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Apparently, time is liquid in the unreachable eyries of doctors because "we'll know more next week" became a definitive diagnosis yesterday afternoon. Grandpa has inoperable liver cancer. He has months at most. I'm going to call my mother tomorrow after I've had a chance to lose my mind, but I suspect that I'm going to wind up blubbing on the phone anyway.
There hasn't been a mention of plans for a final visit, which I'll ask about tomorrow. I suspect Grandpa, who is a fiercely proud and intensely private man, will balk at the idea of everyone parading past his bed with hangdog faces and tear-stained good intentions. I also suspect he's told the white-coated gurus to go fuck themselves con brio, hired a hospice nurse with a generous rack, and retired to the familiar surroundings of his home.
So, that's it, then. My grandfather, who worked every day of his life until he was 78, is dying, and no amount of righteous railing against the universe can stop it. I'm stunned, sad, and angry, but mostly, I'm struck with the unfairness of it all. My grandfather worked all his life, and now, when he's finally chosen to retire and enjoy it, he's out of time.
Suddenly, I don't regret being unemployed nearly as much.
I watched CSI:NY on SPIKE last night. I know most folks hated Flack's sideburns, but I'll always have a soft spot for that look. It was perfect for the young NY cop, and really, the hair and the leather trenchcoat lent themselves to delicious fantasies of running my fingers through the former and tearing off the latter in a tempest of greedy, clothes-tearing lust.
Mmmm...
There hasn't been a mention of plans for a final visit, which I'll ask about tomorrow. I suspect Grandpa, who is a fiercely proud and intensely private man, will balk at the idea of everyone parading past his bed with hangdog faces and tear-stained good intentions. I also suspect he's told the white-coated gurus to go fuck themselves con brio, hired a hospice nurse with a generous rack, and retired to the familiar surroundings of his home.
So, that's it, then. My grandfather, who worked every day of his life until he was 78, is dying, and no amount of righteous railing against the universe can stop it. I'm stunned, sad, and angry, but mostly, I'm struck with the unfairness of it all. My grandfather worked all his life, and now, when he's finally chosen to retire and enjoy it, he's out of time.
Suddenly, I don't regret being unemployed nearly as much.
I watched CSI:NY on SPIKE last night. I know most folks hated Flack's sideburns, but I'll always have a soft spot for that look. It was perfect for the young NY cop, and really, the hair and the leather trenchcoat lent themselves to delicious fantasies of running my fingers through the former and tearing off the latter in a tempest of greedy, clothes-tearing lust.
Mmmm...