bittersweet

A week ago today, Brett, Stella, and I drove up North to Park Rapids, Minnesota to my grandparents' cabin. This was a particularly bittersweet visit for me for a few reasons: first, a few weeks ago, my grandpa broke his femur the first night he and my grandma arrived to the cabin, and he has been rehabilitating in a nursing home up there ever since; second, I have been going to the cabin ever since I was a little girl, and your childhood memories are never as good as your adult expectations. Pangs of nostalgia kept nagging at my mind. I think as adults, sometimes we romanticize our memories to a certain extent. When you're little, you don't tend to pick up on the emotional or social cues or family problems as much as you do when you're older, so you're more carefree and can just enjoy life.

I missed seeing Grandpa sitting in a chair on the lawn and looking out peacefully at the serene lake. I remembered when I was a little girl and Grandpa making fun-shaped pancakes for us in the morning. One summer, my mom was pregnant with Susie, and Grandpa made a pregnant lady-shaped pancake. Grandpa would often take us fishing - he wasn't always very patient, which is unfortunate, but he took us, nonetheless. He enjoyed golfing, and when Brett went up with us to the cabin in 2002 when we were dating, they went together. 

Grandma is also getting older and doesn't have as much energy. My grandpa will be 87 next month, and my grandma is 85. Also as a child, you don't think anyone else will age. Time is supposed to stay still at the cabin, that magical, enchanted place. Nothing sad happens there, right? It's all about having fun in the water, going to breakfast at The Great Northern, buying candy at Cuzzins, and hearing the haunting call of the Minnesota loon at night.

Mom, Susie, and I visited Grandpa in the nursing home. I tried to prepare myself for the sadness I would experience, but I fell short by a lot. My grandpa looked so thin. He has Parkinson's. A broken major bone. Would he be crabby? Would he be with it? Fortunately, he was a little conversational. Mom did most of the talking. I brought him a homemade chocolate chip cookie. My grandpa loves cookies. We talked about the lake. We encouraged him to eat more even though he doesn't like the boring food at the home. It was also hard seeing my mom sad about the situation. She rubbed his back and spoke uplifting, encouraging words to him. When it was time to go, I felt my throat do that thing it does when a sob is starting to rise up and you have to just keep it together until it's time to walk out. When Grandpa kissed my hand and thanked me for coming, I have him a kiss on the cheek and then had to exit the room quickly. After Mom got him situated and talked to the nurse briefly, she joined Susie and me in the hall. We were all crying at that point. 

Talking memories

The Lutheran pastor of the church my grandparents would attend summers in Park Rapids; his wife is in the same nursing home due to a stroke. Grandpa told him, "I'm tired of this life." The pastor encouraged him.

God, please let Grandpa Burt recover quickly (he has at least 6 weeks of rehabilitation there) so he can get out to the lake for at least a few days in August before they take down the docks and winterize everything. Help him to trust in God and not become bitter or angry. Heal him, please.