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My cousin Di just called me, purportedly to see if I wanted to come watch movies with her this weekend while the Boyfriend is gone. Where�s the boyfriend going, you ask? He�ll be in Florida with all his boy buddies, sitting on the beach, snorkelling, driving around like maniacs and generally behaving boyishly. So sorry I�m going to miss that�
Di and her fiance Erik live in the downstairs part of my grandmother�s house. They moved in a couple months ago. Nana made the offer because they needed a place to live that wouldn�t cost them a million dollars between now and their October wedding, and she got the bonus of not being alone in the house. Everyone wins. They essentially have a separate apartment down there�the only thing they share is the laundry facilities, and Nana isn�t doing much laundry these days. It�s been good.
I think Di really called to talk about Nana. She and Erik just got back from the hospital, where Nana�s doctors told them she has fluid in her lungs. She�s gasping for breath, as a result. Di says she sounds terrible. She�s also retaining fluid in her abdomen. This happened before she started her chemo, too. She looked like she was about to give birth to a huge baby. Instead, they tapped her and removed a ton of brownish foul liquid.
Things are not looking good for my grandmother. And my grandmother no longer cares.
Her tumor is the size of a demented grapefruit, twisted around one of her kidneys. It�s killing off her kidney, too, besides all the other lovely things it�s doing to her. Her kidney is getting smaller. The tumor isn�t changing, no matter how much radiation they shoot at it.
One of the women I work with keeps saying to me, "Jennifer, your grandmother�s 82. She�s led a long and good life." This is true. But I don�t appreciate the implications that she should just stop fighting now. What, because she�s old, her future is worth less? Not to me. Not to the kids I haven�t had yet, the ones she�ll never hold, the ones who will never call her Nana, the ones who�ll know her only from the stories they�ll hear us all tell.
Who is anyone else to say that�s not priceless?
*****
So Diana and Erik went up today, and ran Di�s sister, my cousin Gina, on their way out. Gina was going in with flowers. My mom and stepdad were there last night. My other cousins have all talked to her on the phone. My uncle�s been there every day this week.
I haven�t visited. I haven�t called. I haven�t even made an effort.
Nana told me recently that I�m her favorite grandchild, out of all nine of us. I was my grandfather�s, too. The only child of their only daughter, I had the position pretty much sealed up from birth. I�ve always been close to them, though. I�ve always been the one that takes the extra step. So why have I not gotten off my ass and driven the 40 minutes to the hospital to go see her? Why haven�t I just picked up the fucking phone?
I am terrified of losing her.
Part of me is in such huge denial. If I don�t do it, she can�t go.
Silly, isn�t it?
She better not prove me wrong.
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