They Come in Threes

My grandfather was in a car wreck a couple of months ago. He was backing out of his parking space, floored it, ruined the side of the car next to him, took out the covered parking canopy, backed into an Impala at full speed, totaling both the car and his Plymouth van. Initially he said he was okay.

Three days later, he called my mother at work and asked her to take him to the ER. Hours upon hours later, it was determined that he had two crushed vertebrae. The other news: he had bone cancer in those two vertebrae and it probably wouldn't have been discovered had he not had a wreck. He needed time to recover from the surgery repairing vertebrae and then they'd evaluate cancer treatment.

Only a month shy of 92 years old, my grandfather put on the bravest face I've ever seen and vowed to fight the cancer until he was free. "I've done this before. I know what to expect, and I can't just give up!" he exclaimed. But his prostate cancer was treated back in the mid-90s, and he was a tad younger then.

Somewhere along the way, he decided to buy a 3-year old Nitro from CarMax. He said he couldn't drive yet because he was on too many painkillers, but fully expected to be driving himself to and from cancer treatment. I was able to con him out of his keys under the guise that I was going to take it to work the last week of school and I just kinda kept them. He never said anything.

The cancer evaluation was downplayed by my grandfather. I believe he was scared, maybe a bit in denial, but also didn't want to worry me. It's not like I wasn't going to find out, you know? Anyway, it turns out that in addition to the bone cancer in his spine, they found a spot of it on a rib. They found some other type of cancer on his liver and on a lung. He was going to be going through chemo and, although I'm pretty sure he didn't want to, he faced it head on. I would be driving him to all his appointments. In fact, that's the only way I found out the truth about the extensive cancer discoveries - I sweet-talked the nurses into telling me the truth.

He was scheduled to start treatment on a Friday. That Sunday, he went to a birthday party in the party room at his apartment complex. He was standing in a doorway, talking to the food services manager and the chaplain about his recent diagnosis. He said he started to feel a little lightheaded. When he stepped back a few steps to lean on the doorjamb, he missed and leaned on the door instead. The door was not open all the way. It continued to open another 9" or so, and my grandfather fell straight back to the floor, landing on the back of his head.

Then he got up, walked over to the clinic so they could bandage up his scraped arm, went back to the party to deliver the birthday card, and went up to his apartment. Several hours later, he called the front desk and asked them to call him an ambulance.

By the time the ambulance got there, he was already unconscious and they changed their route from the local hospital to the Level I trauma center in the Med Center. He underwent emergency brain surgery to reduce the swelling of his brain and to control the excessive bleeding. They removed a sizable portion of his skull.

He quickly became responsive to commands and voices, although he was still unable to speak due to sedation. He acquired a lung infection but beat it within a few days. He was stabilized, spend Father's Day in the hospital, and after a second successful surgery that stopped the bleeding completely, we began investigating long-term acute care rehab facilities. We'd toured one and picked on. They visited him, evaluated him, and they approved him for admittance. They predicted that his skull fragment would be replaced in less than 3 months.

He was to be transferred to the LTAC, June 24th, the day after his 92nd birthday. At 8:45am on his birthday, the hospital called my father and asked him to come to the hospital, that things were starting to go badly. My father called me at 9:30 and asked me to come pick him up from work so we could go together. By the time I arrived, my father was standing in the parking lot looking horribly. My grandfather had already passed.

After looking through his paperwork while I was left alone in the room, his time of death was recorded at 9:11am. That means that my father already knew my granddad was dead before he called me the first time. I guess he just didn't want me driving all upset. I don't know. I was pissed at first but, you know, it really doesn't matter in the end - my granddad is still dead.

I'd like to believe that letting go and dying was his doing. He knew what long road was ahead at the LTAC facility; my grandmother went through the same thing until she kept declining and went into hospice. He knew what was ahead with the cancer. I'm going to believe that he just said to himself, "You know, I'm 92 today, I've lived an amazing life with family who loves me, and I'm going to spare us all the struggles I'd be facing," and he just shut himself down. He was so in control of himself that he could even guide the events in his dreams. I've never known anyone who could do that!

We had a memorial service at his apartment complex (it was a retirement community - they were all his friends), and I picked up his ashes last week. My dad was supposed to come get them from me and he never has. His apartment has been entirely cleaned out and has already been rented out to a new resident. We are in the process of planning the burial service in our hometown for sometime in the future, but I'm not sure how much has been done.

Last Friday, my good friend and race team member passed away from a pulmonary embolism. He'd gone through bladder cancer treatment 6 months ago - it was removed through surgery and one round of radiation - and I recently got an email saying he was 100% cancer-free. And then he was working on his race car in his garage and, apparently, just dropped dead. So that's what I'm doing this weekend; helping his wife inventory all the car stuff so we can put it up for sale after the will's been taken care of, and attending the funeral.

Last night, a man who was very near and dear to many of my friends and my boyfriend passed away. I'm still not sure of all the details, but he was a huge help to my mechanic buddy: if he was running late, this guy would come open the shop for him. He did all our car inspections. He'd lend a helping hand here and there. He'd always had health problems, apparently, so his passing may have something to do with that, but I don't know. Arrangements are pending.

Yesterday I was at my shrink's office and I hadn't found out about Jim yet. I told him, "You know, I'm always worried about this stuff - bad things happen in 3s. Who's going to be Number Three!? I don't mean to be superstitious but, man, be careful driving home..." I checked my texts when I left his office and got into the car, and that's where I got the news about Jim.

There's more to talk about: The Boy, A Guy Named Bob, The F350, but I just don't have time now. My granddad's death has taken a huge toll on me mentally, which is affecting me physically as well. Most of everything else just doesn't matter right now and I know it will cause me strife later...it's just hard. I'm an only child, my father's an only child, and my mother's parents are both dead. I feel like I'm alone now. My granddad was my only true cheerleader. When everyone else turned their backs on me, he was always there. He thought I hung the moon and he showed that through his actions and his words every chance he got. He helped me through faith and through financial assistance. He sent me newspaper clippings and bible verses and inspirational passages and notes of encouragement - anything he thought might help me get through a tough time (which was, honestly, every day).

Anyway, that's it. I may be able to write more later. Summer's close to over and you know I'll be going batshit crazy when school starts again. :-(

See y'all soon...

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