Grom WhoGrandmother.Grandmother: Grom. Grom who. Grom, who raised me up, who took me everywhere, who gave me everything. Grom, who never judged, who loved. Who scraped together— while I lived in vestibules and 24-hour laundromats and unlocked parked cars— a dollar a day: "Here, Get yourself a doughnut and some milk..." Grom falls down. "Hey Pa, you better get to the hospital quick." Huh? What? "Grom had a heart attack." What? "It looks real bad." What? What... "They don't expect her..." ? "They don't expect her to make it through..." ? What? "...the night." What? I am hysterical with laughter for the second call. What the hell am I supposed to do, exactly, I am asking, begging my son for instruction. I am asking my son because I am clueless, detached, stunned. Stunned, detached, stunned, stunned. At bedside. Hands, wraps of glycerine parchment over grey glowing bone Hands, in my hands, Arms battered, dark bruises and tracts of transgressions, the spike there, the nail here, Crunch, stab, purple roses and garlands of black and blue, blooming Everything is transparent. Her hair is transparent, her arms are transparent, her skin is invisible All say die. All say "she is going to die." At bedside. I hold her hand as she drifts toward me, and away from me, and toward me again. Hello. Goodbye. Hello. The beautiful nonsense. "Oh, that's so pretty... bright blue, butterfly..." The tubes and spikes, a heavy net holding her down, The dried blood, the transparent tape, the ache visible and anointed, Bless you, your pain, your discomfort Your beautiful white hair "That's not the one, that's not right..." I take the cool lotion and draw it slowly between the continents of tape, her skin parched and crackling like dried leaves, I think her unconscious, but then: "Oh, that's so wonderful..." The lips crack, the sponge dipped and dipped again I look to the cousin I don't know, across the bed. "Amazing, isn't it? The body, under such duress... 'Wait, whenever... Whenever, wait...' ...and the mind begins stringing these images, these pictures together, all these words that seem on the surface to be nonsense... But all so personal, this poetry, this private art-film unfolding behind her eyes..." (A map of arcs describing the curve of her life) "We had the key wrapped, we were trying to turn it..." And the tales. "I was a lemon-eater. Do you know what that means?" "Jesus appeared to me, he put his hands on my side..." "I fell five times. In my life." She will not make it through the night becomes The first 24-48 hours are the most troublesome becomes The doctor is amazed that she survived the explosion in her left ventricle becomes She's not out of the woods the woods did you say the fucking woods the woods yet becomes She'll require a pacemaker becomes She's going to go home on Tuesday... I begin by spending much of the first 48 hours at bedside waiting to be there for the last gasps / moments / words / holy instruction seeking revelation, both of us prepared (having spoken repeatedly) To Go To Let Go To Stop To See "my husband... waiting..." I end by spending the next few days afraid that the legs will fail her that the dependence will be undeniable that the spirit will ebb that the mind will not do that the bright cackle of her laughter will be buried by pain that she will Stop. Without really stopping. We have spoken repeatedly. 99.12.11 / R Lopez the week that was1999.12.29 - the family decides that my Grandmother will be packed up and sent to a nursing home. 1999.12.30 - my wife and I, after several hours of eye-to-eye and heart-to-heart, decide on ABSOLUTELYNOT. 1999.12.31 - having naively assumed that I might have a week or so to get everything ready, I receive a phone-call from the hospital saying that they are releasing her to our care in an hour. I beg the doctor for twenty-four. 2000.01.01 - a one-day frenzied version of the "week or so" of preparations, followed by her arrival early afternoon. 2000.01.02 - we acquire many new skills. 2000.01.03 - ditto. 2000.01.04 - ditto. 2000.01.05 - after beginning weak and worn but nonetheless PRESENT (which I require), she is suddenly confused: periodically not recognizing us, mixing words, wetting herself without realizing, and gently hallucinating. 2000.01.06 - ditto. 2000.01.07 - ditto. which makes me frustrated, angry and confused, because, dammitt, I need her to be PRESENT—all the while the doctors and nurses saying it may be the meds it may be the lack of nutrition it may be a series of micro-strokes. 2000.01.08 - the day begins nicely with renewed lucidity, the cackling laughter I so adore, an improved appetite, and an engaging disposition. while bringing her lunch at 1:34 p.m. the following differences are noted: a) face drooped. b) slumped badly in chair. c) utterly incoherent utterly. d) absent left side absent of strength not, I say, NOT PRESENT. I call the doctor. I call the nurse. I call 911. what we have here is a big angry macro-stroke. amazingly, when I arrive at hospital at 3:00 pm she is more lively than I have seen her since the mid-December heart attack. "She is a machine." 2000.01.09 - Lucille, Lucia, Dear Grom, Lucy Baby! (You crazy old bid) returns home to us to resume to resume the life-and-death watch. I have been absorbed, occupied, held fast by all of this— coming as it has with such rapidity such rapidity such a storm of new horizons. Forgive me. Yes. Next: LUCILLE / A Reverential Journal of the Care of the Beloved Hag Back to: Members Back to: The Lucille Abbey 12.95 Club Letter CHRONOLOGY Home Photo Gallery |