Adulting is hard, y'all. Being a grown up isn't all fun and games. Yes, there are husbands and babies and wine and all of those things are pretty great, but sometimes adulting sucks.
Today we moved Grandpa from the hospital and into a rehab facility. It's a good facility, it was my first choice, but it's still a skilled nursing unit with rehabilitation. FYI, skilled nursing is what most of us call a nursing home or an "old folks home". There are old people scooting around aimlessly in wheel chairs, there are old people sitting and staring blankly, there are old people stopping to talk to and touch my baby. Did I mention all the old people? Y'all, I'm not knocking old people. I hope that I get to live long enough to be considered "old" by some 30 something that doesn't know what she's talking about. I'll sit in my wheel chair someday and giggle to myself about what I used to consider old.
I've heard it said, and I've even repeated it myself, that one should not regret growing old because it is a privilege denied to many. This is true. Not everyone gets to live to be 80 years old. Not everyone gets to be married to their love for 50+ years. Not everyone gets to have children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. That is surely a privilege. You know what else, though? Growing old is hard. It's humbling and sometimes humiliating. It's scary and frustrating and uncertain. It's a whole lot of things and a lot of those things don't feel like a privilege... and I can only say all of these things from my 36 year old view point. I'm 36 years old and today I showed an administrator my power of attorney (thank God for that foresight & planning) and then I signed a billion pieces of paper to admit my grandpa to a facility that he may or may not ever get to leave. Then I sat with him and tried my best, again, to explain why he had to be there and why he couldn't go home tonight. I asked him if he understood and he said yes. I asked him to explain it to me so that I knew he understood. Then I listened as my God loving, never say a cuss word, Grandpa said, "I understand that this is shitty."
Word, Grandpa. This is shitty. I don't think God will mind us saying so.
Grandpa will be in this rehab facility for up to 100 days, so long as Medicare agrees that he is making progress toward his goal of returning to his prior level of function. After that? Only God knows. Grandpa knows, as much as he is comprehending right now, that he will not be going back home. We will be going through and cleaning out his house in the coming weeks and he will never live there again. If he is able to regain the ability to walk and care for his own personal needs then he will come live with me & Drew. We haven't really talked to him about what will happen if he can't regain that strength and ability, but the truth is that if he can't reach that point then I will not be able to physically care for him in my home. There's no real benefit in discussing that with him right now. He's still a little out of it. Kind of a lot out of it. He has moments of clarity where it all seems possible and then he has a lot more moments when he thinks there are dogs running around in his room. What he needs most is to know that he isn't there because we've given up. Our agreement is this... he will do his best and I will do my best and we will leave the rest up to God. That's all we can really do.