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.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Ham and Beans, Beans...Ham...Ham...Beans....
After a few missed Saturday visits due to some other events that were taking my attention, such as moving, weather, appliances breaking down, immediate family members falling down gathering injuries…Grandpa took a second seat to my attention unfortunately.
In an effort to redeem my lack of attention these past few weeks, and to re-de-compartmentalize my stress; I’ve committed to making more phone calls in an effort to facilitate what I needed to do a long time ago, be there and acknowledge.
It is too easy to get caught up in your own life, become so self-absorbed with your own problems that you neglect those around you that are really in need of acknowledgement and deserve your attention.
You forget during those times that life is not always about YOU. You forget that your life may not be so stressful had you not had the successes that led to those “problems”. You forget who simply wants to say hi.
In the midst of it all, you forget those that are sitting in their recliner, away from their own routines and familiarity of everyday life, and that you are part of that reason why they’re unfamiliar right now. You are part of why they’re waiting on a phone call from you. You forget to…acknowledge and be…there.
Family. I’ve been an only child all my life obviously, so I have a tendency to bond with close friends and absorb into their own family life. Sometimes however I forget that I have one lone family member out there that sees me as his pride and joy of a grand-daughter. He may not always show it or communicate it, but I’ve learned to accept his forms of acknowledgement.
A simple phone call made today that didn’t last more than 20 minutes appeared to be all it took, funny how that is all we ever need sometimes. Acknowledgement. Is it so hard? Twenty minutes typically is the length as that is all that the attention span allows for, however it did bring responsibility, an apology, and recognition to someone for whom I’ve put second for a while. Which was selfish.
I absorbed a few complaints of course, where have you been, I haven’t seen you, etc…Then it transcended into the menu options served at the assisted living center he just moved into, which I advocated strongly after the first few falls and hospital visits. “They keep serving food with fancy names like…Fettuccini, when I just want bean soup, or beans and ham, or chili, beans...” he says. (Ham…Beans…Soup…ahhhhh) The Jim Dandy brotherhood did NOT come in handy this time, as of course nothing compares to the ‘attentive’ waitresses that make over my 93 year old grandfather raving over how independent he is for his age.
A few minutes later however, sitting on the other end of the phone line, happy to have power in this winter storm, I say, well Grandpa, “Have you considered making a suggestion?” He says, “Well yeah, and the one day I leave for another monthly meeting, they serve ham and beans!” Disgruntled he appears, however laughing at the thought of the simple miscalculation on the day that the menu called for ham and beans. Well this conversation quickly ended as you couldn’t really expand much on the art of beans and ham, however, it was left with a tear that I can say.
As he concludes his rant on the delicacy of the product made from a pig combined with a cheap legume, he says, “Katy…I think about you all the time, I just can’t help but know that you have such a long road ahead.” Choked up I respond, Grandpa…”I think of you all the time myself and I need to stop thinking so much and just pick up the phone and dial.”
Today, with a lump in my throat, and tear down my cheek, I’m forever grateful that I have more time, to dial, to hear, and have someone alive and answering on the other end. Take time, make the call, and acknowledge.
In an effort to redeem my lack of attention these past few weeks, and to re-de-compartmentalize my stress; I’ve committed to making more phone calls in an effort to facilitate what I needed to do a long time ago, be there and acknowledge.
It is too easy to get caught up in your own life, become so self-absorbed with your own problems that you neglect those around you that are really in need of acknowledgement and deserve your attention.
You forget during those times that life is not always about YOU. You forget that your life may not be so stressful had you not had the successes that led to those “problems”. You forget who simply wants to say hi.
In the midst of it all, you forget those that are sitting in their recliner, away from their own routines and familiarity of everyday life, and that you are part of that reason why they’re unfamiliar right now. You are part of why they’re waiting on a phone call from you. You forget to…acknowledge and be…there.
