I write this while sitting outside ICU where your granny is, and I could think of no better way to make sense of what’s happening or tend to my heart matters than by writing this to you.
I’ve written before that Granny Lorna hasn’t been so well, and this morning I woke to messages that she had had a fit early in the morning, and had gone to hospital. I was slow to respond – I’ve received so many calls over the last few years of falls and visits to the hospital, that I didn’t think much of this.
But getting here, and entering the ICU, I *knew* this time was different. Aside from a current diagnosis of bleeding on the brain, quiet fits and possible stroke, the fact that I don’t see my mom “awake” and responsive, smiling despite the pain, is a realisation that maybe things are different this time. And it took me to a difficult place 28 years ago, when I first stepped into an ICU, to see my mom barely visible beneath wires, tubes and machines following her brain surgery.
I feel as terrified and helpless as I did then, although then I remember rushing out the room, in tears, with my dad to comfort me. Now, I am speaking to doctors and taking calls, and all I really want to do is cry freely like a child, leaning on a pillar, without trying to act like one.
I hope that things happen as they’re meant to. For now, I’ll keep writing and feeling.
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