My grandmother is sick. She isn’t expected to live out the day- but then she wasn’t expected to survive yesterday, or last Thursday. It seems likely though, that she’s ready to move on.
Last Thursday, when she was first admitted to the hospital, I told Carter that this might be a last opportunity to see her, and strongly urged him to accompany me for the visit. He colored her a card and went with me.
He clearly blanched when we walked in the room to see her strewn on the bed with her hospital gown half-off, but he gripped my hand a little more tightly and said hello to her. She momentarily came to life and held up her hand asking for a high five.
He approached her with open arms, hugging and kissing first, giving high five as an afterthought. She told every nurse the next day that he gave her five and a hug.
Tonight, he asked about her when I came out of the hospital. He can no longer go with me, because she’s in isolation for suspected (but unlikely) TB. I told him that she was so sick that she was probably reaching the end of her life. He burst into tears.
“I only got to go in once.” He sobbed. “I wanted to see her more and say good-bye.” I hugged him and we made a plan for comforting ourselves this evening. As I sat down in my seat, he added, somberly,
“We just can’t take good care of our humans, can we?”