Don’t Take Shaving Your Own Damn Legs For Granted
Ok, first I will reward you by telling you that I shaved my own got damn legs for the first time since surgery. That’s 20 days. Couldn’t actually do it while in the shower and had Cassidy on stand-by in case I needed help. But I didn’t need help. My swollen sausage legs are smooth. And then I got my good compression socks on all by myself for the first time, too.
I may have forgotten to mention that first I got out of bed around 9am and moved out the the leather chair/ottoman (still in my PJs) with my airline pillow around my neck and after drinking my pineapple juice I “took a nap” until 2pm. Oops. Drained.
Yesterday, I got to visit my 92 year old Grandma Annie and tell her I love her and I am thankful for her and that I hope these days go easy on her. I wore an N95 with a procedure mask over it to protect her and to protect me. I’m hoping that’s enough cuz there was no way I wasn’t going to see her and tell her those things at least one more time. Hold her hand for long enough to remember the feel of her hand in mine, even now. She has beautiful hands. Like my mother. It was a short visit, for many reasons, but it was time I will hold dear for the rest of my life and I am thankful that my Aunt let me know we are getting close. Hospice came to see her today. Things will move quickly from here. You might hear more from me on this, cuz it’s deep. When my Papa Ding died, I was honored to be with him at the end. I wish I could nurse my grandmother the same way I nursed him at the end of his life. It was what I hope was a gift to him to know I was there and keeping him as comfortable as I could through the night and when that last moment of life left his body, I was there and he was surrounded in love. The love of those that were present and those that were loving him from wherever they were. He was a lucky man. And I received one of the greatest gifts of my life by helping him pass comfortably, and sharing that time with my Aunt Luanne. I am ever grateful for that.
So I am very sad that because of my own surgical recovery and the risk of covid for her and for me, I cannot be there with her as she moves through this one last hard thing. My Aunt Lori will be with her, as she has been with her for it all. My aunt is a social worker in a hospital and has been instrumental in the comfortable passing of many patients. She won’t be afraid to give the medicine. She will surround her in love as she lets go of her life. Of all the complicated parts. The difficult parts. And even the beautiful parts. I hope she takes those with her. The beautiful parts. The pink tulips and the witches brew and Folgers coffee cans with holes in the lids for the “butterflies” to breathe and the money for the ice cream man and haagelslag sandwiches and walking me to kindergarten, and teaching me to be a card shark, bowler, and Parcheesi Champion. Oh and don’t even try me on Breakout or Kaboom. And every little thing she did to ever make my life good and easy when sometimes it wasn’t that at all.
Sometimes all it took was a chocolate sandwich, cut in fours. If you are at least half Dutch, you will understand the chocolate sandwiches.
Who isn’t happy after haagelslag?
Ok, sorry, that was a lot. I didn’t mean to do that but it’s kinda where I am. All over the place. Sorry, there might be more. I don’t feel done.
Here’s to a peaceful night to all, for every night this week and next and comfort through the days and nights for anyone that needs/wants that. Go easy on us. Man, that is such a good song. I hope it’s on my gma’s playlist.