Wading through It

There is a quiet and fierce storm raging inside of me so I am going to do what I tell my daughter to do when she is rendered speechless due to her emotions: I am going to use my words as best I can.

Lilacs are blooming all over town, each one serving as a reminder of my Grandma Joanne who passed away this last December. I have known all along that I was not done grieving, I don't know that I ever will, her absence has hit me hard. This woman was foundational in the development of who I am and what I value in life. She had a gigantic lilac bush in her side yard that my cousin Stephen and I used to use as a fort. The smell permeates the good memories from my childhood and reminds me of her embrace. Her musical voice. Her chocolate kisses.

I have not talked about her death much because it has been so painful to process. And because I feel guilty for not being there more. But I think I need to let it out, it's eating me inside. She died of sepsis (systemic blood infection) that was caused by bed sores on her back that were not taken care of. As someone who used to be a caregiver, it kills me to know who painful those are, and how slow and painful a way to die it is. At the time of her death, this woman who in life averaged 150 pounds weighed 88 pounds. Her medical records indicated that contrary to what her partner/caregiver had been telling us, she had not been to a doctor in three years. Senior and Disabled Services had tried to investigate but due to manipulation, they never made it through the front door. She entered the hospital around midnight on November 30th, hardly conscious and the infection was so bad that she couldn't speak, and could barely breathe on her own. She was gone within 12 hours. Her caregiver didn't tell them how to get a hold of us. He was barred from the room because when he entered, her heart rate and respitory rate would go through the roof. She died in a hospital room, with an off-duty nurse holding her hand because he didn't want her to die alone. We listened over the phone as the monitor flat-lined, never even being able to mutter a good-bye through the phone. The signs of malnourishment and mistreatment were so severe that her caregiver was charged on the spot. At a time when we should have been able to just sit and grieve we were dealing with police detectives and autopsy reports. When we were finally able to see her after her death, it didn't look like her. The harsh, sad face of the body in front of us was not the tender, warm, loving grandmother of my childhood. Her body was bruised from IV's that tried to save her and an autopsy that tried to answer questions. Her arthritic hands and feet were balled up. She was cold.

Last week the DA submitted a plea bargain for us to give input on before they offer it to the man that was someone she trusted, someone who was supposed to be taking care of her. While I am still trying to answer questions of my own about what I should have/could have done, and whether I feel he did this consciously, I am being asked to determine whether I think this judgement is a fair exchange for what he has done. I haven't even decided what it is I think he did do. But reading the plea bargain all my grief resurfaces and I am feeling a quiet rage inside of me for this man, who had everyone convinced we never offered help, that no one ever called to check in on him and my grandmother. He had my uncle convinced we had been out of contact so long that he didn't even know how to get a hold of us. And us the same about my uncle. He took out at least 10 credit cards in my paralyzed grandmothers name and wracked up over $30,000 of debt.

What I do know is this:
Court ordered letters of apologies and restitution in situations like this just feel really offensive. None of it will change the circumstances of her death. None of it will bring her back. It doesn't change anything, and it's not genuine. And what is money going to do? All the money he had, he stole from her. Two years of probation and 200 hours of community service in exchange for being responsible for taking someones life? Also offensive.

After spending so long trying to have compassion for someone who I would like to believe was doing the best he could, this rage is surprising and a little overwhelming. While on the one hand I would like to speak with him, hear his side, and understand and feel at least compassion for him, there is this greater part of me that wants answers. Why didn't he reach out for help? Why did he lie to us about so many things concerning her health and her care? And then there is the hurt granddaughter that just wants to yell "I WANT MY GRANDMA BACK YOU ASSHOLE!"