It's no secret that I get manic at times. I decide, maybe as a way of distracting myself from something, that I need to finish a task, that I need to solve a problem, and before I know it, a toxic relationship with caffeine has taken hold of me.
Today is one of those days.
I mean, it's close to midnight. The task I set myself has been completed, I'm happy about that, but now I have to deal with my thoughts. The thoughts I was trying to avoid.
My mother told us today, and when I say us, I mean the family, that my grandma is going blind. One eye is completely gone, it seems. The doctor says surgery isn't worth it, and it's hardly reasonable to argue otherwise. It would be like performing surgery on a six-month-old. She wouldn't know not to touch it, wouldn't know not to remove the patch, and, perhaps saddest of all, there's no guarantee it would even help.
There are days when I look at Grandma and imagine a prison of sorts.
I feel guilty for making that connection, but I can't help it. I wonder if she's still there, but simply can't tell us anything anymore, or if she's really gone, and all we have left is a prolonged goodbye.
I don't even know where I'm going with this. I just know that the moment I lay my head on the pillow, sleep won't catch up with me for a while.
And listen, I know this is normal. I know it's part of life. I'm at peace with all of it. But it's one thing to intellectualize these things, and another entirely to actually work through the emotions that come with them.
Every time someone asks about Grandma, I have one reply that I default to, and I mean it.
I don't know this for sure, but I think she's happy.
MenO