Week 7: Slumber

It happened for the first time in 1999. The family was blindsided. No one saw the signs - not even Grandpa. The coma snuck in and struck. For two paralyzing weeks, Grandpa laid motionless. The pain proved to be short lived for heaven's sake. He woke up. 

Grandpa would be awake for the next eight years. In early March 2008, the thief returned to steal his consciousness. However, this suffering wouldn't be as short-lived. 

I remember the day with great clarity. The walk from the bus stop to my house took about two minutes. As I reached the porch, my mom was waiting for me. She gave me the news. I was eight at the time and the whole situation was difficult to wrap my head around. A coma? What the heck is that? Will Grandpa be okay? Will he survive?

To make matters worse, Grandpa was in New Orleans at the time with Grandma. Thousands of miles away from home. Grandma found him in the hotel room. My parents, aunts and uncles flew down there immediately. Us kids were left scattered among other relatives. The waiting game began.

We hopped around hospitals, seeking answers from a handful of doctors. The answers were inconclusive. Grandpa was in a state of severe unconsciousness and there wasn't a clear explanation as to why. 

Our family would pack into the room and huddle around Grandpa. We talked, listened to audiobooks, watched television. 

My dad would give Grandpa haircuts and trim his nails - I'll never forget the image of Grandpa with those white locks and long nails.  We cherished every moment because we never knew if he'd slip into an eternal slumber. All we could do was be there for him, praying that he'd squeeze our hands or give us a wink. We dreamed of him waking up before our very eyes. 

I prayed before bed every night. Please let Grandpa wake up, he doesn't deserve this. For three years I said this prayer. For three years, I spent my weekends in hospitals and nursing homes. I don't regret a single second. Yes, they were hard times, of course they were but at least still had a pulse. 

Unfortunately, Grandpa would never wake up. His mind and body deteriorated. He suffered two heart attacks as a result. There came a time when life support wouldn't be a viable option. Grandpa passed away on April 14, 2011. He was only 69 years old. 

I miss him every single day. 

However, I believe there's a silver-lining to this tragic story. I realized what it means to be loved. 

My family sacrificed so much during this time for one person. Love is the most powerful force in this world. Nothing else comes close. I think of Grandma, not knowing when she'd speak to the love of her life again and hear his voice. Yet, she stayed by his side almost everyday. I witnessed my parents make countless hour long drives, some lasting long into the night. Their spirits couldn't be broken because once you lose that hope, the battle is lost. To have people who love you is the greatest gift in the world. I feel secure knowing Grandpa had so much love. 

Grandpa, I hope you're sleeping well.