Time Doesn't Heal Wounds, Connection Does

I am grieving the loss of someone, the only person really, whom I felt safe with and loved by.

It was 2004. I had decided to transfer from the North campus to the South campus and was preparing to temporarily move in with my grandparents in early December.

My grandmother had primary pulmonary hypertension. She was in experimental treatments with Johns Hopkins, receiving medicine directly to her heart through a catheter.

While the treatments had seemed to help initially, she was in the later stage of PPH with rapidly declining health. She had just been put on hospice and received a hospital bed.

I think the reality of it hit her hard, because she passed away within two weeks.

One thing I never talk about is the night before she died. I had thought I heard her say something at one point, but then I didn’t check on her. I think a part of me was hoping she would pass in her sleep. What I hadn’t known was that she had been calling out throughout the night and my grandfather heard it all and ignored her the entire time. He must’ve felt guilty for him to admit that to me.

That morning, she was having issues getting her medicine to go through the catheter. There was some sort of blockage. I could see she was weak. Struggling to breathe. So we called 911.

It was too late. I watched my grandmom suffocate.

At first, she became tearful. She was not ready to go. She was only 64 and had so much life to live.

She hung her head and pressed her hands to her face.

I moved in close and held her. I took her hand in mine and looked her in the eyes, telling her that I am here and I love you. She squeezed my hand, nodded, her lips quivering. We were both sharing this sadness and knowing.

My grandfather had been pacing and waiting at the door mostly, for the ambulance. He lashed out at me not to talk that way.

My grandmom’s dying words were “Shut the fuck up, Don.”

I love that she told him off with her dying breath.

By the time the paramedics arrived, she was unconscious and her face was blue.

I regret my decision not to sleep on the couch that night. I regret that I wasn’t near her to hear her distress all night long.

With that said, I know if she had lived another 6 months, that it would not have been a good quality of life. She couldn’t stand to cook any more. She couldn’t take more than a few paces without losing her breath. Her husband resented her, that she was sick and they couldn’t spend the rest of their days in leisure and travel together.

He tried his damndest to bury her in his mind long before she ever died.

He was angry. He was sad. And he only knew how to make it about him. And when she died, he had me help pack away her things the very next day. He didn’t want to be reminded of her.

Everything about the situation was devastating to me.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. I feel the pain as intensely now as I did then. I think it might have been helpful to have had a supportive family, but she was the only one with any kind of sense or empathy.

I am so blessed that she was my grandmom. I honestly do not think I would have survived my childhood if it hadn't been for her.

Thanks for sharing the load, and sorry if I’ve wasted your time.