Life In My Empty Nest

I always feel like I should start an entry with father forgive for I have sinned, it has been a month of Sundays since the last confession of my soul. I was too busy having a pity party table for one, thank you. I have been off work for eight months now. My fibromyalgia (FM) has been getting the best of me or so I thought. My physiatrist (rehab doctor) decided to do a brain MRI for kicks and giggles. The MRI showed lesions on my brain. The weanie of a neurologist that interpreted the MRI spent all of fifteen minutes with me and decided to blame all of the weird symptoms on my FM. He never had any follow up appointments with me. Now, mind you, I have had FM for almost 13 yrs. The symptoms I am experiencing are not from FM. Especially the brain lesions. So, I go to another specialist at a teaching hospital in a couple of months. The waiting is killing me. If I go out of the house I come home and collapse in bed. I look fairly normal, maybe a little tired, and that blows people away. I must be faking it.

What really sucks is that I have tried reaching out to a few people that I thought were friends. I discovered that they are not friends. So, fuck 'em I say. To my true friends, you know who you are, Cin and Col muah! muah! muah! Your near daily talks lately have given me strength in spirit. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. My twisted sistahs always come through!

To make my world worse my poor granny fell ill a couple weeks ago. She went into the hospital with a bowel obstruction. I was at the hospital 14-16hrs a day. My immune system sucks and I fell ill. She is now in a nursing home. It kills me to see her like this. She is a shell of the woman I knew. I lost my grandfather two years ago. Part of me died with him. Part of me will die with her. I am not ready to lose her. She is a retired nurse. She is the reason I became a nurse.

When I was young, their home was a refuge for me. No yelling at me, no hitting my mom, no hitting me. I loved spending the night at their home. The drive took forever or at least I thought it did. I would bolt from the car and race to the door. Granny would be at the screen door. She would have her apron and slippers on. The house would smell of roast and other yummy supper smells. I would hug granny tight, she would laugh. I then would race through the small hallway through her tiny kitchen to the dining room. The cake tin, the treasure I wanted to find, would be lifted to reveal the after supper treat. Dark Chocolate cake! Granny always heard the tin being raised. She would yell, "DeeDee, get out of that cake." I miss those words. I miss that house.

Granny would come into the kitchen and start preparing supper. I would sit on the steel kitchen chair that sat close to the cabinets, tucked out of her way. I was waiting for grandpa to come home. He would drive up in his granite construction truck. I would get excited. He would come through that back kitchen door and stomp his feet. First his right, then his left. His arms would be open wide and he would say, " Hey, there she is!" I would run to hug him but he would stop me just short and say , "Not too close, grandpa is all dirty." He would go to the steel chair and remove his boots and socks. To the garage they went. He would clean up for supper. We talked about the day during supper. Sometimes granny and grandpa had healthy disagreements. I would laugh. As a child I didn't understand them. It was nothing like my house.

After all the dishes were done and the dining area was cleaned, we would retire to the living room. Granny and grandpa would read the paper. I would hang out with them either laying in granny's lap or bugging grandpa. Sometimes I would explore in the yard and feed Herman, grandpa's ancient tortoise. My mother still has Herman. Herman had their address painted on his back. Why you ask? Because he would escape. Herman was the king of escape. You could find him wandering down the street.

As night fell, it was time for television. Grandpa would get the popcorn and R.C. cola out (royal crown). We would watch T.V. until about 9p.m. I slept close to my grandparents room. I could hear them snoring together. I would give anything to hear that again. In the morning, I would crawl in bed with them and cuddle.

On Saturday granny and grandpa would shop in the morning. I remember granny pulling the money out of her bra while we were in the checkout line. Yes, you heard me right. She said it was safer there. She was a depression child. I did not question my granny.

What I looked forward to was going to Monterey. We would drop those groceries off, pack a lunch and drive to the beach. Granny loves the ocean. So do I. I love the sound of crashing waves, the smell of the salty air and the wind on my face. She and grandpa would take me to the tide pools at Lover's Point in Pacific Grove. The drive was a hop, skip and a jump. They lived in Fort Ord during World War II. Granny took her children to the same tide pools she was taking me too. She took my children when they were young. My children would tell you of the same experiences I have had.

I pity those who do not know what it is like to have loving, caring grandparents. I am sad that I may be losing my grandmother. I have had her for so long. I had my grandfather for a long time. I am thankful for the time I did have them together. My grandparents made my booboos all better. Now I wish I could make my granny's booboos all better.