Sadly watching my grandparents slip away

I have no illusions about the promise of death, for me or any member of my family. I'm content knowing that I don't know what to expect.

As I watch my parents struggle and cope with the eventual passing of their aging parents, I'm struck by an apparent lesson: One can prepare for the logistical and financial ramifications of the end, but you're never really fully prepared for the emotional ones.

My dad's mother passed away a few years ago. The youngest of four kids, my father voiced his concern at the time that my 90-year-old grandfather would slip into depression. "He may go soon out of lonliness," dad said at the time. His two brothers and sister didn't disagree.

"Grandaddy" Clark apparently had other plans. Despite his constant questions as to why, Grandaddy is taking on a new day every day. He still lives at the house where my father grew up, though he has daily and nightly helpers who attend to his needs. I'm sure it helps to have someone around to talk to about anything.

I'll ask dad weekly how Grandaddy is feeling, half expecting to hear his health has taken a turn. Dad's response is always the same, somewhat surprised refrain: "He's doing fine ... and in good spirits."

The four siblings have been, for the most part, in concert with the financial and logistical care for Grandaddy. Each takes a turn talking with him daily or visiting or taking him to appointments. To me the most important thing they've done for him is to stay positive with each encounter. Nobody mopes around him. Everybody inquires about his health in a light-hearted manner, even when he has an ocassional accident such as falling from the bed.

As is his nature, Grandaddy is patient with his kids. He may not want much fuss about him but he relents to their suggestions or desires. Some might think this is because he lacks the energy to protest. I happen to think it's because he loves them, and right now that's his way of showing it.

The situation with my mother's 80-year-old parents couldn't be more different. Though they are together in their home, my grandparents live very separate lives. Some old wounds have festered long enough to create a vacuum of emotion other than spite. There are moments of happy relief, mostly when family is around. But the tension remains, and like a kudzu vine it seems to penetrate every room of their two-story home.

My grandmother, "Mamaw" as we Southern grandsons call her, has had bad health for a few years now. The strain it has taken on her body is immense -- she's but a ghost of the woman who taught my kid brother and me to play poker or any other game of chance during happy, week-long visits in the summer. Her weight hovers between 75-90 pounds, though she can still walk and communicate well. Her cooking prowess, once the envy of our family, has withered, too.

Seeing her waste away has taken a toll on my grandfather, "Papaw" to us. He has done his best to help, but the anger within her won't allow much. She's experienced symptoms of dementia, which only worsens the situation. Now his health has been challenged by horrible neck and wrist problems. For a proud working man such as Papaw, who could at least escape the strained relationship once in a while to do yard work or go fishing, his being confined to a bed or recliner must feel like a prison.

Surprisingly, few of the hardships facing my mother or her brother have to do with health care, other than filling out incessant paperwork and ensuring the bills are paid. There's no therapy available now for the broken hearts that seem to lament that they're facing the last steps on the road of life alone.

Mamaw has fought most of that which was done to help her. She has remained convinced throughout her life that despite her comfortable lifestyle set forth through my grandfather's job and retirement, she will die a pauper. Nobody can convince her otherwise. It's been that way since I was born.

Once my mother and uncle started having conversations with her about not driving, visiting the doctor, etc., she decided her family had turned against her.

The really hard part is watching my mother wrestle with her emotions over it all. She's a strong, proud woman -- the apple didn't fall far from the tree, as the saying goes. Despite her body language that all is fine and she won't let Mamaw's issues trouble her, I know she is troubled inside.

When it's time for me and my brother to help my parents, I think the financial and logistical challenges will be the easy parts. But they don't make manuals to help heal emotional scars. There's no seminar offered to deal with the emotions that will likely surface.

All we can do is tell them we love them. Love them right to the end.