An Appropriate Level of Mourning and the Greatest Will to Live
I find it hard to put into words my state of mind as of late. Over the course of the last few weeks, I've had enormous amounts of responsibility/pressure dropped upon my shoulders, I've had my heart broken (in a weird sense), I watched a man die, and I haven't really slept since it all started. I figure my blog is as good a way to cleanse my brain as any, so here goes.
Last week, I had several visitors from our Tokyo office here on business... One of which was someone I wasn't quite ready to see just yet. She has a way of simply making me lose direction. The entire time, I was trying to keep my balance, metaphorically, when over dinner on Wednesday night, my cell phone rang. I ignored it at first, but after the caller left a message, I decided to excuse myself and listen to it. It was my brother, and his only words were, "Hapacheese, grandpa's in a coma. Give me a call."
Not something I had expected to hear over dinner. Nevertheless, some of the visitors were extremely important clients, so I had to keep it together until the end of dinner. I think I was expecting to receive that call at some point in the near future, but it certainly wasn't then. Doing my best impression of a person enjoying dinner, I finished up business, dropped them off at the hotel... I call my brother immediately and find out that my grandfather's illness had finally caught up to him and his weakened immune system made him unable to fight off the pneumonia that was attacking his system. That and the fact that cancerous blood cells now equated about 80% of his total blood...
Still reeling from the conversation I had had with the lady friend mentioned above (intentionally omitted), it was a double-punch that nearly sent me to the floor. Particularly since I had already booked a ticket to head to London for extremely important business the following Tuesday through Sunday (where I am currently). My mother was heading to Japan on Friday morning with my stepfather (who had thrown out his back so badly he had to be hospitalized earlier that week... what a trooper). My cousin was having visa issues and couldn't leave the country, and my brother had to stay home to take care of the pets and whatnot while my mom and stepdad were gone. I was the only option, as far as grandkids went. I scoured the internet and finally found a ticket that wasn't $5000 that left out of San Jose airport on Saturday morning.
I arrived Sunday afternoon, and after stopping by my grandparent's house simply to drop off my bag, I zoomed off to the hospital. Surprisingly enough, my grandfather was actually conscious, but fairly incoherent. My mom, in her panic, had told my brother that he was in a coma, when in fact he had been pronounced in critical condition (not that that's much better, really). My mom had told him the day before that I would be coming, and apparently he kept shouting, "Mago wa? Mago!!" ("Where's my grandson? Grandson!!") When I heard that, I couldn't help but smile and choke back a tear...
I knelt down next to his bed and held his hand. He couldn't really look at me, but he ever so gently squeezed my hand in return. I leaned over and whispered into his ear, "I promised that I'd see you again... So here I am. You taught me to be a man of my words, so here I am." He smile and let out a sound that perhaps was a cry of joy or simply an attempt to say something profound, but the meaning was lost on me. I held his hand for a half hour, telling him all the things we grandchildren had learned from him over the years, and how much he meant to us.
His lucidity ebbed and flowed for the better part of my trip. When someone new would enter the room, he would snap into consciousness for a moment, and say a few words that would make us all laugh. He even told the doctor that he loved him, he called my grandma his "beautiful bride," my aunt an idiot, and sneered at my mom for constantly being in his face and asking him the same questions 5 times each.
Strange thing was that his heart was extremely strong. He had never experienced any heart trouble, and it was showing. Despite the drop in his oxygen intake, his irregular breathing, and overall weakness, his heart kept beating at a steady 73-75 bpm. It was impressive to watch. Having stabilized, most of us decided to call it a night and go home.
Seeing as I had to return to San Francisco that Tuesday, I spent the better part of Monday afternoon going to buy my bus ticket to the airport, exchanging dollars for yen for my mother, etc. Once again, that evening, I returned to the hospital to check up on my grandfather, and my mother and her childhood friend were there. They both told me about how they thought he would pass on while I was running errands, as he started showing extreme signs of pain. He would writhe on the bed and moaned out loud. Yet, just before I arrived, he began stabilizing and reverted back to normal. His blood pressure when from 65/30 back to 90/50. Nobody knew what was going on. However, we all knew he wasn't going to make it, so we asked the doctor to give him a slow morphine drip to let him sleep... though the doctor told us that it was likely he would never wake again. We all said our farewells, kissed him gently, and waited for him to be at ease.
Seeing as how I had to leave for the airport the next day, I resigned myself to the fact that I would neither be able to attend my grandfather's funeral, nor would I be able to see him off... However, on Tuesday morning as I was packing my bags and getting ready to take a shower, the phone rang. It was my mother... panicked. The doctor had told her that my grandfather had but moments before he would pass. Forgoing the shower, I threw my bags into my aunt's car, and we zoomed over to the hospital... only to find that my grandfather had *once again* stabilized. We joked with the doctor, who was genuinely perplexed, that he didn't know how stubborn my grandfather could be. We all sat around his bed, half wishing that he would simply let go and find peace... but ended up talking about his various misadventures.
I had found out that during World War II, while in the Japanese navy, the boat that he was captain on had been sunk, and he clung to a piece of wood for over 2 days, waiting to be found. He was picked up by the US Navy, held captive, but eventually released. We all recalled how he had been diagnosed with stomach cancer at age 75, and survived it, without recurrance, for over 13 years. More stories of his near misses with death began to crop up and it dawned on me simply how strong his life force was, for a lack of better term. He was a fighter... and he fought until the end.
I boarded my plane back to San Jose (which was nearly 2 hours late), raced back home to take a shower once I arrived back in the Bay Area, then raced over to SFO to get on a plane to go to London (3 continents in a single day!). Once I got off the plane, a message was waiting for me on my cell phone... and I knew exactly what it meant. On Wednesday morning, at 3 am Japan time, my grandfather passed away.
And yet... I don't know how to feel. How many people get a chance to spend their last moments of relative health surrounded by family, going out to eat, playing mahjong, and generally enjoying life? How many people get that last chance to say their goodbyes, especially to family members living in different countries? When thinking of that, it makes me happy. Very happy. I can't help but question, "Is this an appropriate level of mourning?" Because frankly, I simply want to get out and drink, dance, do whatever. Anything but sit here and be depressed over a life well-lived.
But, I miss him. I miss both my grandfathers. They were both good, honest men. But, they both died at very old ages (89 and 88) and were both happy as far as I could tell. In the end, what more can you ask for?
