All the tin man ever wanted was a heart. I always thought it was so funny that he would wish for a heart, especially since he appeared to be the character with the biggest one. But in the end, he got one. His very own heart. Just in time for it to break. A person he cared for was leaving. And being left behind, well, it isn't easy. Even if you are made out of tin.
Tin man. I know how you feel.
Last summer, my parents had come down for a visit. We got a call from one of my uncles to say that grandpa was in the hospital because he was complaining of pain in his stomach. They were going to do surgery to remove his gall bladder because that seemed to be what was causing the problem. Imagine our shock to find out it was cancer. Cancer? Surely not. But it was there- that big scary 'c' word, like the pink elephant in the room. We couldn't even say it to each other. How were we going to say it to him?
Fast forward to present time. To say that this has been a difficult journey would be an understatement. In conjunction with the physical deterioration of his body, we are now dealing with the emotional consequences of this disease. His coping with needing to ask for help. Our despair as we watch this once strong and capable man struggle to stand up from his chair.
I went to see him last weekend. There he was, laying on his new hospital bed, sound asleep. Now, he has never looked old to me, even though he's 83. But in that moment, he did. He looked so frail lying there. His poor body is just so tired from fighting his disease, and it shows. So I stood there looking at this man I have known and loved my entire life, a man who has always had more than enough room in his heart for me (his southern belle)- the man I call grandpa, and I felt as if I would just simply break into a million pieces right there on the living room floor. I can't say goodbye to him yet. I won't. I'm not ready to let him go.
But he keeps saying that he doesn't think it's going to be much longer. His strength continues to deteriorate daily. He sleeps a good majority of the time. He needs help doing the very things you and I take for granted. Like getting out of bed. Or going to the bathroom.
As tragic as this has been, I have learned a great deal about the wonderful people I call my family. And it hasn't gone unnoticed. I think grandpa is proud of his children and grand-kids. He certainly likes to tell us so. So as I was sitting with him this past weekend, chatting about everything and nothing, he looked at me and said, "You are such a beautiful young woman. I am very proud of you." That means a lot to me grandpa. It really does. And I love you so much I feel my heart will explode with the magnitude of it.
And there is so much more I want to say. But I can't trust myself to say the things I want to without crying. Without pouring my heart right out through my eyes. The last thing I want is to upset him. The last thing I want is for things to go unsaid. How do you reconcile these two wishes? So as I was leaving, I leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. "I love you Grandpa. So so much." But what I didn't say is, "I am really going to miss you." Really. And truly.
I am really going to miss you.
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