Pop

Okay, so I know this isn't what I normally blog about, and quite frankly, I don't even know if people even read my blog. But I need to get this out. 

On both sides of my family, my grandparents are getting old. The older I get, the older and more fragile they get. The most fragile of all of my family right now is my Pop. He's had problems with his hands and his body for awhile now. His hands are so bad that, from what I last checked, he could barely use them. At one stage, it was too painful to even try. The other day, he fell and hurt his hip. He went straight to hospital, and they said after a day or two that if he didn't have surgery, he would probably die. But they also warned us that there's a chance, a big chance, that he might not make it out of the surgery. His heart is fragile, so, so fragile right now, that it could give at any moment. If he survived, he wouldn't get to live at his home anymore. He'd have to be moved to a home, probably a high care one. He made it out of the surgery, but he still can't breathe on his own. He's being kept under because there is a tube down his throat helping him breathe. I think he may still be on life support, too. 
Now, understand that the last time someone in my family died, I was a young girl. I didn't understand. Not really. And in anycase, I'd never known her very well. It never hit me properly. But today, when I saw my Pop lying in that hospital bed unconscious; his lips chapped from being open because of the tube in his throat, the beeping of the machines and the different tube-stuff attached to him...it scared me. Shook me to my core. My Pop is one of the kindest people that I've ever known. He's always smiling, regardless of his own pain. He's always cracking cheeky jokes, and as a little girl I remember he used to play with his false teeth to get a laugh - or an ew - out of us. And my family! It shook me to see it. My dad, who is so stoic and hates to show weakness, his eyes were dry and he thought he hid it but I could see the fear, the worry and the sadness in his eyes. My aunty, who is normally always seeking attention of those around her was, for the most part, quite silent. And my nan, who is just like dad in the sense of 'show no weakness' and generally rather quiet, was more quiet than usual and, though she didn't cry, her eyes were red from unshed tears. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but when she was so eager to get out of the hospital, I could see just how close to breaking she was. Maybe it's because I'm like her in that sense. Show no weakness. 
Anyway. Back at my Nan and Aunty's house, we were sitting around, making light of the situation as best as we could, and the phone rings. I'd never seen nan run so quickly in my life. She bolted to the phone. Nearly knocked her beloved dogs out of the way to get there. It was only a family member calling and checking up, but my gosh I've never seen the house go so silent in my life. Everyone was holding their breath. Was it the hospital? 

I know it would be kinder for him to go now. I know that it would be. If he were to survive he would be in pain because of his hands, and he would be so, so weak and fragile that he couldn't do anything that he used to do; cook, play bowls, etc. It would be much, much kinder for him to be relieved of that pain, both physically and mentally, and to move onto whatever the afterlife brings us. Does that make it any less scary knowing that someone you love might die? No. Does that make it any less painful that he might die? No. Does it make your want for him to survive any less? No. Does it make you love him any less? No. I hope he will make it through, I truly do. But a part of me also hopes that his spirit is relieved of the pain and can move onto whatever is planned for us after death, whether it be the Christian 'Heaven', or the 'Underworld' of the Greeks, or the 'Reincarnation' of Buddhism. (that is not limiting them to these religions/mythologies I'll point out). 

I'm scared for my Pop. And I'm scared about what will come next. And it hurts either way. I know this isn't my normal kind of post, and I highly doubt many people actually go onto my blog and take the time to read my posts. But this isn't for them. This is for me. I needed to talk about it. And so I did. 

Anyway.

Until next time,

The Deluded Writer.