Emphysema - a Granddaughter's Story

It's a horrible thing to watch someone you love, dying before your very eyes. When the person you're close to suffers from Emphysema, the death watch can take years.

My grandfather was 5 months shy of his 82nd birthday, when he passed away. He suffered terribly for six or seven years prior, four of which I lived with, and helped care for him (along with other members of my family). That period in our lives was not easy. I have no idea how many times I emptied out his urinal, changed his bedding, cooked his meals, ran some of his errands, listened to stories about his childhood, and helped to make him as comfortable as possible.
Sometimes I got so frustrated, that I began having nightmares that he was this evil person who had some spell over me so I could do his bidding. Perhaps I never really appreciated how this experience was affecting him as well. Certainly, he was in pain. He was on a shopping list full of medications! He must have felt he had little dignity left. (In fact, he'd had his cigarettes rationed, and his driver's license taken away, for his own safety). He tried desperately to wheel himself out to the family room to see people, and would make attempts to reach the bathroom by himself, to avoid having to use the urinal. The process would take him 10 minutes, just getting himself out of the bed and into his wheelchair. By that point, he'd be exhausted. Of course we'd help him, as he'd allow. I wonder how many nightmares he had, about what his body was doing to him?

The last 24 hours of his life, still haunt me. The night before my grandfather passed, he had difficulty sleeping. He called out for my uncle to bring him pain killers. I went into his room because his yelling was so loud, that it had woken me up. I held out two pills in my hand, and offered them with some water. He refused to take them, and continued yelling for my uncle. I was upset and tired, and said "Grandpa, I want to help you, but you're not letting me. If you're in pain, take these." He just wouldn't! So, I went back to bed, and let my uncle take over.

The next day, my aunt brought him his usual breakfast of oatmeal, and my uncle checked in on him before he left for work. The man from hospice came to give my grandpa a bath, as he did twice a week. (He was one of grandpa's favorite caregivers). He told us that as he was leaving, grandpa stopped him and said "Don't leave me! Don't leave me!", so he stayed with him for about 15 minutes more, until grandpa calmed down. Looking back on it, I think he knew he was dying, and wanted someone to be with him.

Sometime mid-afternoon, I went to his room to check on him. I'm not sure that he actually saw me, but rather seemed to look right through me. He was very agitated. I asked if he was ok, but he didn't say anything. He was looking for something (which I assumed was a cigarette, but perhaps could have been an inhaler). I came in a half hour later, to check his pitcher of water. At first I thought he was sleeping. I freaked out a little bit, as I usually did when he was in a really deep sleep, and I believe I called his name. I looked at his chest, and saw slight movement (about the best one could hope for in his condition). I left to fill the pitcher, came back, and saw his chest heave in and out, though really pronounced. I heard a (final) exhale. That was the last time I saw any movement from him. I believe that was when he died.

My grandfather wanted someone with him. To a point, I guess that I was. He should of had someone there to hold his hand, though, and to comfort him. I didn't know that would be his last 30 minutes of life! When he died, one of his arms was outstretched, like he was reaching out for something (or someone) that wasn't there.

It's closing in on a decade since he passed away. I miss him, and I mourn a bit for the fact he isn't here to see my children- his great-grandchildren. He was very proud of me as his granddaughter, and I know that my kids would have been special to him, as well. I can only hope that I did enough for him over the last several years of his life. I hope that I helped to give him some peace, some comfort, and love. I know it's more than he would have gotten in a nursing home, but was it enough for him? (I hope it was, grandpa).