Thursday, December 2, 2010

Not Sure.

"And everyone I loved before flashed before my eyes, and nothing mattered anymore. I looked into the sky." - Foo Fighters Wheels

Every night, before he's wheeled off to bed,
my grandmother chants,
By his Holy Stripes, you are healed, in the name of Jesus.
By his Holy Stripes, you are healed, in the name of Jesus.
Like if she says it enough, all of his sick and old
will just disappear, overnight.
Like if she says it enough, he'll spring out of bed one day,
a fully functional human.
Like if she says it enough, everything will be solved.
Like if she says it enough, it will happen,
and she won't have to lift a finger.

Because Jesus heals all.
Because Jesus is merciful.
Because Jesus loves us.
Because faith heals.
Because she's tired of dealing with it.

Does she really think Jesus is going to help?
Does she chant that every night, because she think's it'll do something?
Does she feel obligated to? Like it'll make her look like a good wife?
Or is she just putting on an act..?

I don't know what to think of her anymore.
I hate her, I love her. She's my grandma. I feel sorry for her, I'm thankful for her.
If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have what I have.
If it wasn't for her, none of this, with my grandfather, would've happened.

How can one woman ruin an entire family's relationship..?
We took sides. We were advocates for him. We tried.
She fought back.
From then on, it was every man for himself.
There are no sides anymore. It's all separate lives completely.

One by one, we each gave up.
One by one, they started siding with her.
One by one, we started to retreat into our own defenseless caves.

Half of what she says, is normal.
Oh, you cut your hair! How cute, it even flips out at the bottom!
The other half makes you want to punch a baby.
It's so short, don't cut anymore off. Please.

Half of what she says, is normal.
Always look both ways before crossing the street.
The other half makes you wish you'd barrel roll out of the car, into traffic.
A girlfriend of mine was crossing the street once. A car hit her.
This is not dinner time conversation.

Everyday, my grandfather coughs.
More like, he's trying to hock up his liver though his air-pipe.
Everyday, they suction him. They stick an air-sucking tube down his throat.
He bites it. Then it gets stuck to his mouth, sucking on one piece of flesh,
until they turn off the machine, and pull it out.
Everyday, she says good job, Jack. Come on, cough it up. 
That's good, that's good. 

No, it's not good.
It's not good, it's not normal, to sit everyday of your life moaning and coughing.
Having the air sucked out of you, so you can't breathe.
Having people force your  mouth open so they can stick the tube in.
No, it's not good.

Everyday, my grandfather sits and moans for hours.
Everyday, he sits and he gurgles.
Everyday, she says you're OK Jack. Be quiet, you're OK.

No, he's not OK.
Does he sound OK to you?
Does he look OK to you?
Covered in all of those bruises, black eyes, cuts, scrapes, broken hip?
Is that what you think OK is?

Is it OK that you let this abuse continue?
Is it OK that this is apart of our normal, daily lives?
Watching your husband be abused and tossed around,
like he's a doll?

Why is this OK?

Sometimes, I wish he'd just.. go.
How is he still here, why?
Is he here by will? Or is God keeping him here, to go through all of this?
Hasn't he been through enough?
I wish he'd just.. go.
Slip away one night, so he won't have to live through this anymore.
It's torture. It's inhumane. It's abuse. It's depressing. It's immoral.


  1. Wow, it looks like I just found a good blog to start reading! I hope your grandfather makes it through ok, whether that be on one end of life or the other.


You're already at the end of the post, the big white box is right there, so empty and lonely, why not leave some love? :)