Losing the ones we love

So, fair forewarning:  this is not going to be an easy read. It's not an easy write.

Let me start it off with this:  I found out back in June that my paternal grandmother is dying. They found a brain tumor in her after running a scan, and the tumor was so bad it was pressing on parts of her brain and mimicking Alzheimer's. She had to decide whether or not she would go in for surgery to remove the tumor. She's about 82 years old as of my writing this. Obviously, there's a lot of potential for complications.

When I found this out, my parents offered to fly me back to Montana so I could spend time with her, and most likely say goodbye. I didn't jump at the opportunity. In fact, I spent the next few days trying to figure out if it would be in my best psychological interest to even go back.

Minor back-story time... I was diagnosed with PTSD at age 16 by a friend of mine, and then later by a psychologist. And by age 16 I had dealt with six years of abuse and a constant Catch-22 as a home life. It had gotten to the point that I would adopt family not to add to the family I already had through genetics, but because I was looking to replace the ones I currently had with others who were less likely to add to the psychological trauma. To give my parents credit, they did get me a counselor... Who was an older male who specialized in Christian ministers... After they found out about their son abusing me and the fact that I identified my spiritual path as closer to pagan, and definitely not christian. They don't get a lot of credit.

Fast forward about four years. I'm in college, and start having flashbacks of middle school and the fights I would hear on a regular basis. I also started remembering just how often I got thrown at those stairs in the house. I go back into counseling, and my second year in realize that part of why I've been thrown back is because my parents son had cut off contact with our parents, but purposely kept me in his people to talk to, despite the whole abusing my for six years thing. And my parents would constantly talk about him whenever I was around, as if that was the only topic of conversation that mattered. So I did the only thing that made sense to twenty-one year old me who had been diagnosed with MDD:  I cut my abuser out of my life. I told my parents of my decision the last time I went back to Montana. The next summer they came out I found out that they had reconciled with their son, and they--in essence--expected me to pretend that nothing had ever happened so they could keep up the facade of being "one big happy family". I don't think I'll ever forget that conversation. I have not been back since, and from the looks of things I probably won't go back anytime in the near to distant future.

So now, back to June. I find out that my grandmother is dying, and I get asked if I want to go back and see her. Given that I know that my parents do not want to admit the rupture in the family, I discreetly ask my friends back east if I could have crash space should I go out there. I find a place, and offer a compromise. I would go out and see her and not make my parents have to choose, but I still do not want to see their son while I am out there. Given the history and my general disregard towards him, it's a reasonable thing to request. I don't want to go out and cause drama, and the best way to do that is to just avoid interaction with him altogether. No dice. I basically get told that if I want to see my grandmother and have my parents pay the the trip, I have to abide by their rules. Since at that time I had no money of my own, it's either let them manipulate me or don't go and feel like the bad grandchild. I take the latter option.

So I got a call on Tuesday from my dad. Mostly he's asking about insurance things, and whether or not I get coverage from my employer. Then he tells me that my grandmother--who two months ago had a stroke and a seizure--is down to about 80 pounds, and is not eating. In short, she's fading fast.

Most likely I will not make it out there before she passes, and that bothers me. While I was not close with my grandparents, I do love them, and not being able to say goodbye while they are still in the same plane as you hurts. It hurts to have to choose between seeing her one last time and keeping myself sane, because it's been made clear that my wishes will not be respected.

So if you know me and I seem a little more down that usual, that's why. And if you can, give those you love a hug and tell them how you feel. You never know when everything might change.