I really don�t mean to be selfish but um... I can�t take grandma being suicidal. I can�t. When my mom was suicidal it was much more dramatic and contrived. After the first few episodes it got rather boring (enter the point where the crowd is bored with waiting and starts chanting �JUMP�). However, it�s a completely different thing with grandma.

I came home tonight after a fairly eventful evening, salivating at the though of writing a good thoughtful and relatively light hearted diary entry. What do I get? Grandma shifting her legs constantly under her sheets, in tears.

Of course I ask �What�s wrong?�. Mental note, never ask questions you aren�t fully prepared to be answered. Where do we start? Legs jumping (Nervous legs syndrome, except it�s painful as well) Allergic reaction to something that has her covered in a rash and itching like mad. Chest pains that the heart doctor thinks is esophageal spasms. Really fucking painful, though, apparently. And of course intense shoulder pain coupled with nausea and lower abdominal cramps.

Basically, she�s fucking miserable. She�s been miserable for awhile now. This surgery has been fucked.

So I ask if there is anything I can do (really stupid question that helpless people often ask), and she asks if I really need her around because she doesn�t want to go through another day feeling like she does and to please understand that it�s too much and she�s going crazy.

Of course, completely denying the obvious implication I choke out �What do you mean?� And she explains how she wants to take some pills, a lot of pills, and go to sleep forever. That she�s tired, so very tired of hurting. That she wants to die. She wants me to understand, to give her my blessing.

NO!!! My body shudders as 26 years of vulnerability erupt in a spasm of tears.

NO! I will not. I fucking refuse!

I have all her medicine now. I�ll give it to her when she needs it. She won�t take any pain pills for her pain because she doesn�t want to itch anymore, she says the itching is starting to hurt. She won�t take the pills for her jumping legs for that same reason, she says there is too much shit in her body. I don�t know.

Now I know the whole theory behind euthanasia, and how selfish it is for me to keep her rooted here and in pain, and guess what? I don�t fucking care. Yes, I have a fear of abandonment. Yes, this is likely due to everyone that has ever been dear to me has hurt and abandoned me at some point. All except grandma. I won�t let her go, not like this. Not now. I know I�ll never be ready for it and I don�t know if I�ll survive the loss, if I�ll want to. But no, not now damn it.

And to think this entry was originally going to be about the intoxicating scent of a woman and the newly discovered fact that I�m a dysfunctional Irish gay man (I love women, and think men are disgusting. That�s a problem as a gay man, apparently).

But now I�m going to go lay in bed and search for some meaning in the blinding staccato blasts of pain assaulting the backs of my eyes. No brain, I will not let you out.

It�s not exactly my grocery list, but here it is.

-G

P.S. This is how pathetic I am. I want nothing more then someone to curl up with in bed and cry. Why can�t I be stronger?