Family. I’ve been an only child all my life obviously, so I have a tendency to bond with close friends and absorb into their own family life. Sometimes however I forget that I have one lone family member out there that sees me as his pride and joy of a grand-daughter. He may not always show it or communicate it, but I’ve learned to accept his forms of acknowledgement.
A simple phone call made today that didn’t last more than 20 minutes appeared to be all it took, funny how that is all we ever need sometimes. Acknowledgement. Is it so hard? Twenty minutes typically is the length as that is all that the attention span allows for, however it did bring responsibility, an apology, and recognition to someone for whom I’ve put second for a while. Which was selfish.
I absorbed a few complaints of course, where have you been, I haven’t seen you, etc…Then it transcended into the menu options served at the assisted living center he just moved into, which I advocated strongly after the first few falls and hospital visits. “They keep serving food with fancy names like…Fettuccini, when I just want bean soup, or beans and ham, or chili, beans...” he says. (Ham…Beans…Soup…ahhhhh) The Jim Dandy brotherhood did NOT come in handy this time, as of course nothing compares to the ‘attentive’ waitresses that make over my 93 year old grandfather raving over how independent he is for his age.
A few minutes later however, sitting on the other end of the phone line, happy to have power in this winter storm, I say, well Grandpa, “Have you considered making a suggestion?” He says, “Well yeah, and the one day I leave for another monthly meeting, they serve ham and beans!” Disgruntled he appears, however laughing at the thought of the simple miscalculation on the day that the menu called for ham and beans. Well this conversation quickly ended as you couldn’t really expand much on the art of beans and ham, however, it was left with a tear that I can say.
As he concludes his rant on the delicacy of the product made from a pig combined with a cheap legume, he says, “Katy…I think about you all the time, I just can’t help but know that you have such a long road ahead.” Choked up I respond, Grandpa…”I think of you all the time myself and I need to stop thinking so much and just pick up the phone and dial.”
Today, with a lump in my throat, and tear down my cheek, I’m forever grateful that I have more time, to dial, to hear, and have someone alive and answering on the other end. Take time, make the call, and acknowledge.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Tornados and Light
This started out with the journey of how my Grandfather is adjusting to living a life with assistance, the adaptation of changes, losing control, and accepting the inevitable mortality that will come.
It is uncanny the parallels that you find within family. Accepting eventual fate seems to be an uncomfortable stage for us all. The stages of the aging process and even the toll that it takes on everyone involved also come with aggravation and angst. Negotiation and lobbying skills become effectively used more and more while trying to shape the hearts and minds of those you feel the responsibility to protect.
The line of protection that was once so obvious becomes slim and undefined as time passes leaving you with only a trail of bread crumbs that keep diverting you off the correct path. Eventually your own role within your family can eventually serve multiple purposes to several family members stretching you so thin that you just can’t quite seem to know where the light is at the end of this familial ‘tunnel’.
When my life becomes a bit torrent with stress, I tend to have recurrent dreams of tornados. Several tornados in various colors all mixing together to create one fast moving turbulent and destructive black cloud destroying anything that I run towards. It typically moves over a large body water that stirring up roaring waves that crash against windows.
In every eye of every storm there is an eventual calm that arises. Let’s just hope this calm comes before anything else is destroyed.
It is uncanny the parallels that you find within family. Accepting eventual fate seems to be an uncomfortable stage for us all. The stages of the aging process and even the toll that it takes on everyone involved also come with aggravation and angst. Negotiation and lobbying skills become effectively used more and more while trying to shape the hearts and minds of those you feel the responsibility to protect.
The line of protection that was once so obvious becomes slim and undefined as time passes leaving you with only a trail of bread crumbs that keep diverting you off the correct path. Eventually your own role within your family can eventually serve multiple purposes to several family members stretching you so thin that you just can’t quite seem to know where the light is at the end of this familial ‘tunnel’.
When my life becomes a bit torrent with stress, I tend to have recurrent dreams of tornados. Several tornados in various colors all mixing together to create one fast moving turbulent and destructive black cloud destroying anything that I run towards. It typically moves over a large body water that stirring up roaring waves that crash against windows.
