I AM

I am me, a daughter, sister, Child of God, wife, mother and grandmother.

I became a daughter, sister, and grandmother because of choices others made.  I became a Child of God, wife, and mother due to choices I made.  And the “me” part of who I am is ever changing.

One of my roles in life was chosen for me by others.  What role, you ask.  I am the “sick/hospital” grandma for our daughter’s four boys.

I need to insert a note here.  Except for her first two surgeries, I have been the one waiting as Terri had surgeries.  Jon, Terri’s husband and dad to those four boys, is not — bless his heart — good at being in a hospital.  Note two: Unless I am the one in the hospital, we do not let Bill — bless his heart — go either.  What is it with men?  For us, it works best if I am there and calls and texts keep everyone else informed. 

When did the boys assign me this role of sick/hospital grandma?

Although I had helped when Matthew was sick, I think this really started when Matthew was about two.  He had to stay overnight, in the hospital, and Terri could not stay with him.  She was nursing Matthew’s new brother, Joshua, and only one person was allowed to stay.  Now, common sense would tell you that a baby should not be counted, but a very stern nurse said, “The rule is one.”  I told Terri, “You go home.  I will stay.  He will sleep and you can be here early.”  With that, she pushed the tears back, put on a smile, and said, “Grandma is staying here with you.”  Matthew quit crying before Terri got to the elevator.  I am sure Terri cried all the way home. 

From then on, I was the “sick/hospital” grandma for those boys.  Over the years, I have made trips to Rochester to sit with one or the other of them after the plea, "I don’t feel good.  Can you come over?”  Of course, I went.  I imagine they returned to school and said, “I don’t need a doctor’s slip.  Grandma will tell you how sick I was.”

Then — remember there are four boys — surgeries began.  Tim, boy #4, was the first to have surgery.  He had a cyst removed from his hand.  Yes, I was there, but I doubt if he remembers it.  He was small.

I was still on restrictions, after foot surgery, when I received a call from Joshua, boy #2, “Grandma, I have to have surgery.  I told them you would need a chair and you had to have your feet up.  My room is close to the elevator or we can get a wheel chair.  You will be here, right?”

Of course I was.  I was there when they brought him back to the room and I was there to hold his hand while his mom went home to get a shower. 

“I have to have my tonsils out,” Tim said.  Oh my.  Little Tim.  So cute.  So, so ornery!  “You will be there, right?”

Of course I was.  I was there when he took the hand of the nurse, picked up Monkey George, and walked down the hall.  Yes, walked.  With children anything to help them not be scared is a blessing.  I was there when he came back to recovery and was the lucky one to be standing there when he got sick.  He went home and I helped so his mom could work.  He told us over and over, “I didn’t scream and cry like that other kid.”  He was very proud of that.  Many years later, I was at Riley hospital when he needed surgery.

“Did you check with grandma to make sure that date works for her?” Joshua asked his mother. 

Of course the date worked.  Any date would have worked.  Now a college student, some joint problems needed corrected so off to South Bend we went.  We went again when more surgery was needed.  As they were dismissing him, he asked, “Can you get the car nice and warm for me?”

Of course I went out — in the cold — started the car and had it toasty warm when he and his mother climbed in.  It also seems my car goes to surgeries.  It is easier to get into than their vehicles.

Noah, boy number 3, feeling left out, corrected that emotion by stepping on something in the river and – you guessed it – had to have surgery on his foot.  This time I was not there.  Neither was his mother.  Nor anyone else.  COVID restrictions would not allow anyone in the hospital with him.  We waited at home.  Let me tell you something – not being able to hug Noah before they wheeled him off to surgery and knowing he would have to wake up in a room by himself was not easy.  It seemed like days, not hours, waiting for the phone to ring and to hear the words, “He is out of surgery and doing fine.” 

How could he be fine?  He was alone! 

And just last week, Matthew, who is 25 and no longer little, had surgery.  Was I there?

Of course I was there.  And so was my car.

Sometimes roles that others give us are not roles we want.  This one — the sick/hospital grandma role — is one I am honored to have.  It means those boys trust me.