Your Next Chapter Starts With One Conversation

I was incredibly blessed to have four amazing grandparents; both sets had very different personalities, but they all shared the same core values.  My dad’s parents lost their youngest son the year before I was born, so in many ways, I became the center of their world, or you might say, the golden child.

My dad and grandpa both worked in the mining industry, in logistics and purchasing, so as the mines shut down, my grandparents were transferred all over Nevada, with a few initial years in Southwestern New Mexico.   

We spent our holidays and summer breaks with them, primarily because we were the only grandchildren on my dad’s side and partly because our presence was not optional. 

My grandpa would chase my sisters and me all over small-town Nevada.  We would see that Suzuki Sidekick erratically weaving down the road, lights flashing, horn honking and inevitably, someone would say, “your grandpa is coming,” before  every kid in town would witness us being ordered into the car.  He would give a finger-wagging lecture to those that had normal parents, and we would do it all over again the next day. He gave us so many childhood stories… those stories you end up telling later in life–from a chaise lounge in your therapists’ office, but, if nothing else, he gave us all a sense of humor. 

As we both got older, my husband and I played a part tending to their needs. That could include anything from staining their gazebo, being on call tech support for the DVD player, their new phone or, God forbid, new TV remotes, gathering and splitting their firewood to scheduling and attending their doctor’s appointments.  Those duties expanded beyond them to printing driving directions, booking hotels, and making hospital stops for their friends.  Thankfully, we now have my parents taking this torch and filling this void. 

When they got older and my grandma got sick, our roles became very medically focused on being a second set of ears to interpret the doctor’s diagnosis and recommendations, taxiing them to appointments and keeping track of the next steps.  When my grandma died, my grandpa had already been in the early stages of dementia. After his stroke, we had to get him to face going to assisted living, or “Green Acres,” as it is not so fondly referred to in our family. 

In getting him set up to move, I learned so much about navigating the financial aspect of specialized care and the importance of advanced directives.  My grandpa died before he ever made it to Green Acres, which, if I am being honest, was a good thing.  I knew I was going to spend the better part of my day apologizing and begging them to let him stay.