Sunday July 24th 1988

As I was winding down for sleep last night I picked up one of my old journals, it's a black leather, blue paper, 8.5"x5.5" and embossed with golden initials of my Grandfather and I. In a finger of God moment, the notebook the fell open to this entry.

July 24, 1988

I watched my namesake dying today
And saw the pain he pays in spades
cloud over his tired, sky blue eyes.

Frustrated with one way communication
and gesturing for the things he needs
All he can do is listen and nod
To my emotionally strained monologue

He lies there holding my hands
Fading in and out of sedation
The man who never showed me weakness
Not wanting to let go of my hand

God the father, God the son and God the Holy Ghost
How does his pain fit into your plan?
When a man no longer has his pride
When he can not move
from his hosiptal bed to a chair unaided

When nurses cheerily suction blood
out from his thorat
Jokingly telling him to "pee in there"
And another nurse later
rummages the vacuum
through the hole in his throat
His eyes full of panic and tears of pain
She cleans up around the tube
He collapses back into his pillows
Sedated beyond the point required
He's the man I love, but he's not the same
I wonder how strange is his percieved world
What he feels and sees

Courage wells up from my soul
As I think of my strength and health
I wish I could find some dignity in this
But my prayers go unanswered
and my soul rings empty

My Grandfather died four days later.