101

Life is really about perspective. If you're the type who is content with things, you win. That's all there is to it. The discontent are tortured, by themselves, forever. Yearning for the next high, the next destination, the next big thing. It's all too much.

My grandmother, on my father's side, is 101 years old. She is not doing well and will likely not survive the week. What started as a fall, bump on the head, and a bit of physical therapy has evolved into a hematoma, no eating, hospice, and family coming from far and wide to say goodbye. It's tough. Looming death is tough. There's no way around that but what's worse is my internal struggle that I don't feel a certain way about it.

I remember grandma cooking in the kitchen. I must have been 7 or so. She was preparing dinner, probably christmas or thanksgiving, or perhaps one of the few occasions that my father was helping out around the farm and the family stayed long enough to be hungry. She must have been in the kitchen for 3 or 4 hours by the time dinner finally came around. I remember the smells in the house. I remember the odd wallpaper and the shag carpet. I remember the old cookie tin where she kept the playing cards. I remember keeping busy but mostly avoiding being in the way. I didn't know any card games, nor did my 3 younger siblings, but we played with those cards like we did. Making up rules and getting mad at each other for cheating. But mostly, I remember her bustling around all day, preparing that meal that was over in a flash. Then I remember mom helping her with the cleaning while the men lounged and joked.

It's a memory that I never knew I would look back at fondly but here I am. Completely discontent with what I have and torturing myself over not having more. Over not BEING more. Over not being enough.

I don't recall a single time where I sat at a table with my grandparents and talked about their hopes and dreams, why they chose farming, what hobbies they enjoyed, or how they felt when, a decade after they were done having kids, she has to say the words "I'm pregnant" again. I never remember telling them about my hopes and dreams, career path, or hobbies I enjoy. Now, that's not to say that I haven't seen them a lot, or talked with them from time to time... but it is saying that I never really got to know them. And now, late stage memory loss, and sleeping most of the day away, its seems like the wrong time to prod my grandmother with questions about if she likes to knit or wanted more children.

It feels like I should be feeling a certain way right now. Like I should be sad. But truthfully, I'm not. I have coworkers that I don't really like but I know more about them than I do my own grandmother. My last living grandparent. I feel more shameful than sad. Shame for allowing all of these years to pass and not getting to know her. Shame for not really wanting to.

I do feel sad. Not for me, but for my father. Who is losing his mother after 78 years. He's never known this life without her and now, an old man himself, he will have to endure another staggering loss. It's heartbreaking. I want to hug him. I want to tell him it will get better. I want to help him thru this most difficult of times. I want to ease his heartache.

I cannot. I know. But I want to.

There are a handful of people that know me well. A couple really close friends and a few of my family. Most people just enjoy me because I make them laugh or I help them with computer problems. These are the kind of people I can't stand to be around. I'm not here to help you fix your printer or to get rid of the thousands of popups on your computer. I'm here because I've taken a genuine interest in your life and I want to share my life with you.

Why do I feel like I am missing out then? Why do I feel like I SHOULD have spent more time being interested in my grandparents? Why am I not sad to lose my oldest living relative? 

I don't know... perhaps I never will. For now, I will console those I love who feel this loss deeper than I do. I will try to make them smile and, if only for the briefest moment, give them a reprieve of the sorrow and sadness that shrowds their view. And I will try to be one of the content few, knowing that I have people to love and a few that love me back.