All went smoothly and I finished in time for all my prearranged pick-ups. Now that the work was done, I checked out my e-mail folder: some sort of chain letter; a solicitation; some listserve stuff; and an e-mail from my dad, a fairly unusual occurrence. Although my father is pretty high tech, he's just getting used to this Internet stuff and had only recently figured out that he can reach me through e-mail almost instantly. I opened the message:
Subject: Possible trip
Sent: 10/11 4:04 PM
Received: 10/11 4:44 PM
From: EGGlazer@aol.com
TO: glazer@acsu.buffalo.edu
Poppy is very ill and we are not sure how much longer he may live.
Just in case, we hope you will be ready on short notice to go down to Florida
with the family. Of course we hope he will recover, and this won't be necessary.
Love you.
Dad
My grandfather had been diagnosed with cancer some time ago, but after various surgery and chemotherapy, had been doing rather well. While this recent news was not a complete shock, it was still upsetting. I called home later that night to find out that my mother had already left for Florida and would apprise us of the situation once she arrived. My father said it didn't look good and I should be prepared to catch a flight out the next day.
The following day I talked with my mother. Poppy was moved to a hospice. It would just be a matter of time; there was nothing more the doctors could do for him. "You can come down here now or after, it's up to you," she said. Up to me? What do I know about this type of thing? At 26 years old, I had yet to face such a situation. I ask my mother what she thought would be best. "I think it would be nice for you to come down as soon as you can so you can spend some time with Poppy, but you've got to be prepared...he's...you've never seen him like this and you should prepare yourself. He's dying." I could tell by her voice that she was very upset, and said I would be there in two days. "Poppy's been asking about you. Why can't you come tomorrow?" I tried to explain that I had responsibilities to take care of regarding my screening. "OK, that should be fine. Jenna's arriving tomorrow with your father, so he should be able to pick you up at the airport on Saturday."
The flight seemed to go quickly. I remembered impatiently flying down when I was younger to visit with my grandparents. I hadn't seen Nana and Poppy in a number of years, and could count on both my hands the number of times we had spoken on the phone.
I was happy to see my dad at the airport, and it almost seemed like we were on some sort of vacation on our way to the hotel. But as we drove to the hospice, the reality of the trip began to sink in. My mother and sister both looked like they had been awake for too long, maybe crying. My mother took me aside and explained that I would not be used to seeing Poppy this way. "He asked for you this morning. He's not the Poppy you remember. He's unable to talk anymore and is in a lot of pain, so prepare yourself." I asked what she meant by unable to talk. "He's in a lot of pain. He's too weak to talk, but we think he can still hear."
The irony was that we never talked much anyway. I would call when they sent a gift for my birthday, or drop them a line when it was one of theirs. It was always awkward. They would be real happy to hear from me, but we would never have much to say. Poppy would ask what was going on in my life, but I would usually reply, "Not much." "Not much" was easier to say than to try to explain the amazing technologies I was working with, all the little miracles I experienced everyday: Some were film and video related, others were based around computer programming or Web design and implementation. What is unfortunate about all the technology I deal with is that those who are closest to me aren't always able to share in my enthusiasm. Not because they don't want to, but because they don't understand many of the concepts that make these things amazing in the first place, and it would take to long to teach them even if they wanted to learn.
I remember many years ago trying to explain to Poppy how my Apple II+ could do word processing, and getting frustrated at his inability to grasp what I viewed as simple concepts. "Not much" was easier.
As I entered the room, I could see Nana sitting in a chair, then a nurse and my sister. And then there was Poppy. Although my mother had tried to prepare me, there was no way she could have. I could barely tell it was my grandfather in that bed. His features were barely distinguishable; his emaciated body resembled nothing close to the 6 ft-180lb person I remembered. His whole body was shaking as he stared, head turned to the wall. Nana came over and hugged me and then said Poppy would be so glad to see me. She took me by the hand to Poppy and said to him, "Look who's here. Jonathan." He started to move a little more, but was unable to look my way. I moved to where he could see me, and it looked as though he was struggling to say something, but only faint grunts came out. I didn't want to start crying and upset him and everyone else, so I simply said hi and looked toward my sister who handed me a tissue. My mother commented about how this was the most active he had been all day, and how you could tell he was glad I was there. She went on to say something about how no one had had this type of response from him. I should have been honored by his display of recognition---as my mother said, not everyone received such a response---It instead made me feel guilty. I excused myself and left the room. My mother came to me, in her embrace I started to cry.
I had never really thought much about it but in a way I was his favorite grandchild. Not that my sister or cousin weren't important or special to him, they were, but I was the first grandchild and only grandson. Although we had grown apart in the last ten years, my grandfather had had a profound effect on my childhood, shaping me into the man I am today. He encouraged me to think about how things worked and why things were the way they were. He taught me many reasoning skills---the skills that have evolved into my understanding of computers and technology. The way I logically try to solve a computer-type problem is not all that different than they way he would build some scissor-like device to get leaves out of our tree wells.
The revelation of his influence on my life, and my importance in his, deeply affected me. And while standing in the hospice corridor, I knew I should have spent the time describing what I was doing in my life so that he and my grandmother could have been a bigger part of it. I felt that I hadn't given them as much of my time as I should have. And it disturbed me that despite all this, Poppy was most excited to see me. I felt a responsibility to be with him, to say the things that needed to be said---that should have been said---a long time ago. I went back inside.
I asked my mother to get everyone to leave the room for a while, I wanted to talk to Poppy alone. After everyone left, I felt a little less reserved about talking about my life and my feelings with my grandfather. He became agitated as I approached. I took his hand and realized his whole body was drenched in sweat from all his movement. In a shaking voice, I told him about a lot of my feelings and thoughts, about some of the various things in my life, about his importance to me. He seemed particularly agitated when I expressed regret about not spending much time with him. It was as though he was trying to ease my pain and tell me how much he loved me. I took him in my arms to alieve his struggling, telling him that I knew what he was trying to say.
I must have spent a half an hour with him before the rest of the family started to filter back into the room. We remained a few hours more, going in and out of Poppy's room, holding his hand. We eventually decided to go eat, while my mother and Nana stayed.
Despite the circumstances, it was pleasant to have the family gathered in a non-holiday setting. Because of our efforts to get our minds off of Poppy, we were actually relating better than usual. I remember having a few beers with dinner, which is uncommon for me, but they helped me relax. Toward the end of the meal, my dad's pager went off and we all froze. He said mom wanted us back. We frantically threw some money on the table and returned to the hospice.
My mom seemed at ease as she greeted us at the door. "It's over," she said. After the arrangements had been made and we were about to leave, I asked to see what the message said on my dad's pager.
Its finally over. Please come back. Carol
Technology, ain't it great
written 2/6/96 11:36pm est. for latest update
mail to:glazer@acsu.buffalo.edu
