A Series of Journeys

I've been having a pretty rough two weeks, ranging from a break up, to irritating my injured knee (and pretty badly, too), to having to drop a class because it wasn't being taught (not properly, it wasn't being taught at all, by the teacher). But, none of those are the worst of it. The worst of it hit in August, roughly the week before I started school. I had my drill weekend (oh the joy), but I had also gotten paid over $2000 for a student refund. Sure, I had to go to Columbus, a drive I hate no matter what time of the year it is, but at least I could afford to go, and it would be more money in my pocket. And, school was about to start, which I was excited for. Yes, I actually like school. Sue me.

Just when I thought everything was getting better, the news struck: my Grandmother had a stroke, and she wasn't regaining consciousness. Eventually, though, through out several months, she did start to wake up, but her health was still faltering. I want to avoid as many specifics as I can (due to personal reasons), but over the same course, my Grandfather ended up in the hospital with a different condition, while my Grandmother was in a nursing home. While these particular things were constantly in the back of my mind, I tried my best to move on with my life (within reason) because I couldn't do a thing to change them.

Last Friday, my Mom got a hold of me, and let me know some news: My Grandmother's condition had worsened. The simple act of breathing had exhausted her, and her heart rate was extremely low. Chances were slim that she wouldn't make it through the night. She was transferred from the home to the same hospital that my Grandfather was in.

Saturday, at roughly 8:30, she passed away.

I'm no stranger to loss. I've lost friends I went through basic and AIT with. I've been the crying shoulder for not one, but two friends when they lost their fathers (and one, her mother, as well). Even in high school, I lost a friend, who I still think of today, to suicide because "no one saw the signs." Roughly an hour after it happened, when I found out, up until this point, I've been fluctuating between depressed and emotionally numb. I felt guilty at first for wanting her suffering to end, but relieved that she wasn't suffering anymore. And then, it hit me: She died in the same building that my Grandfather was in. Due to his condition, they couldn't see each other, and yet, it worked out this way. As tragic as it is, I can't help but find a certain type of beauty to it. Everything fit in to place so that, somehow, she could say goodbye to him before she passed on.

This next sentence is going to be shocking, so make sure you're sitting: I am, while surely far from perfect, a believing Catholic. I know I don't act like it at times (you know... seemingly ever), but I am. I have been through too much, and seen to much for me to ever lose my faith. As painful as it is for my family right now, I don't think we can argue that this was truly a beautiful end for a truly beautiful person.

I'm not writing this to get people to say, "I'm sorry," or for any sympathy. I'm writing this for the fact that I felt the urge to tell someone, and other than those who knew what was going on, I really have no one to tell. What better way than to write about it. This is a practice of catharsis, but it still has a point, too.

I was working on my drawing homework (drawing eight shoes, no joke), while listening to my iPod. Evans Blue's "The Pursuit" started playing, and, retrospectively dumb, I turned it up. Sure, my ears were ringing afterwards, but it was worth it. The song is, ultimately, about a loss. Surprise, right? But, here's the trick. The last line of the song: "The pursuit begins when this portrayal of life ends." I just stopped everything right there, and thought about it. What I think it means is this: "Life is never over, it just changes meaning."

As people, we are constantly looking, pursuing our own meanings, wether its the meaning of life, or coping with a terminal illness, or even becoming famous. Does life end when we reach those goals? No. Our goals change. So what of those who died? My Grandmother lived to see her daughter married, with three kids, and happy. She died as close to her own husband as she could get, some part of her hoping to say goodbye to him. Did she get to her goals? I believe so. And now, she has another goal, to watch over her family.

Thank you, Grandma. Thank you for teaching me that there is no such thing as normal. But, mostly, thank you for the love and kindness you've shown your family and friends. When it's time, I will see you on the other side.