Sunday, October 5, 2008

Popa

There are no words to express how sad it has been to watch my grandparents get old. Last few days my 92 year old Popa has been teetering on that fine line between life and death. His pride stripped away with his basic faculties. He used to be a big hulk of a man, tough, rough and had the mouth of a sailor and then some. This Detroit boy was raised old world German, played the violin in The Detroit Youth Symphony, watched the Tigers from outside the fence and road the trolley to work at a young age. He speaks of WW II as if it were yesterday. His hands are deeply ridged and scared from years in the motor glass industry. His garden which once fed the family is now a pile of compost and stray flowers my aunt planted years ago. His cabin locked up for now. His new truck sitting in the drive with a few hundred miles after only a year. With the walkers help he fixes his oatmeal on bent bones, reads the paper, turns his hearing aide up or off, smokes a "cig", sits on the porch hoping an old friend will walk by, then falls asleep in his club chair with the TV on till dinner with few distractions in between. my lovely and sweet 86 year old grandmother, Vera, cares for him with vigilance but is wearing her age and the past year of age related ills. They did not think they would die. Now I wait for the call which says my Popa has passed. Holding my breath. Stranger yet, they just finally drew up their Wishes and Wills. Funny how the time flew by.

My grandmother's parents died one or two days of each other. I fear it will be the same. I have been blessed to have spent quality time with them, helped them go through their old photos, collect data and pick their memories so I am at peace. I see they are not happy in the older version of their younger selves. I see the pain and grief. Why this age? We are born to die yet never think it will come to us. What a tangled web? Now at the end i wish them peace. I also know the end can drag on. Cheers none the less. Preparation is the best medicine for now for grieving must wait.