For The Last Time
On Sunday, I left the house in Bird Island, Minnesota perhaps for the last time. Two years ago, my grandfather had a stroke. He struggles with daily tasks. He struggles with speaking, recalling words. He struggles with voicing his thoughts, which are clearly there. He struggles with hearing, while that in itself is not new but it has gotten worse since his stroke. Life has changed for him, and for my grandmother as well. While hers, her changes, might not be exactly the same as his, as I’ve gotten older, and my grandfather’s difficulties have worsened, I’ve noticed how difficult her life has become.
Imagine living in a small town of just 1,042 people with only your husband, whose communication is impaired. The relationship with the man you loved and expected to spend the rest of your life with has dramatically changed. While you may still love him, it’s also extremely difficult to live the quiet life that you live. This small town life seems so much smaller because you are alone, doing everything by yourself. No one is there to ask you how you’re doing. No one to laugh with. No one to cry with. While my grandfather is still capable of all these things, it takes so much patience to care for him. Knowing myself, I cannot imagine lasting long. Being with him can be truly grueling. First you have to focus on how you speak to him, loudly and clearly. Then, you wait for his response, which could potentially be muddled and confusing, ordered incorrectly, or expressed with the wrong words. You can see he’s trying. He’s there, but the machine isn’t working as it used to; the wires are crossed. I can see how that could be difficult for anyone to deal with, and it’s clearly taking a toll on my grandmother. She needs someone else, perhaps she’ll seek a change. While she once thought that she’d never move into a nursing home, it might be exactly what she needs now. Sometimes the things that we thought we needed or didn’t need change. Sometimes we can’t weather the storm. Sometimes loving someone isn’t enough.
When I was writing this, I didn’t expect to come to this conclusion, and as I wrote the last sentence, my heart dropped. However, this is an occasional essay and leaving my grandparents’ house this time has sparked a sadness within me because both of them seem to be suffering, but not for lack of love. What it leaves me with is this, sometimes loving someone isn’t enough to make us happy, or content, but no one ever said that the one you love has to be your world, your all, your one and only. It’s okay to need more.