My husband's grandfather, Morris, is in the hopsital for the second time in a month.  He's having difficulty breathing this time; the last time he had pneumonia. 

Morris is 84, and before he retired he was a firefighter.  Back then they didn't have respirators, so Morris ended up inhaling a LOT of smoke over the years - and now he's got emphysema and chronic respiratory problems.  He has oxygen to use at home and a little tank to carry around with him when he's out for his walks - although he doesn't use them when he should half the time.  He has to take breathing treatments a couple of times a day or else he has a hard time catching his breath - which is what landed him in the hospital this time. 

He's supposed to be going home sometime this week - he's such a stubborn old coot that the last time he got admitted he wouldn't get into the hospital bed.  I think that he felt that as long as he stayed sat in the bedside chair he wouldn't REALLY be in the hospital, he'd be just visiting, sort of.  So, he sat in the chair and refused to get in the bed.  He did a similar thing when he had a kidney removed a few years prior.....he just doesn't like hospitals and isn't at all comfortable when he's in them.

 When Dave spoke with him yesterday, Morris said something about having had a good long life and how he's been very fortunate, and he has...but I've never heard him speak like that before. It worries me - durning the hospice training we had a class about what people do when they're getting closer to dying, and talking about how long they've lived and how lucky they've been was one of them.  Of course, Morris could just have been passing the time of day when he said that, but it still bothers me.

So, we're going to see him next weekend.  I had wanted to go yesterday right after we got the call that Morris was ill....but it was almost 10am and by the time we all got loaded up and made the drive over there it would be about time to come back.  So, we decided to wait until next Saturday.

It scares me, waiting like this.  My grandfather died under similar circumstances - my mum and dad called me on a Sunday afternoon to tell me he was in the hospital and gently suggest that we go and see him.  Dave happened to have the next Saturday off (he was working flight at the time and didn't always get Saturdays off), so we decided to make the hour and a half long drive in our little mini over to Oxford to see him in the hospital.

He died at 2 am on the Friday, the day before we were supposed to go and see him.  I didn't get to see him before he died.  In a way, it's a good thing, because he wasn't all there and coherent in his last days and I think it would have upset me to see him like that.  But it's still a bad thing because I never got to say goodbye.  He was my only remaining grandparent; his wife passed away when I was 7 and my dad's parents had died when I was 16 and just turned 17. 

So, after the call yesterday and we decided that we couldn't make it over there that day, I gently urged him to call his grandfather in his hospital room.  I didn't want to tell him that I was afraid he might not get another chance to talk to him; I didn't want to be melodramatic and I also didn't want to scare him.

He took the hint, and he talked to Morris for over a quarter of an hour, promising him that we'd come over next week so he could see how big his great-grandchildren have gotten (and his grand-daughter-in-law too, I've porked out since I last saw him - but then again, he always was telling me I needed to eat so he might be happy to see how healthy I'm looking these days!). 

When my grandfather died, Dave told me that it would be okay because he still had all four of his grandparents and he'd be happy to share them with me.  Morris and Ethel welcomed me with open arms and open hearts, and I'll always remember that.  Morris is the closest thing I've got to a grandfather, and there'll always be a special place in my heart for him. 

I just hope he'll be around for a while to come.

My prayers tonight will not be for Morris to live forever, because I think it's selfish to ask for such a thing.  Instead I'll be telling the universe that I don't want him to go, but if these are going to be his last days can they please be happy and peaceful.  He's lived a good life, and I think he deserves to have a good death.

(Now that the stubborn old coot has gone and got me all worried about him popping his clogs he'll probably live another 10 years just to prove me wrong - and that would be one of the few times I'll be happy to be proved wrong!)