In every eye of every storm there is an eventual calm that arises. Let’s just hope this calm comes before anything else is destroyed.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Ripped Tide and Skinless
My Grandmother used to say two quotes when times became stressful: “Oh boy” (when she was in pain or scared) and “Man oh Man” (when there was a serious event).
I often think of her in terms of: WWGD, or What Would Grandma Do….Would she “Man oh Man” at this? Would she support the decisions? Would she be satisfied with how we’ve handled it as a family? Or would she… “Oh boy”?
I'm a swimmer, so I compare mostly everything to water, as that's my home. As the tide rips in from the dangerous Medicare waters and throws you tolerable yet uncontrollable solution…The solution carries a wake to follow. The wake can be defined as the rough part after a wave in the water And… If you catch this wake at the right time (okay and let's be honest, with a proper catch, that's the coach in me); you can ride it in all the way and then draft off of it to carry you forward in order to gain an advantage, hence saving energy. This energy source if not tapped too early during the tide that follows has three stages: 1) a release, 2) a calm, and 3) a crash… This is the part where you explode any and all efforts hoping they weren’t wasted… Followed by sighting into the distance planting your next move efficiently as possible to straightly move forward.
Note: This whole time you’re in the water, you’re holding your breath, waiting to exhale the old used oxygen, and inhale the new fresh oxygen.
Can I get an “Oh Boy”? I'll end the bumper sticker talk....You get the 'draft'.
What does this have to do with my Grandfather…? No…He does not desire to be an open water swimmer or body surfer at the age of 93. No…He doesn’t want to sail the Pacific in search of a new island.
He’s finding a new calm…yet a bit anxious for the final crash. The unanswered questions come from a few years of avoidance from an internal and timid fear that we all face... The questions that happen during any change…Like… So what’s next?
As I indicated in my very first blog post, where I learned that aged skin doesn’t heal or break the same as 30 year old skin…? Well….Today from an IV that was changed, the tape being pulled (the wrong kind of tape mind you) pulled off some skin, there was no blood; but as my father sitting there during the changing of the line (or wave approaching the shore), holding his breath through the wave waiting for the tide to pass... The tide carried with it a few other unanswered questions…Is the infection spreading? Is he healing? Or are we waiting on a crash? Is this an “Oh boy” or an “Man oh Man”? WWGD? Or can we ingest some finality in it all and look forward to new traditions? Then the suppressed question and one that is avoided: How long?
I’m not sure where this will lead, since it’s now been 4 nights and 5 days of officially being admitted and in hospital care. I hope to say: “Man oh Man” tomorrow and the Grandfather who's been waiting to swim out of the Medicare waters will come out of the wave rejuvenated with a sense of calm, and moving forward efficiently as possible with a feeling of: I don’t have to feel alone anymore.
Until then………. “Oh boy-Oh boy-Oh boy” (in my Grandma voice).
I often think of her in terms of: WWGD, or What Would Grandma Do….Would she “Man oh Man” at this? Would she support the decisions? Would she be satisfied with how we’ve handled it as a family? Or would she… “Oh boy”?
I'm a swimmer, so I compare mostly everything to water, as that's my home. As the tide rips in from the dangerous Medicare waters and throws you tolerable yet uncontrollable solution…The solution carries a wake to follow. The wake can be defined as the rough part after a wave in the water And… If you catch this wake at the right time (okay and let's be honest, with a proper catch, that's the coach in me); you can ride it in all the way and then draft off of it to carry you forward in order to gain an advantage, hence saving energy. This energy source if not tapped too early during the tide that follows has three stages: 1) a release, 2) a calm, and 3) a crash… This is the part where you explode any and all efforts hoping they weren’t wasted… Followed by sighting into the distance planting your next move efficiently as possible to straightly move forward.
Note: This whole time you’re in the water, you’re holding your breath, waiting to exhale the old used oxygen, and inhale the new fresh oxygen.
