Being in Texas has been extremely eye-opening. I've found out about a lot of family secrets, and the can of worms I closed when my Papa Cannon died has popped open.
Watching someone die by inches is awful. Because that's what's happening to Granny, a slow march right into the grave, we've given the DNR order, stopped the treatment of her pnemonia, and are sitting around waiting for the inevitable. Two of my Aunts and my Mom are delusionally waiting for a miracle that won't ever come, but Aunt Pat, my Dad, and I have accepted that it would be a miracle if she lasted for seven more days. It sucks, but honestly I'd rather it happen quickly, because being locked inside your own body is a Hell I wouldn't wish on anyone. I'm just glad we're letting her die with dignity. We just took her off the blood thinners that she was put on to prevent another stroke, and are upping the morphine to keep her calm, but between the fever and the fluid in her lungs along with being in the equivalent of a vegetative state, it's near impossible.
Aunt Pat told me yesterday that my Papa Cannon started a college fund for me when I was two, but my parents stole the money so he canceled the account. It really hurts to know that the financial problems that have arisen because of the lack of planning on my parents part could have and would have been moot if my parents wouldn't have been so greedy. It makes me so angry, but mostly it just hurts. Because not only did my Papa teach me how to ride a bike, open and crush an aluminum can, peel an apple, sneak cookies, how to give the best hugs, how to make a bonfire, and the importance of trying my hardest he also was the only person in my life who set up a safety net so I could follow my dreams. And my parents took that away from me.
fun awful tales from the crypt tomorrow.)