to wind up. And so, according to the scary black closet in the back of my mind, he is in free-fall. He is dropping like a rock. I find myself expecting him to die any day now. I find myself thinking about it more and more.

He could have let go.

I don’t know.

I could ask. Part of me wants to. The other part of me doesn’t want to know.

One Response to Monday the 31st.

  1. Grandma mentioned to me this past weekend how Aunt D. was telling her about a friend who had died from cancer, but had survived for a long time on just one container of nutrient drink a day. Going by that measure Grandpa could last a good while yet, food-wise. But then, I never thought it was starving, in itself, which would do him in.

    On the random mornings when Grandma sleeps in exceptionally late I always wonder if this time she had a heart attack/stroke some time in the middle of the night. It always seems so morbid to contemplate such things in the morning.

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