Can I get an “Oh Boy”? I'll end the bumper sticker talk....You get the 'draft'.
What does this have to do with my Grandfather…? No…He does not desire to be an open water swimmer or body surfer at the age of 93. No…He doesn’t want to sail the Pacific in search of a new island.
He’s finding a new calm…yet a bit anxious for the final crash. The unanswered questions come from a few years of avoidance from an internal and timid fear that we all face... The questions that happen during any change…Like… So what’s next?
As I indicated in my very first blog post, where I learned that aged skin doesn’t heal or break the same as 30 year old skin…? Well….Today from an IV that was changed, the tape being pulled (the wrong kind of tape mind you) pulled off some skin, there was no blood; but as my father sitting there during the changing of the line (or wave approaching the shore), holding his breath through the wave waiting for the tide to pass... The tide carried with it a few other unanswered questions…Is the infection spreading? Is he healing? Or are we waiting on a crash? Is this an “Oh boy” or an “Man oh Man”? WWGD? Or can we ingest some finality in it all and look forward to new traditions? Then the suppressed question and one that is avoided: How long?
I’m not sure where this will lead, since it’s now been 4 nights and 5 days of officially being admitted and in hospital care. I hope to say: “Man oh Man” tomorrow and the Grandfather who's been waiting to swim out of the Medicare waters will come out of the wave rejuvenated with a sense of calm, and moving forward efficiently as possible with a feeling of: I don’t have to feel alone anymore.
Until then………. “Oh boy-Oh boy-Oh boy” (in my Grandma voice).
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Change
The inevitable did indeed happen. It took nearly two weeks, but infection did ensue, but low and behold Grandpa did have the smarts to call his doctor. He was admitted into the ER on Friday night, and on an IV drip to kill the infection that erupted after the last wound from a fall getting the morning paper. My fear of asking a 93 year old man to clean a wound that requires scrubbing, dressing changes, and first-aid skills happened.
What’s the outcome? Well he’s finally giving assisted living a shot, after a few talks with the physician, some prompting from my father (for whom I’m extremely proud of by the way), and a bit of encouragement from a few dear friends.
What’s the big deal of going into assisted living? Well for some elders it’s simple. Avoidance is now disabled, change from what you’ve known can no longer be denied.
I’ve learned four things recently: aging is a process, acceptance of that process is difficult, family is a virtue and comes in many forms, and accepting change never gets easier.
Imagine yourself 93 years young, losing your partner for whom you’ve been attached to for over 60 years, and one day life as you know it changes. Walking becomes difficult, getting the morning paper…Not so easy….Balance, well that’s a memory…and a memory, well that’s something else you’re feeling disappear. Life as you have ‘known’ it simply becomes unfamiliar. Losing familiarity is one of the scariest things we face as we get older.
Christmas will become a new tradition this year, where instead of picking up the lone Patriarch of the family and the one and only surviving Grandparent for the usual 2 hour meal and annual television viewing of ELF…It will consist of a visit and dinner from the retirement village.
Change can hurt sometimes, it’s uncomfortable, it’s anxious, and it’s real. The reality is life does not stop for us to get ‘comfortable’ with the impending changes that may erupt.
Life is short, so eat, pray, and simple: Love.
What’s the outcome? Well he’s finally giving assisted living a shot, after a few talks with the physician, some prompting from my father (for whom I’m extremely proud of by the way), and a bit of encouragement from a few dear friends.
What’s the big deal of going into assisted living? Well for some elders it’s simple. Avoidance is now disabled, change from what you’ve known can no longer be denied.
I’ve learned four things recently: aging is a process, acceptance of that process is difficult, family is a virtue and comes in many forms, and accepting change never gets easier.
