I wrote in early May that my grandpa had a stroke. He's been in transitional care for 2 weeks now and he's plateauing, so they're kicking him out within the next week. It stinks. Well, it's reasonable in a medical way, it's just sad that he isn't getting better, he probably won't get better, and he never gets to go home to his townhouse. My parents are leaving in 2 weeks for a month-long trip to Europe and my uncle was supposed to be leaving soon for 6 months in Belize (wow, we sound fancier than we really are), just to add to the crazy. Apparently there are respite care places where grandpa can go for a month or two while the family figures out where he can move permanently into an assisted living place. So my mom is running all over town checking those out and then when she gets back, they can finalize assisted living plans.
I'm just so sad that his brain isn't what it was. Yeah, he is 93, but he was so much more capable than anyone else close to his age. It doesn't seem fair that he spent so long taking care of Grandma and only had 6 months before getting sick himself. Granted, he certainly made the most of those months, including an Amtrak ride to Virginia to visit his 95 year old brother.
He knows who we are, but he can't converse at the level he used to, and he has balance trouble. This is the man who spent the last decade writing his 1500 page memoir and was walking 1/2 mile to the grocery store and planting my mom's garden in recent months.
I always saw my grandfather as Superman. I named Peter after him. I knew he wouldn't REALLY live forever, but it certainly felt like he would.