Education

Last night, we got that call that my grandma was back in the hospital again due to health problems. Apparently, her heart medication wasn't working, and she collapsed. Since she lives with my mom and step-dad, they called the ambulance immediately and my 88-year-old grandma is under medical care. In a perfect world, she'd have open-heart surgery, but at her age, it'd kill her. The best thing we can hope for is the application of a stent, which prolongs the inevitable. The worst news was my grandma, who has been feeling more depressed the more she loses her sight from macular degeneration, seemed to be on the verge of just giving in and calling it a life during the latest emergency.

She's in Chicago. I'm in Seattle. My wife and I were told to hold off from making an emergency flight out and wait until we fly out for the holidays in a week. I pray she'll be around, and be able to take visitors. Maybe she'll be back at my mom's home by then. It's at times like this when I can't help but feel a little guilt, wondering if I had been a good grandson to her. And then I feel a wave of shame. This isn't about me, it's about her as she gets closer to the end of her life. To know your days are numbered must be a revelation to itself. We humans know we shall die one day, but for the elderly, it becomes a numbers game. A question of when.

With my grandma more and more ill, with her body failing, with her spirits on the decline, I can't imagine what she's thinking. I won't be callous and ask her, but I hope that she shares this one last piece of wisdom with me. She'd be the first to admit that she's not a philosopher. She grew up during the Depression, worked in a factory, lost her husband nearly 50 years ago to a heart attack, lost a baby before then, and went on to keep a house and raise two children more or less alone. She's a strong woman who believed in hard work, family, the Catholic Church, polka, bingo, and handmade Polish cuisine. I imagine my world of high-speed technology, apoco literature, superheroes, and vague spirituality would be alien to her, still I know she loves me and I hope she can share what she's learned through the hard times with me. Before she goes, I hope she's strong enough for one last lesson for her distant grandson. I hope for that cinematic moment of her in a bed and me at her side, imparting me with something that will help me remember her as well as guide me. It probably won't happen. Deep down, I know she knows I love her and am grateful for everything she gave me and mom after my dad walked out on us. Maybe all I want is to hold her small, wrinkled hand one last time, and have her tell me not to worry, that's she's a tough ol' pollock, that it'll all work out.

And maybe that's the lesson right there.