Imagine yourself 93 years young, losing your partner for whom you’ve been attached to for over 60 years, and one day life as you know it changes. Walking becomes difficult, getting the morning paper…Not so easy….Balance, well that’s a memory…and a memory, well that’s something else you’re feeling disappear. Life as you have ‘known’ it simply becomes unfamiliar. Losing familiarity is one of the scariest things we face as we get older.
Christmas will become a new tradition this year, where instead of picking up the lone Patriarch of the family and the one and only surviving Grandparent for the usual 2 hour meal and annual television viewing of ELF…It will consist of a visit and dinner from the retirement village.
Change can hurt sometimes, it’s uncomfortable, it’s anxious, and it’s real. The reality is life does not stop for us to get ‘comfortable’ with the impending changes that may erupt.
Life is short, so eat, pray, and simple: Love.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Tis the season'
The Holidays for 2010-2011 should be a new awakening or rebirth for us all full of new beginnings with loved ones. Before attempting to describe Thanksgiving, let's start with the last breakfast with Grandpa, as we had our 2010 Thanksgiving with Grandpa which can be for another post. You may be wondering what the result was after the last visit.
Well…The news my Grandfather shared that day during the Jim Dandy soggy toast, limp bacon and overcooked eggs meeting, went a little like this:
Me: “So…how did you scratch your glasses, and what happened to your face?”
Grandpa: “It’s just all happened so fast…”
Me: “Okay, what’s happened so fast, have you talked to my Dad about any of this?”
Grandpa: “No…No…I figured you could just tell them since you were coming up anyways.”
Me: “Ah…gee…thanks Grandpa, but you realize Dad is going to call you, and this puts me in a very awkward position right now.”
Grandpa: “Well……I wrecked my car on Monday, and fell at the bank on Tuesday, that’s how I got all these bruises”
Me: “Oh….Grandpa….Well have you been to the doctor”
Grandpa: “Oh yes, they took me in a ambulance”
Me: “WHAT!?”
So the conversation continues little by little. I ask questions, he answers them. Information volunteered is at a minimum, but we get to the bottom of it by the end of the soggy toast. Upon returning to the house however, he wants to show me one last thing. With my keys in hand, purse on my arm, and coat on ready to leave, quickly they come off as he shows me the results of one last fall that apparently occurred right before I arrived.
A bloody bandage on the bottom of his left arm appeared, as it had bled through his shirt. Had it not we may never have known about this second fall in one week after one wreck and a very damaging fall prior to that. The first test question I ask, Grandpa, “Have you cleaned this, it could get infected.” “Oh yeah, it’s kinda itchy, I put Benydryl on it.” I replied, “Grandpa, that’s for rashes, what disinfectant do you have for cuts?”
We went through his entire medicine cabinet, he had some Bactine from 1970 which I quickly thought was not going to do the trick. In the car we go, and attend the nearby “Medicine Shoppe’ where they have marked up products but a “friendly” face. Thirty-dollars later, we return back to the house to dress the wounds.
My last first-aid class was in 2007, thank goodness for my bike wreck in 2010 otherwise I wouldn’t have known how to properly clean out wounds that had NO SKIN left and were the size of a kiwi. This was … elderly wound care at its finest. Pulling away layers of a band-aid that stuck to the 93 year old fragile remnants of a wound that took a large amount of skin away, I nearly negotiated for an ER visit. However, I knew that would never go over so I cleaned up the battle scene as best I could, and dressed it for a hopeful visit by another doctor later that week.
After that visit was complete, wounds dressed, house in check, groceries, check, bathroom supplies inspected, check…It was time to leave to go meet up with some family that was found by accident and by choice, the Wieland’s.
The Holidays should be full of surprises. The idea of assisted living certainly isn’t becoming anymore popular….But….Have you been outside…See the ice?
Well…The news my Grandfather shared that day during the Jim Dandy soggy toast, limp bacon and overcooked eggs meeting, went a little like this:
Me: “So…how did you scratch your glasses, and what happened to your face?”
Grandpa: “It’s just all happened so fast…”
Me: “Okay, what’s happened so fast, have you talked to my Dad about any of this?”
