Raging At Grief

Continuing with my anger, I’ve decided to write about my grandmother. She’s dying and we’re pretty sure it’s going to happen soon. My mother told me tonight that I should start preparing myself.

Granny has smoked for over 50 years, and has a really disgusting, mucousy cough. She wheezes and continues to smoke. She’s barely 80lbs soaking wet. She looks like a skeleton. My mom invited us all over for dinner tonight and granny asked me to get her some chicken and some onions. I gave her less than I would have given 2/3. I think she took one bite of a piece of chicken and one onion. She sat on the landing of the stairs and as soon as she was finished her mouthful, she went back upstairs to go to bed. She had spent the day upstairs.

I’m mad. I’m so mad because she wouldn’t have to be like this if she had just fucking quit smoking. She could have quit years ago, but she didn’t. She won’t. She’ll probably die with a smoke in her mouth.

All this anger doesn’t sit well with me. I feel nauseous and tense.

I hate funerals. I’ve been to enough of them in my life that I could honestly go the rest of my life avoiding the funerals of any and all loved ones and I would find my own way to have closure without needing to go to a funeral.

I freak out when I’m grieving. How sad is it that I know how I react to grief? Ugh.

Smokers fucking suck. My dad is a smoker. I can hear him wheezing and I’m pretty sure he’s on his way to emphysema and he will DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO STOP IT. My mother says that it’s just what the people in my family are going to die of and they’re all okay with that.

Mad. I’m so mad I’m seeing fucking red. I want to trash my house and thrash on the floor. I want to throw my couch into the fucking television and then set it on fire. But what will that accomplish?  Nothing. I’ll be left with a big mess to clean up with zero resolution.

I am impotent. I can’t make people quit smoking. I can’t stop my grandmother from dying. Also, I can’t avoid her funeral because I already told her I didn’t want to go. She got offended and told me I had better go to her damn funeral or she’d haunt my ass until the end of time. She wants me there, and damnit I’ll be there. But I don’t want to be there.

My granny, who practically raised me. Who took care of me while my mom was at work. My granny who helped raise my first born while I was at work. The woman who taught me how to do laundry, but ended up doing my laundry all through high school. The woman who loves to work in her garden, but probably won’t be able to this year. The woman who used to read me stories, who gave me money whenever I asked. The woman who gave me first and last months rent when I moved out on my own with my daughter. Who babysat while I was in school or working. The woman who never failed to give me support, emotionally, financially. The woman who bought me an amazing couch when my husband (then boyfriend) first moved into a house together. She bought us a dining room table set as a wedding gift.

My granny the chronic smoker. The matriarch of our family. I’m her favourite. I know it, we all know it, even though you’re not supposed to pick favourites, I’m hers.

It sucks watching someone you love die. I honestly hope when she dies, she goes in her sleep. I hope she goes peacefully. She wouldn’t want to drag it out at the hospital, and I sure as hell don’t want to watch it either. I hope that doesn’t sound callous. Even though I know it is.


2 responses to “Raging At Grief

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