I visited my grandmother with my mother the other day. It's getting really hard. She can barely talk.
I fed her spoonfuls of mush and cuddled my head on her shoulder. My mother says I'm the light of her life.
It really reminded me of when I visited my grandfather on his deathbed, and sang his Manitoulin song (yes, he recorded an album about Manitoulin Island...) with him, and afterwards had to leave the room because I was crying so badly. Though he could barely remember his own wife, he had me. And we had the music. It's in my veins. I was the light of his life, and he is the light of mine.
It still kills me. Precious moments, death. Kind people with tragic pasts. It's really hard for me to deal with.
I was able to not cry at the nursing home. I don't know if I can do it again. But I want to be there, feeding her, every day. I don't think I can do it again without crying.
Loneliness makes me sad. Not recording life moments makes me regretful, which makes me sad. Having to face life often makes me sad.