Grandpa: “No…No…I figured you could just tell them since you were coming up anyways.”
Me: “Ah…gee…thanks Grandpa, but you realize Dad is going to call you, and this puts me in a very awkward position right now.”
Grandpa: “Well……I wrecked my car on Monday, and fell at the bank on Tuesday, that’s how I got all these bruises”
Me: “Oh….Grandpa….Well have you been to the doctor”
Grandpa: “Oh yes, they took me in a ambulance”
Me: “WHAT!?”
So the conversation continues little by little. I ask questions, he answers them. Information volunteered is at a minimum, but we get to the bottom of it by the end of the soggy toast. Upon returning to the house however, he wants to show me one last thing. With my keys in hand, purse on my arm, and coat on ready to leave, quickly they come off as he shows me the results of one last fall that apparently occurred right before I arrived.
A bloody bandage on the bottom of his left arm appeared, as it had bled through his shirt. Had it not we may never have known about this second fall in one week after one wreck and a very damaging fall prior to that. The first test question I ask, Grandpa, “Have you cleaned this, it could get infected.” “Oh yeah, it’s kinda itchy, I put Benydryl on it.” I replied, “Grandpa, that’s for rashes, what disinfectant do you have for cuts?”
We went through his entire medicine cabinet, he had some Bactine from 1970 which I quickly thought was not going to do the trick. In the car we go, and attend the nearby “Medicine Shoppe’ where they have marked up products but a “friendly” face. Thirty-dollars later, we return back to the house to dress the wounds.
My last first-aid class was in 2007, thank goodness for my bike wreck in 2010 otherwise I wouldn’t have known how to properly clean out wounds that had NO SKIN left and were the size of a kiwi. This was … elderly wound care at its finest. Pulling away layers of a band-aid that stuck to the 93 year old fragile remnants of a wound that took a large amount of skin away, I nearly negotiated for an ER visit. However, I knew that would never go over so I cleaned up the battle scene as best I could, and dressed it for a hopeful visit by another doctor later that week.
After that visit was complete, wounds dressed, house in check, groceries, check, bathroom supplies inspected, check…It was time to leave to go meet up with some family that was found by accident and by choice, the Wieland’s.
The Holidays should be full of surprises. The idea of assisted living certainly isn’t becoming anymore popular….But….Have you been outside…See the ice?
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Being the Only
Breakfast with Grandpa
The first of many blog posts to come to describe the history and journey of a family tradition for the last five years.
After my paternal grandmother passed away in 2005, my grandfather living alone after living with his life partner since 1944 was a concern for my family. Striking a balance between living our own lives yet protecting Grandpa’s life has been difficult, and a struggle that is quickly uncovering other hidden secrets of the Jim Dandy brotherhood.
I should include what that family consists of: my mother, my father, and me. My father is an only child, I’m an only child, and my mother has 1 sister that’s a state away. So when it comes to family responsibilities and caring for each other, it’s a team effort that rests solely on us. A responsibility that recently I’ve learned can change you forever. Here’s my story.
Breakfast with Grandpa starts out a little like this, my father and I committed to try to see Grandpa every to every other Saturday at the breakfast place of choice: “Jim Dandy’s”. This every to every other Saturday has had some gaps, and single attendance, as my Saturdays became consumed with other commitments placing the original commitment to my Grandpa…well…second in priority. So I put it my father to handle for a while.
Jim Dandy’s is the place “that everyone knows your name”, when Grandpa walks in he has his own social network without a FaceBook profile, since he doesn’t know how to use the Internet really. Seating himself, talking across the restaurant to anyone familiar, and if they aren’t familiar, they soon will be. Stories begin with biblical references and quick references from a few years ago that seem fresh in his head, and any Reader’s Digest jokes that he can remember from his last issue.
