I Know Pain, Grief And Suffering
I was blamed for my grandmother’s death.
She had stage 4 lymphoma and to not scare the family she diminished her feelings and symptoms to present it that although it was there, it wasn’t bothering her much and she wasn’t dying.
Fast forward years later and I’m picking her up from my aunt’s house and watching my grandma walk shakily down a tall flight of stairs while home alone. That’s when I said, “that’s it” and decided she was staying with me. I hired an amazing hospice organization that provided true palliative care EVERY DAY at my home without rushing her to her death. I was 26.
I gave it my all- gave up everything to make sure she was okay and always put her first. I even switched to night shift at my job so that I could cover the other half of the day that hospice wasn’t there. I didn’t care about what I had to do or change in my life. The lady that made me pancakes every morning, watched me at all my recitals, forgave me and loved me even through my weird middle school phase (we all had one)....this giant of a human being in my life...was dying.
When she died I was met with different kind of grief that I will NEVER understand. My family claimed that I did it for the money (grandma spent it all), that I rushed her death via DNR (which all her children signed btw), that I did not fully disclose how sick she was to everyone (bc “terminal cancer” is apparently a very vague term to some), and that ultimately it was a mistake that I took her bc they could’ve done this better and I was just a child. I did what I could WILLINGLY bc once upon a time my grandma took care of me. I never asked my family for help physically or financially.
The amount of self doubt and isolation after her death was unmanageable. I now hate my entire family and have ceased communicating with them. They’ve never apologized or even bothered to ask why I’ve removed myself.
Even though it’s been almost 10 years, I still cannot forgive them and I don’t think I ever will. I can never forgive the people that tried so hard to convince me that I killed my grandma...that treated me like a human punching bag for their own sick, selfish form of grief. What pisses me of the most and what’s the most unforgiving of all of this....is that for a split second...I almost believed them.
She had stage 4 lymphoma and to not scare the family she diminished her feelings and symptoms to present it that although it was there, it wasn’t bothering her much and she wasn’t dying.
Fast forward years later and I’m picking her up from my aunt’s house and watching my grandma walk shakily down a tall flight of stairs while home alone. That’s when I said, “that’s it” and decided she was staying with me. I hired an amazing hospice organization that provided true palliative care EVERY DAY at my home without rushing her to her death. I was 26.
I gave it my all- gave up everything to make sure she was okay and always put her first. I even switched to night shift at my job so that I could cover the other half of the day that hospice wasn’t there. I didn’t care about what I had to do or change in my life. The lady that made me pancakes every morning, watched me at all my recitals, forgave me and loved me even through my weird middle school phase (we all had one)....this giant of a human being in my life...was dying.
When she died I was met with different kind of grief that I will NEVER understand. My family claimed that I did it for the money (grandma spent it all), that I rushed her death via DNR (which all her children signed btw), that I did not fully disclose how sick she was to everyone (bc “terminal cancer” is apparently a very vague term to some), and that ultimately it was a mistake that I took her bc they could’ve done this better and I was just a child. I did what I could WILLINGLY bc once upon a time my grandma took care of me. I never asked my family for help physically or financially.
The amount of self doubt and isolation after her death was unmanageable. I now hate my entire family and have ceased communicating with them. They’ve never apologized or even bothered to ask why I’ve removed myself.
Even though it’s been almost 10 years, I still cannot forgive them and I don’t think I ever will. I can never forgive the people that tried so hard to convince me that I killed my grandma...that treated me like a human punching bag for their own sick, selfish form of grief. What pisses me of the most and what’s the most unforgiving of all of this....is that for a split second...I almost believed them.
