more on breathing

yesterday, i visited my grandfather in the icu. last week, he was having trouble breathing and my mom noticed it on the phone. a couple days after my mom mentioned her concern, he fell over in his house, hitting his rib cage, collapsing his lung. while in the hospital for that, they discovered some sort of serious intestinal infection that has rendered him almost unconscious for the past 6 days. my grandmother, who he normally takes care of full time since he retired, was released this week from the hospital after what they thought was congestive heart failure. because grandpa can't care for her, she's now staying in a retirement village alone until grandpa can join her when he is released from the regular hospital.

walking into the icu, i didnt have a clue what i would see, except the warnings from my family that he "didnt look good" and they'd never seen him this way and i didnt have a clue how i would feel, except perhaps sad and maybe overwhelmed, but i think if you expect overwhelmed, its hard to get there.

entering his room, i saw my aunt standing next to him and how he moved his eyes from her to me, but it was only just the slits of his eyes. and he moved his mouth, but just the corners, up a bit, "hi kris." and i wanted to touch him, but we can't, he might be contagious. and i wanted to hug him, but there were all these tubes in and out and monitors beeping, warning. and i wanted to say something, anything, to make it different, but i can't, because there wasnt anything.

"hi grandpa"

and his head was back and forth and he ached a bit from all the tubes and discomfort and he wanted to say something, to be something else, to be the man i knew, who never even had a cold and who took care of everyone else and who wasnt this.

we exchanged a few words, but it took him a long time to respond to anything i said, his mouth just open, wanting to form words.... but it only just short breaths, just stifled air.

"grandpa.," i said, scared that what i would say would go nowhere, "this week, we were just learning about how the name of God, when spoken in the language of the bible, sounded just like these short breath sounds. and how breathing was a really important part of representing our faith... and how some people think that in some mysterious way, just our breathing is speaking the name of God. So dont worry about saying anything to us, or to him, just work on your breathing. Cause He can hear it, He knows your breaths." and he just scrunched up his face like he wanted to cry, saying my name, "kris, oh kris" and i want to think he got it, that somehow inside, he understood.

"i love you, i love you."

"i love you, so much."

he was having a hard time not talking, and was in so much pain, needing medication, needing rest. so we started to go. i leaned over and prayed for him, prayed for strength and healing and peace. and thanked God for the way this man, who has spent the last 20 years caring, many of them full time, for my grandma, whose diabetes have caused a very slow decline of her body.

two things kept going through my mind.

i kept remembering his rosary, which he kept by his armchair-- evidence of his faith, which he spoke about only a little bit, and acted on almost all the time. so i knew this prayer meant something to him.

and i kept being reminded of the fact that he has laid down his life for my grandmother, just as Christ laid down his life for the Church. he laid down his life for her, he laid down his life for her... i just kept hearing it.