I remember spending a lot of time hanging out at the hospital. Sitting in the TV room, watching whatever show was on. Running to the small kitchen on the same floor to sneak some packets of crackers and water to eat, or walking down to the cafeteria with my mom to get some lunch or supper.
I always thought it was temporary; that my grandfather would eventually walk out of the hospital himself, drive home and start the tractor up like he used to. But the first day he was booked in to the hospital, all the adults knew it was the beginning of the end.
At 6’4″, my grandfather was a giant to my brother and I. He and my grandmother owned a farm. They raised cows, horses, and the odd stray cat or dog whenever they needed a home. My grandparents raised all six of their children there; my mom being the youngest.
My grandfather holding two baby siblings he and my grandmother fostered back before I was born.
My grandfather hayed in the fields with his tractor, and my brother would often go out with him. On those days I would stay inside with my grandmother either helping her cook or watch cartoons.
Sometimes my grandmother would pack a picnic and we would all jump in the van and meet my grandfather out in the hay fields and eat together, my brother and I collecting abandoned golf balls hidden among the hay.
We would have big family dinners at my grandparents’ home, those times seemed very traditional looking back now. My cousins and I would normally be outside playing, but sometimes if homemade rolls were made, we’d hide underneath the kitchen table and tear a fresh roll from the batch. The taste of melted butter and warm bread always reminded us of home.
My cousins and I building a snowman near my grandparents' house. Every winter our family would get together and go sledding down the path behind my grandparents' home. Afterwards we would have a bonfire and roast hotdogs and marshmallows.
Me when I was about four or five.
The women would fuss and gossip in the kitchen. (We lived in a very small community, everyone basically found out everything eventually) The men would sit and chat in the living room, drinking and watching TV. It seems stereotypical now, but it was comfortable back then.
It was early 2002 when my grandfather was booked in the hospital. He was losing blood and no one understood why it was happening. They did tests on him, when they figured out he had liver disease, and he was deteriorating.
I was 7, my brother was 10. We would visit him almost every day. I can barely remember much, except that I gave him a kiss on the cheek before we would leave. Eventually, he began to lose weight. He skin became slack, and it would be difficult for him to breathe. To my 7-year-old self, he was still Papa, but he was slipping away, faster than I could have imagined.
An old family photo of my mom, her siblings, and my grandparents. My mom is the one in the middle with the dark hair and white earrings.
To this day I hate hospitals. The seclusion of the rooms, the dripping sounds of the IV, and I can still hear the slow breathing of Papa as he lay sleeping in the hospital bed. I know he is now without pain, but we are without him, which I believe hurts just as much. From that day, our lives completely changed. Some for the best, and some for the worst. I just know that I will cherish what memories I do have of him and make sure that any children I have will know what kind of a man he was.