I had never lost a family member (minus my first Labrador) until this summer, but now I've lost two. Both of my biological grandmothers died, and my papa, the first of my name (I've been watching a lot of Game of Thrones, and I'm the third) is now in a nursing home, unable to walk. Three weeks into getting my feet set in Japan, my grandmother, Olabelle Straw Gouldman, died. The matriarch of the family, my grandmother, my mentor, my brilliant, fearless, amazing grandma that scoffs at dismalness, shows light on dark times, and sees nothing but silver linings, died. My dad went to visit her and help take care of my Papa; he found her resting peacefully in her favorite chair. She was 87, and the definition of a leader. She played softball until she was about 84. She was a nurse, then a director of a geriatric unit when she was younger. She lived for a long time in the retirement community, The Villages, and instead of enjoying a peaceful life there, she owned the place. She knew everyone. There has been a steady flow of cards and food and visitors showing condolences, like a queen had passed. The neighbors came over. The neighbors' neighbors came over. The Golden Corral staff gave a card. Oh, wait, they gave us multiple cards, because it wasn't one of those 'we miss our customer' things; it was a 'we miss Olabelle' thing. There was one neighbor chipping golf balls into a bucket (or trying to anyway) because my grandmother was all about self-improvement over mourning. If she knew we were moping, or crying, or sad in any way, she might've gotten mad. She dealt with death in stride. She had plenty of friends pass, and kept on keeping on. She was one hell of a lady, and the likes of her red velvet cake will never be seen again. I keep hearing her voice, saying things like, "keep your chin up, young man" and "can't do anything about it now, go help JR."
JR is my dad. He's the second John Robert Gouldman, and a retired Lieutenant Commander like his father before him. He's also an only child. To go home and be worried about your dad in a nursing home, but find your mom dead... I can't even imagine. I was crushed, and she's my GRANDmother, not my mother. I was crushed until my little sister provided some words when I couldn't come up with any. I relied on Ali, and don't know how I would've made the twenty-something hour flight back to Florida from Japan had I not. I cried like a bitch, threw some running shoes on and ran off like the child I still am. I ran, crying, from Sunabe to Ginowan, and would've continued until I couldn't, if I hadn't been worried about my stepmother being worried about me. (Scared the shit out of some locals in the process, it was dark and I'm about 6'2", heh) That's the first big lesson I learned in the last week. Everyone needs family, and I never realized how much we depend on each other until this happened. Be it a stepmother, or a sibling, or a step-sister-in-law, or your mommy, or a baby cousin that cheers you up with gurgles, you need family. Once again, my dad is an only child. I have no idea how he's coping like he is. I also learned a second lesson, though.
This one was taught to me by my grandfather. I was having trouble with watching him in the nursing home. I had never been in a nursing home, until I had to help my Papa do things like take off his watch, and push his hair back, (we JRG's have great hair genes) and hold his head up to cautiously sip the last of the tea my Nana made before passing. It's so ultimately sad to me, that I don't believe in religion; I can't hold a light to the cockamamie bullshit that most people fervently attend every Sunday. BUT, there are other things than religion. For one, there's humor. The lesson my Papa taught me yesterday is that without a sense of humor, you are nothing. I could hear some lady across the hall yelping, "Help! Help meee!". It made me cry. I wanted so badly to stay there, and be the guy that helps. Of course, you can't even touch patients that aren't yours to help, there are a lot of codes and rules that keep guys like me from trying to reposition a granny and mistakenly snap her back or something ridiculous. Here's the golden wisdom he passed, though: we were listening to some estranged beep escaping the machine of his bedmate. It might've been an alert for blood-sugar levels, or a heart monitor for all I knew. It scared me. It was a disparate, monstrous noise to me, and I could escape it. That's what I was thinking, when my Papa asked, "Third quarter?" and smiled. We looked at each other and laughed heartily, and he continued on to say it, "without humor there's nothing."
Memorial contributions may be made to either the Griffin Christian Church or the Griffin Alumni Associaton. Just a thought.
