Grandma reminded him "You had a stroke grandpa, you're home. We're taking care of you"
Many of you may have seen the picture I posted to my story the other day of my Grandpa MacKay, asking for prayer for him. He suffered a stroke back on March 21st leaving him paralyzed on the entire right side of his body.
My Grandma said she had just gotten their dinner ready and was calling Grandpa to the table, but he wasn’t coming. She wheeled her walker into the living room to see what on earth could be holding grandpa back from his favorite activity! Grandpa has been blind for around 11 years, so when grandma walked into the living room, she found him feeling his right hand with his left hand “Who’s hand is this?” he asked.
“Oh, quit playing around Donny, you’re not funny.” Grandma responded.
When she realized he was not kidding she remembered she had an article in her office about how to tell if you were having a stroke. After running her diagnostic as guided by the article, it was evident grandpa had indeed had a stroke. She quickly called both 911 and my parents. The medics took Grandpa in the ambulance to hospital just a short while later.
In the hospital he suffered a brain bleed from the stroke medication that caused excruciating pain and made him not quite himself. He had no desire to eat, and the compounding effect of not having his sight was very disorienting for him in the hospital. After more than a week in the hospital, the doctors determined that with his lack of improvement, it was time to start considering hospice. Five weeks out from that event today, he’s home with little to no improvement or ability to use any of the right side of his body.
Not gone yet
But that doesn’t mean he’s gone yet! We get glimpses of Grandpa still in there sometimes. For example, when I asked “Can I get you anything else Grandpa?” He responded with a weak and raspy “a new body”
Grandpa and I have had quite a few conversations over the years about what heaven will be like and what we believe the economy will be like there, with our side-by-side mansions, so I responded;
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get to heaven and get your new body Grandpa??”
“Eat a whole box of snickers”
Yup, he’s still in there! Even though someone at the hospital had the audacity to shave his beard off, and even though he’s lost a lot of weight, and even though he does not look as young as he did even a few weeks ago, he’s still my snickers lovin’ grandpa!
A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog post called Processing End of Life, and I talked about the impact it had on my life watching my dad and brother care for my Grandpa Donald through the end of his life, and now I find myself again watching, this time my mother and my Aunt Lori care for their dad, in the final part of his journey.
We come into this world being nursed to life and we leave the same way. Needing fed, changed, calmed, and comforted, and someone there keeping the covers on when we accidentally kick them off using our one good leg.
I really am in awe of the love and strength of my mom and aunt, as they care for their dad, day in and day out, loving and serving, in all capacities. It has stuck with me that whatever sense of pride we have in our self-sustaining ability to take care of our basic needs is just an allusion, because the reality of life is this:
I was nursed into this world –and apart from the unlikely event I get to go out like in the movie Secondhand Lions, and “die with my boots on” - I will indeed be nursed out of this world. Needing to be fed, changed, calmed, and comforted.
When someone you love and have a lifetime of memories with is lying in an old steel bed in front of you, at least for me, it forces the memories of better days to the front of your mind, it is almost like your brain going “wait, how did we get here so fast?”
Grandpa used to ride his bike across town to come sit with me as a young girl, maybe 7 or 8, and listen to me practice reading. We read the first several books of the Little House on the Prairie series together, his patience with me was not unnoticed, as I struggled to read fluently as any beginning reader does.
But he was nursed into this world... and we are (like medical nurses) nursing him out. Changed, fed, calmed, and comforted.
We are born humbly into this world, and we leave the same way.
Job 1:21 And he said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.”
Back in the day, grandpa used to LOVE the water and water skiing. Grandma was just reminiscing about days long past when they used to live by Merrill Lake and grandpa would come home from work and would just as quickly be out in the water, going for a swim.
Grandpa is still with us, this is not his eulogy post, this is just my brain (or my Brian as my phone frequently auto corrects too) processing, digesting, and mulling over this thing called “end of life” where a person who has always been, and been there for me, is fading.
Through my perspective, my view of grandpa is one of a man I greatly respect, a man who is dignified and esteemed in his community, and the Godly heritage he has built... he is still being nursed out of this world. Changed, fed, calmed, and comforted. “You had a stroke Grandpa, you’re at home though, and we’re taking good care of you.” Grandma reminds him daily.
Reconciling that the reality of this transition does nothing to tarnish or taint his legacy and impact in so many people’s lives.
When I look at this man transitioning towards eternity and I consider his legacy (again not a eulogy, he asked for pizza the other day, we’re not entirely sure he isn’t going to just wake up one morning and be able to hop out of bed!) I see a man who lived, loved, had hobbies, worked, strived for Godliness, has had an amazing reputation, and is continuing to model humility, as he has always to me throughout the 31 years of my life. And he is still... being nursed out of this world. Changed, fed, calmed and comforted...
This will probably, Lord willing, be how I leave this world, it will probably be how you leave this world.
What will my legacy be?
What will my heritage be?
What is left of me when I depart?