Saying Good-Bye

Any of my regular readers will have noticed that I haven’t posted to this blog for quite some time. It’s not because I’ve given up on blogging, but rather because I had a huge personal situation to handle. This situation took up so much of my time that I didn’t watch television, work out or correspond with friends for nearly six weeks. I had something much more important to do – say goodbye to Grandpa.

As I grow older and meet new people, I realize how lucky I am. I was blessed with not one, but two, very close extended families. My dad is one of eight children and I’m one of 19 Muzzy grandchildren. My mom’s family is even larger; she’s one of 12 children and I’m one of 22 Pelowski grandchildren. What makes this family remarkable is not the size, but the close relationships we all share. I see everyone in my family at least once a year and many of them I see much more often than that. I credit both sets of grandparents for developing such strong family ties.

I loved all four of my grandparents equally, but was always a little closer to Grandma and Grandpa Muzzy. I think this is because they were both retired most of my life, visited us often and called often. They loved it when I decided to attend Northwestern University. I’m not sure if they were happier that I was going to be in the Chicago area or that I was accepted into a competitive program. I saw them regularly during my NU career, either traveling to see them in Flossmoor or them traveling to Evanston to visit me.

They were so proud when I graduated with a degree in broadcast journalism and thought Tom Brokaw was retiring so I could take his place as the main anchor on “NBC Nightly News.” I was more realistic and happily accepted a job in Sioux Falls, S.D., instead.

I lived in South Dakota for four years and I know my grandparents, especially Grandpa, missed me dearly. Every time I spoke to him, he’d ask when I was moving back. When I accepted an internship in Chicago, I couldn’t wait to call and tell him the good news.

I moved back in April 2009 and made the goal to see my grandparents at least once a week. This wasn’t easy, as I commute an hour each way, spend lots of evenings at networking events in the city and much of my weekend catching up with old and new friends. But Grandpa was 91 years old and I knew he wouldn’t be around forever. I enjoyed having one-on-one time with him and Grandma, something you don’t often have when you have a family as large as ours. I’ll always cherish those dinners and conversations we shared.

The week before Mother’s Day, Grandma became extremely concerned with Grandpa’s health. He was changing quickly and not doing well. She wanted to check him into the hospital soon so that he could heal and attend my cousin’s graduation ceremony that weekend. Unfortunately, it was more serious than anyone realized.

My Aunt Mary and Grandma checked Grandpa into the hospital later that week. There we discovered that he had mini-strokes which affected his speech and his ability to swallow. He spent a week in the hospital and then the time came to make a big decision: should he go home or go to a nursing home for rehabilitation. Grandma and her children discussed it and thought about it and discussed it some more. Finally the decision was made to start hospice care and bring Grandpa home.

I was there the first night Grandpa spent at home. I didn’t know what “hospice” meant, but I received a crash course on everything when the nurse stopped in to explain everything that first night. I learned that Grandpa wasn’t going to get better; hospice was to keep him comfortable not to heal him. I learned about the medications we had to keep Grandpa comfortable and when to use them. I learned that he could no longer drink liquids without a thickening agent. And I learned that I had to say good-bye.

I spent the next month visiting Grandma and Grandpa as often as possible. I’d go after work and often stay until 10:30 or 11 p.m. (only to get up around 6:30 a.m. to catch my train the next day). I’d spend most of my weekend there. And I was rewarded for my dedication by seeing Grandpa on his good days. He was able to tell me that he loved me and I was able to tell him that I loved him. A few times he was even able to joke with me. I won’t ever forget the day he asked me for a hug. He gave me the biggest smile. I was able to feed him his favorites: ice cream and Pepsi. I was able to enjoy baseball games with him, as he was a huge Cubs and White Sox fan. And I was able to help support the rest of my family as we all attempted to come to terms with what was happening.

We were lucky that Grandpa never lost his wits. Up until the end, he was aware of us and of what was happening around him. Even if he couldn’t tell us what he was thinking or feeling, we knew. In the end, he went peacefully after nearly every family member was able to say their own version of good-bye. And as much as we all miss him, I know we’re also happy that he’s no longer suffering.

I’ve never lived in Flossmoor before this spring/summer, but I couldn’t think of a better time to be here. No matter what happens next in my life, I know I was supposed to be here and I’ll always be grateful for that time I had with Grandpa and our family. I’ll also be grateful for hospice care, giving us the opportunity to take care of him and allowing him to spend his last weeks in his own home, surrounded by people who love him.