- Mar 14, 2004
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Said goodbye to grandma yesterday, which is the hardest thing I have ever done.
I visited with my dad, his girlfriend and my boyfriend. I bought some colorful flowers for her, and when I walked in her room, I kinda stopped by the sink and started trimming and arranging them into nicer bouquets. I was scared of seeing the state she was in, and I really felt like that was all I could do for a few minutes. I walked over and showed her the flowers..I held them close to her face and slowly spun them around so she could see all of their colors. I could tell they made her happy.
The stroke damaged her brain, and half of her body seemed paralyzed. She could barely move, and her speech consisted of fragmented syllables. I felt so awful, because she was struggling to communicate, but she couldn't get the words out.
I tried talking to her about her paintings, my dog, her cat..and I could understand some of what she was trying to say through certain gestures and partial words...but after they medicated her I just held her hand and petted her hair and watched her go to sleep.
It was like I was stuck where I was, and I couldn't move because I knew that once I left, I would be saying goodbye forever.
She's unable to swallow, and her only source of water comes from a tiny medical sponge (she sorta chews on it).
I know the human body can't survive with such little water, and I'm figuring she won't make it through the week. For her sake, I hope she goes peacefully in her sleep.
This is very difficult for me because my grandma is my brunette twin. My looks skipped a generation, and everyone is always like "wow, you look just like Joy."
She's where my artistic talents come from, and she taught me so many things about drawing and painting when I was little.
Almost all of my oil pieces are done with her old supplies that she handed down to me after she stopped painting.
It's hard when I think that I only visited a few weeks ago after she had her heart attack. We were driving through the coastal redwoods blasting Andrea Boccelli, and we were singing along with Con te Partiro. I remember crying (and attempting to hide it) because I had a feeling that this would be the last time I ever saw her be this happy..and normal. I wish I could hear her reminisce and tell me stories again.
love you, grandma
I visited with my dad, his girlfriend and my boyfriend. I bought some colorful flowers for her, and when I walked in her room, I kinda stopped by the sink and started trimming and arranging them into nicer bouquets. I was scared of seeing the state she was in, and I really felt like that was all I could do for a few minutes. I walked over and showed her the flowers..I held them close to her face and slowly spun them around so she could see all of their colors. I could tell they made her happy.
The stroke damaged her brain, and half of her body seemed paralyzed. She could barely move, and her speech consisted of fragmented syllables. I felt so awful, because she was struggling to communicate, but she couldn't get the words out.
I tried talking to her about her paintings, my dog, her cat..and I could understand some of what she was trying to say through certain gestures and partial words...but after they medicated her I just held her hand and petted her hair and watched her go to sleep.
It was like I was stuck where I was, and I couldn't move because I knew that once I left, I would be saying goodbye forever.
She's unable to swallow, and her only source of water comes from a tiny medical sponge (she sorta chews on it).
I know the human body can't survive with such little water, and I'm figuring she won't make it through the week. For her sake, I hope she goes peacefully in her sleep.
This is very difficult for me because my grandma is my brunette twin. My looks skipped a generation, and everyone is always like "wow, you look just like Joy."
She's where my artistic talents come from, and she taught me so many things about drawing and painting when I was little.
Almost all of my oil pieces are done with her old supplies that she handed down to me after she stopped painting.
It's hard when I think that I only visited a few weeks ago after she had her heart attack. We were driving through the coastal redwoods blasting Andrea Boccelli, and we were singing along with Con te Partiro. I remember crying (and attempting to hide it) because I had a feeling that this would be the last time I ever saw her be this happy..and normal. I wish I could hear her reminisce and tell me stories again.
love you, grandma
