And now for a serious blog post.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

I think the combination of being pre-menstrual, the fact that it's Sunday, and being a smidgeon hungover this morning is enabling my extremely emotional reactions to things today.

I mentioned this earlier last week, but my grandfather is going to die -- anytime now. We found out he was sick at my grandma's funeral back in April. He had a fever and some flu symptoms after the service. I had to hop into my rental car and haul ass down to Grand Rapids (about an hour and a half from where the church was) in order to make my flight back home, so I wasn't able to stick around and take care of him. But my dad did (can't say enough good things about my dad. My dad, who had to bury his own mother an hour earlier... was taking his step-father to the doctor, to find out he has cancer).

I'm never good with goodbyes. I'm actually so bad at them that I avoid them altogether. I'd much rather just slip out the back door when no one is looking so that I don't have to say bye. I've never had a going away party. I don't even like attending them. I remember after my freshman year in college, my best friend was just graduating high school. She moved to New York to pursue a career in musical theater (which later deflated). At her going away party, I remember crying so hard that I couldn't breathe. It was torture, sitting there for the last final minutes before she left for the airport. I was losing a major part of myself (in a very dramatic sense) and I hated that we were given a designated time slot / location to cope with our sadness about her departure. I mean, it makes sense... everyone can come together one last time to say goodbye. It's convenient. Some people might like it. I sure don't.

Anyway. Back to what I was saying. I gave my grandpa a huge hug and I was, of course, filling the entire room up with my tears. He was laughing at me and said, "You're just the same as you were when you were little... every time we'd leave California, you'd hug me with tears in your eyes. And you'd cry and cry and cry..."

I'm not embarrassed to admit that I'm a crier. Not like a... public meltdown crier. But definitely a in-the-privacy-of-my-bed-or-shower crier. And I remember crying over EVERYTHING as a kid. Good and bad. Crying was my go-to reaction.

Before I boarded my first flight that evening, my dad texted me to let me know he was taking Larry to the doctor for, what appeared to be, pneumonia. Turns out, it was lung cancer. A tennis ball-sized tumor on his lung.

Can you imagine? Finding out you are dying, on the day of your spouse's funeral? It almost seems... right. In a way. I feel like, I might prefer that one day. I think he did, too. I know the past few months have been horrible for him; not because of the cancer, but because he has had to be away from my grandma.

I don't know what my point was. This morning, my aunt let the world know (via Facebook) that he is nearing his end. And he is ready to "hit the exit ramp" (his words).

Makes me really sad. But, I can feel it in the air.

When 2011 started, I never thought I'd be losing two grandparents before the year's end. But then again, WHO THINKS THAT?!

So if everyone out there who I care about can hold out on dying for a long time, that'd be swell.