Theola

Kristie's grandmother, Theola, is now in the final stages of lung cancer. We visited her on Sunday night. Kristie got quite the shock when she ventured into the living room of her small apartment to see her. She is just a skeleton. She has changed so much in just a month. It wasn't that long ago that both Theola and Dad were over at our house for dinner.

But Theola's family has rallied around her. Her daughter, Gail, worked with Hospice for years and is helping out. Her son, Ed, Kristie's father, is up yet again from Custer, SD to lend his support. Donnie, another son, actually came up from Arizona to move in with Theola for the final months. Ed refers to him as "Saint Donnie." When no one else stepped up to the plate, Donnie did.

Theola wasn't able to visit much on Sunday. She is pretty out of it. She is on morphine for the pain, but she has no breathing problems whatsoever - unlike Dad. One of the most surreal images I've ever seen was watching Donnie light a cigarette and hand it to Theola. She doesn't inhale anymore, but she wants her cigarettes. Ed even noticed the irony as we sat visiting and chuckled. He has the right attitude. Keep your sense of humor. And besides, she's made it 83 years - 70 of which she has spent smoking. What can it hurt now?

I think of poor Koko and Casey - yet another funeral. They have been through two on their dad's side. Then they went through three on our side. All in the span of three years. Now Theola doesn't have much longer and their great uncle has a precarious health situation too (he is need of a heart, kidney, and lung transplant).

Donnie and Ed were coming down for dinner last night, so I had to run to the grocery store. On my way in, I noticed a man pushing a shopping cart with an oxygen tank sitting in the spot in the cart designed for kids. I froze. If I never see one of those miserable things again I'll be just fine. So I went down a different isle. But as soon as I came out, he was at the end of the row visiting with a man who could only talk with one of those devices that have to be held to his throat and speaks for him in a chillingly mechanical tone. That scene is at least a short story waiting to happen - if not a whole novel.