Newscoma Has Moved
Saturday, December 09, 2006
  Transition I'm sitting in Harris Station, which is a small farming community in northwest Tennessee on a dial-up system that reminds me of the days I first discovered the innertubes. If I wasn't in such a contemplative mood, I would probably be joking about the Amish summer sausage I had last night that was really good, or the dead deer I saw this afternoon that everyone was really excited about, and that I was feeling a bit squeamish about. Alas, no joking about these things that I witnessed in the suburbs of Hooterville. I'm at Squirrel Queen's mother's house. Her grandmother, who is 95 years old, isn't doing so hot, and I'm holding down the fort while she goes and sits with her awhile at the local nursing home. It breaks my heart that SQ's mother most likely will lose a husband and a mother within a matter of months, and the SQ will lose a father and a beloved grandparent. Doctors aren't giving much hope. She has seen almost a century, and her life has been filled with highs and lows. This is a woman that will see no regret when she takes her last breath. As I sit here and write this, I can't help but reflect on when my grandmother was in the nursing home for the last couple of years of her life after she broke a hip. I always thought that nursing homes warehouse the dying and my experiences were, although not horrible, not that great either. Although I met a lot of medical professionals who really cared, I also cannot deny that the idea of being warehoused to die really makes me take pause. If I ever need a nursing home, please make sure that health care is at a better place then because I want to go out on a ton of morphine or to drop some acid listening to Miles Davis or something (anything) as we have had some issue of getting SQ's grandma pain medication which she needs. She's dying. Give her something a little bit more than a damned Tylenol. No one is going to sue you, for Christ's sake. I also have been thinking of the last year of my mother's life, and although there was no nursing home, we did have home health care. Ultimately, she died in a hospital on a chilly February morning as my father, my sis and Squeegee Monkey watched her live this world and head into the next. I feel like I've drawn a Tarot card, and it repeatedly is Death because this last year has been about many things in my life coming to an end. I went through the loss of a parent several years ago, but it is Squirrely's turn and she isn't a big talker so who knows what she's feeling. I think her grief is choking her right now, because I see her eyes and they are filled with so much emotion that I cannot define. The "death" of Edna (don't miss her) has also had me going through the transition that there will be no kids, and I can't help but wonder why, after the hystie, that this has become an issue for me. With my dad reading the blog (along with his wife apparently) I can't help but feel the death of one part of our lifelong relationship because of the honesty of my feelings (and my disregard for his that I feel very, very, very bad about as I should have kept my feelings to myself) as it metamorphizes into a new place. I don't know if that's good or bad. On this one, I do know love can repair hurt or at least it has in the past. I even realized that there is a transformation over where I'm employed, but I don't know what any of that means, but I do know that there is change on the horizon. So I sit here, waiting on a phone call, wondering if a truly lovely woman, whose life has never been easy but always managed to do the right thing most of the time, is coming to an end. And I sit. Pondering about mortality and transition. 
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