I got a call earlier this week that my grandmother had had a stroke. Not catastrophic, but bad...she lost her sight and became even more disoriented, a terrible thing to happen to someone with dementia. She's now bed-ridden and really struggling with it.
That was bad enough.
But this morning Dad called again, and this time he could barely speak in full sentences, and there were long pauses.
"I got a phone call about midnight."
"Jim had a heart attack."
"He didn't make it to the hospital."
Jim is my dad's younger brother. He was, ironically, the one most uncomfortable with death. He came to my stepmother's funeral 6 months ago, at least he came to the funeral home, but wasn't able to stay for the ceremony. He was hard-working and fun-loving and tender-hearted, and now he's gone.
Dad's headed to TN for the funeral. I'm not going for this one, not because I don't want to (although I don't, exactly; I've blogged about my feelings about seeing my grandmother here) but because my grandmother, Jim and dad and Aunt Pat's mother, is going to die soon herself, and I'll want to go then, and I don't know if that will be next week or next month or next year, but I suspect it will be sooner rather than later.
I'm worried for Dad. First Bobbi died, then his mom had the stroke(s), and now this. I don't know how he handles it all.
I guess I don't really know how I will, either.