In my life experience, it has always been true that when it rains, it pours. This year has been a painful reminder of how precious life is. The other day, my grandfather fell and broke his hip. He was given only a slim chance of survival without surgery (due to the various illnesses inherent in being bed-ridden) and only a slim chance of surviving surgery (due to a heart condition). We chose for him to have the surgery as his quality of life would be so low if confined to a bed.
Last night, we thought we had dodged a bullet. Papa woke from anesthesia without problem (the biggest concern). Several hours later, the tube which allowed him to breathe while anesthetized was removed with only some difficulty in his breathing. However, he is still declining: his kidneys are failing.
I find myself torn. I had planned to take Thursday and Friday off to visit Rohoboth Beach in Delaware, but these recent family events make me want to return home, but my parents are very stressed out with other relatives coming to see my grandfather - they've said while they would love me to come home, I wouldn't be able to do anything, probably not even see him.
So I guess I'm going to the beach? How am I supposed to enjoy my vacation knowing he is dying?
Life hurts sometimes. My only hope is that I can appreciate my vacation knowing he would want me to be happy, that he has always loved the beach, and remember how pivotal he has been to my understanding and love for the world.
Papa, Kika (now deceased), and I in Florida 7 or 8 years ago. Their love for each other has inspired me in all things, and I can only hope that I can live and love with as much passion as they have.
Get well, Papa. Love you.