Before I was able to hit publish, my mom called from the hospital, apparently we are rounding the corner my granddad. He just got moved to the ICU and if his condition doesn't improve over the next 24 hours, then they are going to take him of all his meds (save the oxygen) and just let his body do his thing.
This decision came after he got transfered into his room and the dr came in to talk with him and he looked at my mom and said, please don't do anything to hurt me. Of course that was enough. They talked with him about his options and reviewed his living will, and the decision was made. The drs have said it could be anywhere from a day to a week, they just don't know how long he'll fight.
He's battling kidney failure, congestive heart failure, low blood pressure and an array of other complications. My mom finally got him some pain medication so he could rest. That's when she called to tell me what was going on. Since I had only seen my granddad about 6 times up until about 10 months ago, it's a bit strange, almost like a stranger. I hurt for my mom, this is essentially the last of her family. I feel for my granddad who I feel like I now view as a child, innocent, scared and I find myself protecting him against everything, from cruel nurse-aids to the truth about how we're all doing.
My granddad retired from the Navy and is a first generation Dutch-American. That's pretty much all I know about him, that and that this was his favorite poem.
I Must Go Down to the Sea
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.