My grandmother's life didn't slowly slip away to old age. It just suddenly crumbled.
Recently, I have been able to relate the story of her sudden brain stroke to a story I read in the paper while I was away from Boston, on business in the Midwest.
I opened up the paper on Monday morning only to find out that the Old Man of the Mountain unique rock formation in New Hampshire fell apart over the weekend, bringing down with it one of the mythic, staunch, steadfast and most well known symbols of New England.
Although I was not born in New England, an important part of my growing up is definitely there. One of my first memories of getting acquainted with the region is doing a lot of hiking in the summer we got there, climbing up mountains in Maine and New Hampshire and perhaps even seeing the Man of the Mountain. I don't remember if I actually did see him, but I believe I did. What's true, though, is that I was very familiar with it.
Similarly to the fall of the Old Man, so was the fall of my grandmother. I crisply remember the Saturday afternoon when she somehow ended up with a brain stroke, and I was left scrambling to bring together the pieces of her fall. I was a 19-year old soldier who lived with my grandmother when I was not in the military. I was going back to the base the next morning. I had been wondering to myself if I should go window-shopping, breathe in a last bit of fresh air before I go back to military life for the next few weeks. I decided to go.
When I returned, I found my neighbors in grandma's home, trying to give her some water. She was sitting on a chair, disoriented and unable to speak. What the hell just happened? I remember thinking.
Both grandma's stroke and the fall of the Old Man happened while I was away. I felt guilty for not being there for grandma as she was falling, for not staying with her. But how could I have known? And would that have really mattered if I were there or not? I've gone over this many times in my mind and I think that perhaps someone up there wanted to spare me the shock and trauma of witnessing grandma's actual fall. I think it would have been much worse- perhaps even mentally unbearable- to witness such a tragic and sudden occasion happening like that to a loved one.
But yet a sense of uneasiness spread over me as I was trying to understand the consequences of what had happened. How can such terrible and unexplainable things happen to such pillars of your life, while you re away? Can people, and indeed other symbols, just all of a sudden fall away during your physical or mental absence? After this happened, sometimes I feel like I always have to be mentally ready for the next loss to whip me, always prepared for a tragedy. It is very tiring and frightening to live life this way, but sometimes I'm not sure how else I should live it after such an experience, and how I can put it behind me.
Also, another thing that bothers me is that it doesn't necessarily matter if you re there or not. It didn't matter if thousands of people had witnessed the fall of the Old Man or if it happened in the dead of night. But yet we think that if we are there perhaps we may have more control of the situation. This is only partially true- we only have control in how we react to the situation, but not necessarily to the situation itself.
Just like the Old Man, my grandmother did not come back together. Us as well as the doctors tried unsuccessfully to mend together the pieces of her mind, but she was never the same. After being home for a long time, she was finally moved to an Old Age Home, to this day unable to clearly communicate, have any sense of time or memory, or even care for herself on a daily basis. Thankfully, though, she still does remember us.
I miss both grandma and the Old Man of the Mountain. They are both symbols of my life. Although a human being cannot be compared to a bunch of rocks, I somehow find the two events strikingly similar. Sometimes, I still can't find peace in the events that had happened, although I'm getting there.
May they both rest, peacefully but unforgotten.
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