Chapter 16 WAKE UP!

From my unreleased and unedited memoir, A Safe Place to Sing.

I hope to release it fully by the end of the year, but I have no idea what I'm doing, that’s why I need your help! Feedback, sharing, advice on how I can use this platform better, it’s all welcome.

FYI this chapter has the death of a family member, trigger warning.

 

         My grandfather was in his 80’s by the time I knew him. The wild, abusive alcoholic who my dad had grown up with was gone. He quit drinking after he retired from the carpenters union and was the most peaceful and stoic man I had ever met. In all the years I knew him he never raised his voice at me, or at anyone I can remember, quite the contrast to my father who had to be the loudest person in the room.  I’m not sure how or why he was able to quit drinking, but he was an old man now who loved playing cards, feeding his birds and goats, working in his garden, and making things with his hands by the time I knew him. I wish I had been wise enough or inquisitive enough to ask him those important questions back then, but I was young, naive and just happy to be around such a calming presence. I’m not sure if I made it up in my head or if it is the product of rumors in the family, but I always had the idea that my grandmother gave him an ultimatum at some point. I envisioned her telling him it is either me or the booze and Grandpa's strong sense of family and love finally kicked in, forced with this choice. It seems far too simple of a solution and makes sense that’s what my dream scenario would look like. A motherly figure finally standing up to her spouse and laying down the law, and a father who finally quit drinking. Maybe someday I will find the truth, but it’s likely lost to time.

  I loved being at my grandparents’ house and sometimes even got to go by myself. They only lived 5 miles from our condo and the road was fairly bike friendly, there was no bike path and only one dangerous corner where cars would seldomly go off the road. While I was there, I would spend time helping them with the garden and yard work and they would pay me with trips to their favorite store, Ocean State Job Lot, or the Chinese food buffet in town. Grandma would bring Ziploc baggies and fill them with grandpa’s favorite cookies, that she claimed she could only find at the buffet. It was definitely not allowed but they had lived through the depression so, you know. 

          My grandparents’ house was a safe place to escape to, and in between my yard work we would sit on sun faded plastic chairs and drink raspberry flavored crystal light iced tea that stained my lips red-dye 30. There was also giant lilac bush that took up a large portion of the yard and wafted sweet floral scents all summer long. It felt like paradise. Sometimes when I would call before coming over Grandma would say something like, “not today dear I need to go to the store to get more ingredients for Jello” or “I don’t have any snacks for you, so you’ll have to come another time.” I thought it was funny that she would reschedule the whole visit just for snacks but that is how she was, always had to have something for you when you came over.

          I had just started my first semester at the local community college and was still living at home when Grandpa got neck cancer. Very quickly after it was discovered he was gone and I was not allowed to see him in his final moments because dad said it was too gruesome. This was a huge blow to Grandma who had been married to him for over 50 years. This strong woman who had beat lung cancer 5 years before began to fall apart both mentally and physically almost immediately after losing her partner. At the time we suspected dementia or possibly a stroke, but I think we all knew it was losing her soulmate that crippled her mental faculties.

          After she had multiple medical scares like falls and a few strange phone calls, I volunteered to stay with her until she regained her ability to live a normal life by herself. One of the strange phone calls that pushed me in this direction was when she called my house asking why I was hiding behind her couch. She asked if me and my dad had gotten into and “argument” again and said I seemed so scared, but this was strange because I had not been over there for several days and I knew she was losing her grip on reality. 

         I moved some things into one of the unused bedrooms upstairs and although it was all I had ever wanted as a child who grew up sleeping on a futon in the living room, I somehow found myself sleeping on the couch downstairs. This may have been because it was what I was accustomed to or because it was easier to assist Grandma with what she needed.  She had set up a bedroom for herself in the day room because the stairs had become too much to go up and down in the middle of the night when she needed to use the bathroom.

          After a few weeks of staying there it became clear she was getting worse. One night I woke up to her coughing in bed, so I got up and got her a glass of water.  The coughing got a little better but didn’t go away and she told me to go back to bed and not to worry. She insisted she was fine and it was way too late for me to be awake. She was a very stubborn and proud woman. Which was something I loved about her and respected because it was something my own mother lacked.

       Sometime later that night I awoke for a moment to see either a car shining its lights in the window, or I saw Grandma’s spirit say goodbye. She passed away that night in her sleep.

       Then next morning I woke up and got some breakfast like normal, cinnamon life, I think . As the morning got later and later, I noticed grandma was not up and about like normal, I figured she hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest with the coughing and was just sleeping late to make up for it. 

         I went in her room and tried to wake her by simply saying “Grandma time to get up, are you awake?” After no response I went over to her bed and began to gently nudge her shoulder and tell her to wake up. I remember thinking geez old people sure sleep weird, but I think I was beginning to suspect something worse was wrong.  Her mouth was wide open and her cheeks looked more sunken than normal. I began to shake her and got louder and louder saying wake up!

WAKE UP! WAKE UP!

After what felt like an eternity (maybe a few min) of trying to wake her up I called my dad who was out ice fishing at the time. When I said she wouldn’t wake up and I was crying he knew immediately what had happened. He came as quickly as he could and told me to call 911. In the process of rushing to get the ice shack in the truck he scratched his brand new chevy Silverado with one of the skis. He got there just before the paramedics, and he confirmed what I already knew but couldn’t say out loud. She was dead.

       I think I was crying so much at one point he said something like “Why are u so sad she wasn’t even your mom she was mine.” The accusation that I was not entitled to feel sad for the death of the woman who had provided one of the only safe environments for most of my childhood should have hurt more but I was used to him dismissing my emotions for his own.

I had only lived with Grandma for about a month but something in me had changed after her death. For one I felt immense guilt for having her die while in my care, I know now it’s not my fault but I don’t think I will ever fully forgive myself deep down for not staying with her through the night. The other thing that had changed was I finally knew what it was like not to live under my father’s rule and I began to crave the freedom of living away from home.

I finally had a glimpse of life outside of the 1-bedroom prison he had created where you had to watch every sound you made while he slept so as not to aggravate him from a wiskey induced slumber. I finally realized that maybe I didn’t have to live my life based on whatever mood he was in. And I was about to turn 18 soon so maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel and maybe I wouldn’t get trapped in the “Hole” like my father. Just maybe…

-The Adult Orphan