"Loss"
My grandmother passed away Monday
evening.
I was at work when I got the call, from
the hospice nurse. My grandmother had been on hospice since May 2015.
My grandfather passed away in March 2016, also on hospice. They were
in a care home I selected after my grandmother was unable to live in
independent living in October. She had been too weak to walk and
eventually stopped walking, losing the ability in her legs.
I won't go into too much detail about
the nightmare of worry I went through during this time. My family and
I have been dealing with this together and I am finally coming face
to face with this reality.
* * *
I stood in the sunlight with book in
hand, moving every so often when the sun's light dimmed behind a
building. In San Francisco, sunlight is scarce in the afternoon.
I wondered suddenly about the
purpose of my life.
* * *
For years, my grandparents have been
the center of my life, as if they were my parents. They raised me and
took care of me when no one else could. My grandmother fought for
guardianship of me when my abusive mother's actions led me to be
taken away into state custody. My grandfather was always there for my
grandmother during this time. I knew no one else.
As I got older, so did they, and they
suffered the terrible ailments of age: broken bones, pain, multiple
hospital trips, medication for high-blood pressure, loss of body
functions, etc. The burden of caregiver was put upon me and I learned
to manage a household at age 17. I was already signing checks, was
made Power of Attorney, and paying bills from their account by age
21. When I had been 16 my grandmother wanted desperately for me to
get my license, because not only did this free her of being my school
activity chauffeur, it also provided emergency transportation for
when she needed to go to the hospital, which was very frequent. The
hospital people knew my grandmother and I by name.
My grandfather also had problems and I
was there for him too.
The sense of "life coming to an
end" for my grandparents was always close to my thoughts. "What
if they die?" was the frequent question and grandma always
assured me there was money and family to handle it all.
Eventually, I moved out (multiple
times) and tried, unsuccessfully, to start my own life as an adult. I
never had a full time job at this time, though I often was a
full-time college student. After age 23 though, I had to get my own
life insurance and was no longer a dependent status. I was still
paying my bills with their money.
Never having a full time job made
things difficult for me and made things next to impossible for rent,
which also contributed to my homeless situation. I never had a steady
relationship with anyone and never moved in with a
boyfriend/significant other. I did not learn the early lessons people
my age learned: moving out, paying your own bills, starting a family,
etc. I promised my grandmother at age 12 I would never get pregnant
as a teen and this led to me renewing my own vow never to have
children.
There were always emergencies. When I
wasn't there to help grandma, she had to rely on a kindly neighbor to
take her to the hospital. This made me feel very guilty. Grandma
assured me I could have my own life but I was never convinced.
Then Kaiser, their HMO health insurance
given to them by grandpa's county retirement (which grandma helped
write up 50 years ago), threatened to kick them off permanently if
they did not move back into the area. We had already sold the house
but the letter came all of a sudden, as I had just recently picked
out a house for us to rent. I helped move them again to an apartment
in the bay area while I stayed to finish the pro-longed rent that the
property manager had tricked my grandmother into.
When it came time for me, a single
unemployed female, to find a place to live, it was nearly impossible.
I suffered greatly as a result.
There came the recent time I had to
live with grandma and grandpa in their independent living residence
(a 14 day limit) while I was homeless, after a relative told me to
leave. This was right before grandma went on hospice.
I have faced many trials since then.
* * *
I imagine this must be what caregivers
for family feel, when their loved one has finally passed away. That
sense of loss, loss of purpose, loss of meaning, when you feel as
though you have lived solely for the purpose of taking care of the
person who has just died.
Grandma always told me, "What
would I do without you?", "You're the only one I live
for.", etc. Words like these have a powerful effect on a person
who has had no purpose in life besides feeling responsible for the
grandparents who rescued them from abuse.
I felt always that I never had my own
life.
When I finally got a foothold of some
independent existence: getting a job, being homeless, moving to San
Francisco, quitting that job, wandering aimlessly until the next job,
breaking up with a long-term boyfriend...
disaster struck.
In October, on the 17th, I found out
grandma could not stay at her residence alone. That she needed care.
We eventually paid about $20,000 for private care through an agency
related to hospice. My concerns with those people shall not be
mentioned here, other than that, I had to quit the care due to
financial constraints and that I worked as hard as I could to give my
grandmother the care she needed.
I had considered moving in with them,
as a full-time caregiver. This meant I would give up my place in San
Francisco that I had worked to hard to find. That I would quit my
job, the only job that was giving me full-time work hours and lose
any future money. It meant giving up my entire life with the great
possibility of being homeless again.
I cried and cried at the loss of my
freedom, at the loss of my life. What could I do?
After talking to family, it occurred to
me that I could pay myself from my grandparent's money (we had more
money at that time). It also dawned on me that I was alone, that no
one else could really help me. This was a lot for me to face.
Reality and a sort of selfishness
brought me to my senses. There was no way I could take care of my
grandmother and if my grandfather got worse (which was more than
likely), I could not do it on my own. Even with the hired help that
cost over $500 a day, it was a struggle. Grandma needed
round-the-clock care, diaper changing and was pretty much bed-ridden,
not being able to get out of bed by this time. It was too much for
me.
I had to move grandma. Now there was a
deadline, as we had given the independent living residence 30 day
notice. Problem was, there was no vacancy in a care home for grandma.
I frantically searched the internet and called over a dozen places to
no avail... finally settling for a referral agency (which the care
homes pay). Grandma made me swear never to put them in a nursing
home. I would find out later what horrible places these were.
Finally, we managed to find a place.
But the problems continued...
* * *
Even now, I have trouble using the
singular "I". I have always said, "we", my
grandparents and I, as if we were one unit. My boss asked me when I
told him my troubles, "Who's this 'we' you're talking about? I
thought you were on your own?" Even now I say, my grandparents
and I, the only family I've known.
I have other family members but I am
not close with them. It's my own fault, I suppose. I am not one who
communicates well with others who can't understand how I feel. It's
been this way since I was a child.
There is also the matter of being stuck
with their problems. Since I was a teenager, I have been aware of
other people's problems. My grandmother always had to deal with their
drama, and later, so did I. I had enough of my own problems at this
time and was reluctant to take on anyone else's. I also felt isolated
and betrayed after being homeless, since oddly enough when people
offered to help, they did not. When things were going well I had to
deal with other's problems. When things weren't going well for me, no
one was there.
I have now learned not to rely on
others. I have learned never to expect anything from anyone else.
I am now empty.
* * *
I stood there with my book in hand,
sunlight warming my back, wondering about my life.
I had the strangest superstition that
as long as I had to care for my grandparents, nothing would happen to
me. Perhaps God only allowed me to live because I was taking care of
my grandparents. Surely, I thought in my selfishness, God won't
punish me as long as I take care of my grandparents. I always thought
this when in a plane, going across the oceans to the other
continents.
Now it seems I may die at any time.
I came close to killing myself before.
The trials I faced before becoming homeless were great. The only
thing that kept me from taking my own life, was the thought of my
grandmother. I was the only one she had.
Now I have nothing left to live for,
besides myself.
All that time of worry (making me want
to end my own life), is gone. Now I don't care.
* * *
What am I now?
