Genevieve Lange

Genevieve Lange is my grandmother on my mother's side. Although I get along very well with both of my grandmothers, I am far more close to Gen, and always have been. My mother's family is more close in general, actually. This is why, when my grandmother ended up in the hospital at least once a week for the last month or so, things have gotten very screwed up.

First, she was diagnosed with pneumonia, and that went fine for a while after she got treatment. But then she ended up there again, and again, and again. Each time, something different came up, and the doctors gave her some other sort of treatment, and each time, she was promised it would get better. But it didn't. Unfortunately, the original guesses ran into cancer, which was coupled with another stomach bug. The diagnosis wasn't looking good from the start, and the doctors never sounded too excited about her odds.

Still, we were all hoping that she would get out and have a few more months in the least, where she could be at least comfortable on the medication and go home. A couple of days though, her blood pressure dropped dramatically, and though they got her to even out for a night or so, it kept falling.

This morning when I spoke with my mother this morning only to find out that they'd brought a priest in to read her her last rights. Needless to say my mother wasn't in great shape. And I feel horrible because I'm an hour and forty-five minutes away, and I have classes and finals going on. As much as I really want to, I can't just drop everything and leave, and my mother doesn't want me to anyway. She always wants to keep things going on as normal.

I just don't know what would be the best idea as a response right now. So, instead, I'm writing about it like I do everything.

It's hard for me to feel completely gutted about this happening. Like I said, I love my grandma dearly, but it's not like this wasn't coming. She's eighty-six, she's had eleven kids plus grand-kids, she's traveled the world, and she's enjoyed a significant late life. As much as I'll miss having her around, and miss having her feedback and encouragement on my writing, after these passed few weeks, the only thing that can really give her peace is the end of this whole fight. On the highest dose of morphine they dare give her, she's still in pain, and every day she wakes up in a hospital with her kids all staring at her with worry and sorrow. That's no way to end things.

I wish that she would've been able to go home for her last days, I wish that I could be there to say my goodbyes, but I don't want this to be prolonged anymore.

My grandma has always been one to pass on her experiences too. I love my family history, and I probably know more about hers than any other part of my family, but now, of course, I'm sitting her contemplating how much I haven't found out yet. I want that time back to ask her questions and to write things down. But we always want more time, don't we?

I really don't know what to say, Mibba. I never was very good with death, and I hate sitting here unable to tell you for sure if she's still with us. I hate the selfishness within me that wants her to be in pain, just so I know she's still here. Part of me is ready to let her go, because it's what's best for her, but the other part of me fears life without her.

Genevieve Lange is my grandmother, a significant part of my support system, and she's really just a fun old lady to talk to. She hasn't always completely understood my novels, but she's always supported me in writing them. Even during the most silly conversations, she managed to stick in some insight or other for me to take home with me, and if it wasn't for her, I don't know that I would've continued on with this struggle of publication.

Help me out, Mibba? Advice, comments, anything?