I often find myself wondering how I would describe the feeling of taking care of someone who once took care of you. It is an odd but not rare feeling, completing tasks for someone, tasks that were once completed for you. People often describe it as tiresome, annoying, painful…all these awful words used to describe this situation, these days, these moments, moments that come for almost every person. Sometimes I agree, its painful, nothing but pain from how much you wish it wasn’t real or happening; tiresome because you are tired of begging for an answer or a solution or begging for it all to be a nightmare. Sometimes though? sometimes i wish the feeling would last forever, i wish it could stay like this for the rest of my life.
I guess when you find out someone you love is going to die you start appreciating every day you have left. To me this reality feels like a thermometer bubbling up up up its tube until reaching the bulb, and then exploding until there’s nothing left inside. I think that describes how I feel this grief, slowly, usually more and more each day, sometimes settling or dropping for a moment until it continues moving forward and becoming bigger. In other ways it feels like an infection, like the thoughts and feelings about what is happening spread into every part of my life, slowly hurting more and more and taking some of me each day until it inevitably becomes too much. I think the thermometer is more accurate.
A few weeks ago my grandfather asked me to trim his nails for him because he couldn’t see or focus on them long enough to do them himself. Cutting nails. I do this weekly, easily, so easy I don’t even realize what i’m doing. He needed help doing a basic hygiene task. That’s when I felt it first. The burning in my throat, the love punching at my heart, and the sadness, the overwhelming sadness. I trimmed his nails with shaky sweaty hands, being ever so careful not to cut him or hurt him. I felt like he was fragile, like this moment is fragile, like I have to hold on gently but not let go. That’s how I think I would describe this.
Today, weeks later, I still think about that exact moment. I think it is a memory I need to hold onto, a memory that will help me through this. A reminder of my strength, to be gentle but firm in the face of something so bad and terrible and horrifying; and a reminder of my grandfather, always kind and brave, fighting his final battle before resting in tranquility. That is how I would describe this feeling.