Two days before his 89th birthday, grandpa left. I thought I could accept this very detached. First, I made a long-term psychological preparation. Second, I fell from my bed in the middle of the night six months ago. Since then, he can only live in a wheelchair and bed every day, and he can't take care of himself. Besides eating, he can only sit and sleep. I have discussed it with my brother many times and feel that his life has entered a state of pure meaninglessness and pain, and death may be a relief for him.
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But at that time, we didn't really face death itself. One year before his death, grandpa had been living in a remote hometown town, and was taken care of by his equally elderly grandmother and children who took turns to go home to serve. 20 18, 18 One evening in late February, my family suddenly called and said that grandpa had stopped eating and had a large area of blue-purple lump on his body. The next day he was sent to the county hospital. The conclusion of the examination is that he has internal organ failure and serious internal bleeding, and there is not much room for rescue. Grandpa was taken home that day.
At noon on the third day, my brother and I arrived home. Later, my uncle, father and several aunts also came back from all over the country to wait for farewell. This is a very delicate matter. Grandfather's children and grandchildren mostly work in county towns or beyond. If he's not really dying, it's hard to get anything back together. Everyone agrees that he only needs his six children to go home and wait for him, while his daughter-in-law, son-in-law and grandchildren only need to go home to attend the funeral, because the day before his death cannot be accurately predicted, which means he can't afford it.
Before grandpa, my grandparents died in my second year of junior high school and my third year of senior high school respectively, and I didn't attend their funerals. At that time, my parents and teachers agreed that learning was more important to me, so I obeyed this decision. Because of this, the math teacher in junior high school even praised me publicly in class. I couldn't wait to find a hole to get into, but it took me many years to really know what I had lost.
At work, I have been exposed to many physical diseases and deaths, but it is the first time for me to witness the shadow of death inch by inch. Go home once in June, 65438+ 10 month. At that time, my grandfather was very thin, but he was still thin in the ordinary range, but not this time. He has black stool every day, which is proof of bleeding in the digestive system. He can no longer absorb energy from the outside world, and muscles and fat are rapidly lost at a speed visible to the naked eye until every bone in his body becomes clearly visible. His strength is too weak to turn over, he can't cough, he can't signal to us that he has peed again, and his consciousness is too vague to spit out a clear word.
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But he was the only one struggling. The children who come back are busy cooking, eating dinner, discussing the aftermath, guessing when he will die, and even discussing his birthday seriously. It is unlucky to find out when he died. Sometimes they look at the bed and say, "He is quite stable". There is no need to prepare meals for him, because he will vomit even in those two days when his illness suddenly worsens. They unanimously declared that he had surpassed food and tea.
But, look carefully, it's not like that. Two days after his illness changed, he still seemed unable to absorb it, but he became extremely thirsty and hungry. Once, he even grabbed the spoon I gave him water and stuffed it in his mouth. Suddenly, his strength was so great that I couldn't catch it. I broke his finger, and he seemed to suddenly understand and let go. I don't know what he understood at that moment. At other times, especially in the middle of the night, he became extremely painful and uneasy. He kept trying to shout with his mouth open, but he couldn't make any noise. This kind of struggle sometimes lasts for an hour or two, sometimes for more than half a night, but his struggle is silent. Everyone agreed that he slept soundly.
His whole body was almost a skeleton, but his hands were swollen and cold. If a hand reaches out to him, he will hold it tightly and pull it to his chest; If there is no hand reaching out to him, he has been scratching around the bed and pillow. My uncle complained that it was a habit of my brother and me. I suggested injecting him with painkillers or using a sputum aspirator, but they undoubtedly refused. My uncle, cousin and cousin are doctors and nurses in town hospital and county hospital respectively. They have more medical authority, and I quickly chose not to destroy some kind of "harmony." I really didn't do anything to help him except sit quietly beside him and hold his hand.
In the end, he lay alone in bed, struggling silently, as if he were on another planet, while others were warming up and chatting in the next room, no longer making any efforts and caring, waiting for the last moment wholeheartedly, and declaring that "death is a relief for him." No one thinks there is anything wrong with this. Our neighbors praised us for our filial piety, at least we all went home. This process lasted for seven long days, and his breathing became weaker and weaker. In those late nights when I watched him growl silently, I sat there alone, trembling with fear. For the first time in my life, I know that death is such a long and painful torture. And if we don't even look at his pain, how can we be qualified to say "relief" for him?
I can understand my parents. They have never been treated well. Because there are many people, my uncle's bed is in the hall. When he was sleeping, everyone was watching TV with the lights on and talking loudly. He never feels that he is wrong. In their passivity and indifference, there are elements that endure all the year round, elements that are ashamed to express, and elements that are at a loss. Even after living for decades, they have never really faced death, let alone learned how to say goodbye.
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