An electricity stirs as the Holiday season approaches.
Thoughts of turkey, football games, and shopping fill our minds. We plan
gatherings and prepare favorite food dishes. What feeds us most, though, are
memories shared. We think of loved ones no longer there to join us at the
dinner table. We give thanks for the blessings and people currently in our
lives. It’s the one time of year we take the time to feel “blessed.”
There are so many ways we can give thanks. This year I
started going to my Grandma Gracie’s apartment to clean for her on a regular
basis. The arrangement started after a frantic phone call from a distance
relative. Gracie had fallen and sported bruises on one side. There was talk of
getting her help and lots of what-if’s.
My mind wandered back to the early 1990’s when her husband,
Jim, was diagnosed with cancer. After chemo and radiation failed to control the
disease, grandpa decided to stop treatment. They sold their home and moved into
the apartment grandma now occupies. He died in the living room in a hospital
bed brought in by Hospice.
As talk about grandma’s health continues, the only thing I
know is that my sweet, loving, devoted grandmother deserves to die how and
where she chooses, just like grandpa. He was a retired farmer, no health
insurance save Medicare. He didn’t want to waste his life-savings, money
grandma would need to live, on medical bills. He didn’t want to die, but he
loved her and needed to know that she had what she needed.
Each time I make the 2-hour drive from Central City to
Blakesburg, I imagine grandpa sitting in the passenger seat beside me. He’s the
age I always remember him with old jeans, a plaid shirt, cowboy boots, and that
faded tan cowboy hat. In my head, I hear him talk, sporting a toothpick in his
mouth like always. He never says it, but I know there’s a Thank You in there
somewhere.
