Another birthday passes. My grandfather turned 93 years old a few weeks ago. Also for his birthday he moved out back into his independent residence, without assistance or meals being received. Too stubborn for help, he ignores the new clothes, the towels, or any assistance passed down from my father, mother, or myself. The Jim Dandy brotherhood of soggy eggs and toast continues to be the answer for this family.
The attraction of the attention from the twenty something waitress updating him on her new born baby and husband that farms the corn fields for a pay check intrigues my grandfather. So much that he remembers the last conversation he had with the waitress, but he can’t remember where I work or what I do for a living. Just the question, of “When will you be done with school,” meaning he still thinks I’m doing an Undergraduate degree at times. Warm fuzzies.
Being away from that familiarity and ‘comfort’ that he receives from the friendly place of the Jim Dandy brotherhood, but absent from comfort is my presence, as apparently I don’t bring much warmth with my attendance. Going to a small tawdry dwelling full of memories and familiar people who would remind you of the meals we all had while waiting for my Grandmother to recover from pneumonia; would carry a painful association. (As this ended in her eventful death at the age of 85, that meal definitely was the last time I ordered the Jim Dandy salad bar).
These memories and associations are apparently absent for my grandfather. I often wondered if it had to do with more of the memories he shared with my grandmother who passed in 2005 (after 60 years of marriage) or if it was purely the atmosphere that he desired. I suspect he does not get the same sense of presence that I get when I walk in that dusty slop bucket.
The feeling of loneliness is according to my Grandfather was more apparent in a room full of people who shared the same farming kinship rather than the independence and empty nest in his own home and local restaurant that he eats three times a day for the specials.
The familiar and comfort outfit that is chosen is typically the Double Denim with his free Farmer’s Bureau baseball cap tethered with soil, complete with matching tethered Velcro shoes. This is the Saturday outfit mind you, Sundays are of a different collaboration, and I have yet to see his weekly business choices. Perhaps next year on Christmas break when I’m off through the week and will come for visits (and fridge purging).
Next year. That has become a vulnerable point with me recently. I am nearly to the degree of skipping out on holidays and birthdays at this point with the Gramps for fear that I won’t have any excuses left for future gatherings. If I miss it, perhaps I can instill a guarantee that I’ll have ‘next time’.
Next time. The time that does come around eventually and is seldom tardy. Next time leads into next Saturday, which eventually leads to next month, and unfortunately with life happening it can turn into next year. Will I have next year? Will I have next time, or…next Saturday? I never know anymore.
These questions flow through my mind every.single.time I am with him.
I learned recently from a close friend in my life, that he also endures similar family guilt, while trying to balance his own life, and assert himself chasing after a career at the age of 27. He handles it quite calmly with little to know emotional breakdowns, unlike me who cried on the living floor after my internet technician failed to show up after a week of customer service calls. It wasn’t the internet failing. It wasn’t the frustration with the Direct TV service failing after having two other service providers in the same month in a new house unfamiliar, away from my parents. It was the basically the last straw.
In transition back to my Grandfather, who handles his grief, life, and fate all day by day striving to maintain to control over his future…Aren’t we all? Are we all the same trying to gain control over our future, trying to balance life like the 27 year old?
I’m not sure what the answer is, but I’m living life on a tight rope, and about to fall.
No comments:
Post a Comment