another funeral this winter... my other grandma this time, grandma betty. she had been my absolute favorite as a kid, we just had the most fun together and adored each other to bits. she had been sick since before i can remember and every year we wondered if this would be her last. we had been expecting this for so long that when the phone call finally came in, i was shocked and relieved at the same time. she hadn't been living for so long... it seemed to me that she just sort of existed much of the time, my grandpa at her side feeding her, giving her pills, helping her dress and undress. her life seemed vivid and awake only when she would talk to us or when she had visitors or when she got to go out to dinner or the occasional big party. my perception of her life between these events or moments was one of monotony and difficulty and pain and longing.
watching my grandpa these last few days, i think my idea of her boring monotonous "life" between visits may have been wrong. grandpa bill, once lanky, strong, and stoic, is almost unrecognizable under the weight of the last year. this man, this man who once seemed to be able to take care of everyone (even my own dad) and do so without missing a beat, can hardly make it an hour without crying. and all he can do is talk about how much he misses her, how much he wants to see her, how he thought she would come back from this one. its so strange to watch someone once so strong and capable, become someone who is now utterly breakable, someone who seems to have had all the life and energy drained from him.
watching him, its breaking my heart... but, a few days in, i am now seeing that this is the result of loving someone for almost 60 years, loving them through every imaginable physical ailment over 20 years, loving them despite extreme lows, loving them through kids and grandkids, loving them as you travel and explore and build together, loving them in the boring everyday-ness of life... this deep sadness is due to this deep love.
and so maybe, though my grandma's life seemed to brighten up so much in our presence, her steady, solid, lasting marriage was this sustained liveliness that kept her going. maybe it wasn't always the high of her granchildren's constant presence, or the hope of a healthy body, or the desire for the ability to travel (all things she desperately wished she had)... maybe what she had every day, day in and day out, with her everloving bill, maybe she fought for that just as much.
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reading about your grandpa reminds me of lewis's "a grief observed." he says something once about a strong weapon of the devil is death (specifically death of a spouse after years together).
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