Trapped in Paradise

As I hinted to some of you in a friend's blog, I definitely do have blog-worthy news happening in my life lately. Well, not so much news as just a lot of stuff going on that has really caused me to reflect on my own mortality, and how much I value the relationships I have with my family.

A couple weeks ago, my Grandfather had at least two very serious strokes. He's now in the hospital, and from what I've been told, he most likely will not ever leave there. My Grandmother had passed away last April, so I know he hasn't been at all happy since then. I'd been warned by my brother and dad that he wasn't in very good condition, so I was somewhat prepared to see him, but it was still like looking at a completely different person. He's 90 now, and definitely not as spry as he used to be, but I still remember him being in phenomenally good shape, both physically and mentally for someone his age. His right side is entirely paralyzed, he hardly talks at all, and when he does talk, most of it is unintelligible. He's only awake for maybe 2 hours a day at most, and generally speaking, just seems very unhappy about his situation. Guess that's pretty obvious. I'd go out of my mind, being stuck in the hospital with nothing to do, even if I was only awake a couple hours every day.

I went to visit him a couple times with my dad and one of my aunts, both of whom surprised me with their nurturing side. Aunt Peggy said she's no nurse, but I thought she was a natural, and a heck of a lot better at taking care of my Grandpa than I would have been. I also saw a side of my dad I've never seen before. My brother and I never really needed taking care of, in that sense when we were little, and I guess having your own father bed-ridden brings out a side of your personality most people never see.

My mom used drag me off to the old folks home when I was little to sing hymns to the fogeys and talk with them, and I volunteered for a bit at the hospital when I lived in Ontario, so I guess I had a little more exposure to someone in his condition than some other people. But still, it was like seeing someone completely different than the man I remember from my earliest childhood. If this makes any sense, it made me feel a little better when he muttered something a couple times, like hearing his voice made him seem more like him.

Anyways, after reading a few chapters out of the bible, telling him about the bus ride there, then sitting there feeling useless, I got booted out so he could eat dinner. Now here's the really sucky part about having a stroke, aside from what I've already mentioned: the food they give you is sort of a pureed gelatinous paste. The kind of food astronauts eat. Mmmmm, tasty! It's even more appetizing than it sounds.

Other than that, I really did enjoy my trip. As I've told some of you before, I value the relationships I have with my family above just about anything else, so I was happy to make this trip. Not so happy about getting stuck in Summerland an extra two days because of the avalanches on the high-way between Revelstoke and the border, or about missing two days of work because of it. But hey, these things happen and you deal.

I had a chance to visit my Grandma's grave, who had passed away. I completely missed the service they had for her, and didn't get around to sending a card cuz, well, I suck. But for someone who really hasn't lost anyone close to him, seeing her grave was just bizarre for me. I didn't break down bawling or anything, I just thought lots about how much I had enjoyed going to visit my grandparents, but after reflecting on those memories, it was so weird to see that little square on the ground with her name on it, and know that that was it, I wasn't going to see her on this earth again. I don't know how else to describe it, but i guess a lot of you know what I'm talking about. I mean, someone lives a good long life, and after they're gone, they get a little square. That's it. I guess it wouldn't have seemed so weird if I'd made it to the service, though.

I think after all that's happened over the past several days, I understand better why people make a big deal out of funerals. I always felt that I didn't care what people do when I die, since hey, I won't be there. I still feel that way, but now I sort of get why people do all the stuff they do. But doesn't it make sense to do more while someone's alive? Talk about what a great person so and so is and all that while they're around to hear it and appreciate it? That's pretty much what this post is about. I can't really explain why I feel so mushy about my grandparents and the rest of my family to people who've never met them, other than to say, they've always been there, right from the beginning, and I can't say that about any other human beings on earth.

Oh, I guess I should explain the title. Well, you probably figured out more or less what it means, but just in case, go rent the movie Trapped in Paradise. It's got Jon Lovitz and Dana Carvey in it. It pretty much explains what it was like for me being trapped in this weird, tiny little town of Summerland.