Sweet Catastrophe

Papa isn’t really doing so swell. He’s home, but he’s got a daily nurse and worst of all, he’s very hopeless at this point. Trips to see him are so depressing right now. There are bits of normal conversation, but the majority of what he says to me comes out as if he’s making sure he tells me everything he wants to say to me. I cry every time I think about it. (Two hints what I’m doing right now.) But I’m just trying not to think about it. He’s in his eighties and well, when he goes, I know it’ll be for the best. I can’t imagine what it’ll do to my grandmother though. They’ve been married for 61 years. They spent their last anniversary in the hospital. How romantic?

They give me hope for a happy future. (The also give me hope for a future filled with pills upon pills for funky bowels and osteoarthritis relief–these are achey people and they’ve passed on all their genetics to me!) I can only hope to one day be able to say I’ve been married for 61 happy years. Hell, with Ryan’s affinity for electricity and all things fire, I’ll be lucky to have a spouse who lives that long!

I’m planning on getting a small tattoo in honor of my papa. Ya see, grandchildren have come and gone, but I’ve always had my papa’s heart and he definitely has mine. I’ve always been….well…the favorite. My maternal grandfather died on Christmas when I was a year old. (I share a Birthday with him) So Papa is the only grandfather I’ve ever really had. We’ve always had a special bond.

I’m gonna get a small bumblebee. As of right now, I just want a little one behind my ear, but I want Pete’s tat first, so I may change my mind on the location by the time I finally get it. We used to play his records together when I’d stay with them. I remember one weekend I stayed with them and we spent the day playing records, and I held up a little recorder to record the songs to tapes for me. I’ve still got those and at parts, you can hear Papa laughing at me in the background; I was probably dancing or something.

Our favorite song was The Laughing Song, by George Younce. Here’s a quick video on YouTube, it’s the closest I’ve found to the recording I’m most familiar with. The laughing at the end always varies a bit. The lyrics:

Oh my name is Ticklish Ruben
from way down in old Vermont
I’ve been tickled by almost everything
I’ve been tickled by a feather,
I’ve been tickled by a wasp,
I’ve been tickled by a yellow bumblebee.
*Commence rhythmic laughing*

Papa’s always called it the Bumblebee song–I don’t remember, but that’s probably because that’s what I called it, ya know? He talks to me about the Bumblebee Man every time I see him =) And he always reminds me that he loves me a bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck.

I think I’m off work next Sunday, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be in Douglas. I was only able to stop by for a few moments before we left for Oklahoma, but my aunt was sure to remind me that my grandfather is DNR (Do Not Resuscitate, which means if his heart stops for any reason, that’s it, he doesn’t want to be revived again.) So that was a big hit to take, thinking about his current condition.

I really need to stop thinking about this right now, so that’s the end of this entry. Friends don’t let friends drink and watch sad movies, dammit!