Papa

On Thanksgiving Day of 2005, I lost my grandfather Mr. James Harold Yerka. His death was sudden and unexpected but he passed at home in the morning after having a slice of pecan pie, his favorite. I was never really sad that day despite being the first one on the scene at the hospital and viewing the ER coding. Actually I was aware of his death before even setting a foot in the ER. The paramedic trucks out front were parked sloppy and there were the pea green and purple boxes smashed on the ground, the boxes that I know so well. These boxes are the standard boxes that atropine and epinephrine come in for any emergency stock such as a crash cart, medic truck, medic copter, ER etc. These medications coupled with CPR or defibrillation are used to try to chemically charge and restart the heart. My hands that past year had opened those boxes in similar destructive fashion with great fervor in attempt to save lives in the ICU. Seeing those boxes on the ground now that I had not myself opened changed my feeling towards them. The scene became more vivid and suddenly the lavender boxes contrasted quite well with the red medic trucks. I walked slowly past the boxes on the ground the sullen faced medics and into the ER, I knew my answer before feeling the blast of ER from the automatic ER doors opening. I remember walking slowly up to the bed to the code and CPR in action, no one stopped me. I saw them stomping on his chest and I calmly placed my hand on a nurses shoulder and said, "stop." I looked at his rhythm on the monitor, there really was no hope. It was typical PEA or pulseless electrical activity. There was no electrical pulse it was only manual from them stomping on his chest. They all left the scene apologetically, the MD pulled me away and apologized stating that it appears to have been a massive heart attack. I thanked her, walked up to papa, felt his cold stiff hand, he felt dead. He had been dead for a while. I looked into his blue eyes one last time before closing them. That was my Papa's body, but not my papa anymore.

After that family started arriving and it was a mess, a big family drama. Every year I think about this event. Every year I remember the shower before I got the phone call from my grandmother that my grandfather had stopped breathing.

Sadly I remember awaking that morning feeling in my gut that something was not normal. The same feeling I get now that usually is in fact a harbinger to an unfavorable event. The feelings or preminitions I get however is a whole different story for a different time. Back from my diversion, I remember the feelings that morning, even the acid moving in my stomach while taking a shower and then sure enough as towel on head soaking wet I run to get the phone and there it is. There is the call, the moment that gave my doom feelings their validation.

Besides all of this, I have dealt with his death in a rather odd way. I never cried over his loss per se. I was sad, but in my heart I knew that this is exactly the way it was to be. I cried alot over the chaos that the family decides to evoke at the time of a death, that is just pure nonesense and again an entirely different story.

From time to time however I find myself thinking about my life and quoting my grandfather. I find myself in situations where his wisdom and words are the first things that come to my mind. These thoughts and contributions he made to my life are truly what I want to remember and they are also how I know his spirit lives on. It is so cliche to say that "when someone is gone what was most annoying you will find so beautiful and miss the most," but that statement is true. My grandfather repeated himself throughout my life. His repititious advice seemed to be annoying at times, but now I know that annoyance was only due to the fact that at the time I was choosing to deny how true it was.

I decided that I wanted to start taking note of his advice and words of wisdom so that I can convey the same messages to my children and their children. I someday aspire to be the same happy annoying grandmother to my grandchildren that my grandfather was to us.

One of the phrases that my grandfather used to often repeat is, "Neither a lender nor a borrower be, for loan oft loses itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry." This saying rings true today as I find myself a bit frustrated with a friend that is failing me. Sigh.