The conversation typically starts out by asking routine questions that he knows are normal to ask, “How’s work” (he knows I work), how’s school (he knows I’m still in school), when are they done (classes), and how much is “Jimmy” playing his horn…. These questions are usually answered by the time the waitress brings the first cup of coffee, a bowl of creamers, and takes an order from the menu of item #2, that is chosen which consists of two soggy pieces of bacon, 4 pieces of toast, two dry eggs.
How hard is it really to just drive an hour plus at 6am just to sit through two hours of meaningless conversation and eat some soggy bacon? Well it’s not. It’s a commitment, and an obligation, but one that quickly changed recently. Recently, I went alone without the “Pops”, a bit nervous as I made the “Breakfast with Grandpa” appointment out intuition much like I did in 2004 to check up on my Grandma prior to my her dying.
Pulling up to the condo, I make the warning phone call, which gives Grandpa enough to put on his shirt, get his coat, and walk to the front door (about 30 minutes). Differently this time however he wanted me to drive this time, and rushed out to my car. Well upon opening the door, I see scratched glasses, green-black-and red bruises all down his face.
Stunned and shocked and alone, I ask…What happened Grandpa, are you okay? He says, “Get in the car, I’ll tell you at breakfast…I have a lot to tell you.”
What he says completely changed me.
Breakfasts with Grandpa…will never be “dull” again.
The first of many blog posts to come to describe the history and journey of a family tradition for the last five years.
After my paternal grandmother passed away in 2005, my grandfather living alone after living with his life partner since 1944 was a concern for my family. Striking a balance between living our own lives yet protecting Grandpa’s life has been difficult, and a struggle that is quickly uncovering other hidden secrets of the Jim Dandy brotherhood.
I should include what that family consists of: my mother, my father, and me. My father is an only child, I’m an only child, and my mother has 1 sister that’s a state away. So when it comes to family responsibilities and caring for each other, it’s a team effort that rests solely on us. A responsibility that recently I’ve learned can change you forever. Here’s my story.
Breakfast with Grandpa starts out a little like this, my father and I committed to try to see Grandpa every to every other Saturday at the breakfast place of choice: “Jim Dandy’s”. This every to every other Saturday has had some gaps, and single attendance, as my Saturdays became consumed with other commitments placing the original commitment to my Grandpa…well…second in priority. So I put it my father to handle for a while.
Jim Dandy’s is the place “that everyone knows your name”, when Grandpa walks in he has his own social network without a FaceBook profile, since he doesn’t know how to use the Internet really. Seating himself, talking across the restaurant to anyone familiar, and if they aren’t familiar, they soon will be. Stories begin with biblical references and quick references from a few years ago that seem fresh in his head, and any Reader’s Digest jokes that he can remember from his last issue.
The conversation typically starts out by asking routine questions that he knows are normal to ask, “How’s work” (he knows I work), how’s school (he knows I’m still in school), when are they done (classes), and how much is “Jimmy” playing his horn…. These questions are usually answered by the time the waitress brings the first cup of coffee, a bowl of creamers, and takes an order from the menu of item #2, that is chosen which consists of two soggy pieces of bacon, 4 pieces of toast, two dry eggs.
How hard is it really to just drive an hour plus at 6am just to sit through two hours of meaningless conversation and eat some soggy bacon? Well it’s not. It’s a commitment, and an obligation, but one that quickly changed recently. Recently, I went alone without the “Pops”, a bit nervous as I made the “Breakfast with Grandpa” appointment out intuition much like I did in 2004 to check up on my Grandma prior to my her dying.
Pulling up to the condo, I make the warning phone call, which gives Grandpa enough to put on his shirt, get his coat, and walk to the front door (about 30 minutes). Differently this time however he wanted me to drive this time, and rushed out to my car. Well upon opening the door, I see scratched glasses, green-black-and red bruises all down his face.
Stunned and shocked and alone, I ask…What happened Grandpa, are you okay? He says, “Get in the car, I’ll tell you at breakfast…I have a lot to tell you.”
What he says completely changed me.
Breakfasts with Grandpa…will never be “dull” again.
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