Fighting to be Above

Written by: Rebecca A. “Sinead” Fahey-Leigh  

Written on: Between July 8, 2004 and July 13, 2004

Written for: Those who have had to go through a death in the family, and who wish to see, again, a bit further into me.

Dedicated to: All of my family, as well as all of my friends who has proven to be there for me time and time again. Thank you for listening to me though those hard times, and thank you for giving me the chance to talk my thoughts through until I became hoarse.

 

 

 

July 8, 2004

 

It’s 1:30 AM right now. And I’ve come to see that death seems to define life. No matter what we say, do, or think, an end will come to everything that we know. And you know what? Maybe that’s all right.

 

On Saturday, July 3rd, my grandfather went into the hospital. He had stopped breathing for a short while. They brought him in, and ran a few tests. They soon found that he had fluid around his lungs, restricting some of his breathing capacity. But there was also a shadow upon the X-ray, and a CAT scan was soon done. And they saw what the real problem was. Grandad lost over fifty pounds since Christmas. He had more and more trouble breathing. He lost balance and fell. He was wasting away.

 

He had a malignant tumor in his left lung. He had lung cancer all along, and we never knew.

 

I can’t stand hospitals. I never liked them, but I’d go in to say hello to a new mother in the maternity ward. I’d do that. But I couldn’t manage to stay there for long. I don’t like the overly clean environment, I don’t like the smell, I don’t like the bare hallways . . . it strikes me as completely wrong. But I’d brave it, if need be, and there was indeed a need.

 

On June 7th, yesterday, Grandad took a bad turn. His left lung collapsed, due to both the tumor and emphysema. He had been a smoker since the age of twelve, I had heard, and personally, I’m surprised that he’s lasted this long. Many others in my family also feel the same way. So Mom went in last night, and stayed with him through the night, returning back home at five in the morning to get one hour of sleep before she dropped me off at a temporary job.

 

Let me elaborate a little. One of my aunts looks after a girl by the name of Lindsay. She’s energy incarnate. However, the same aunt also lived with Grandad and took care of him. So when things started to deteriorate, she recommended me to the family as a partial replacement until things got better. I’ve gone in and kept an eye upon Lindsay while my aunt either rested or was with Grandad. But today, Mom called me up not two hours after dropping me off, saying that we should all go in to see my grandfather. He had fallen asleep not too long after a few of his children were there, and remained unconscious all day today.

 

So we went in to the hospital, and I saw my grandfather. Eighty-nine years old, frail, and nothing like the strong carpenter-man he had once been. It hurt to see him like this. But I greeted everyone, and saw that an estranged uncle and his wife were here, and accepted by everyone else. They had distanced themselves after they had married, due to some argument or another that’s a completely separate story, but had come back in. Grandad didn’t want the argument to continue, and intentionally had taken their hands and clasped them together. That was before he went unconscious. Mom told me about it on the way. I thought that it was amazing, since I really loved this one uncle, who had been a father-figure for many years to me, when my own father hadn’t been there. We quickly picked our relationship all back up where it had been dropped four years ago. It felt amazing.

 

Another cousin came with her three beautiful boys, one of which is nine months old, and about fifty pounds. I hardly exaggerate this. The boy is built like a tank, and joins his slightly-older brother in having the most beautiful dark-brown sugar skin. Their mother is white white Irish, while their father is from Cape Verde, and is, as her father says with a friendly grin, “as black as night!” He’s also the biggest kid of the three.

 

So Lindsay had three playmates while I got to talk to my aunts and uncles. There was a light atmosphere around the room. It was hardly the way you’d expect a place to feel while there was an imminent death just around the corner. But it was good. Cousins and uncles were bantering, I narrowly escaped getting coffee intentionally split upon me after bopping my uncle’s shoulder with a fist, and I felt almost as if I were at home.

 

I held my Grandfather’s hand and watched his face as he breathed. I cried, remembering how strong he had been when my Nana had been around. She had died of lung cancer, but by way of second-hand smoke. That had been almost ten years ago: December 26, 1994. I still feel her love, and especially now. Love never dies, even though she or he whom gives the love may pass on, that love that they have will never leave. Soon they’ll be reunited.

 

After a while, I had to bring Lindsay back home since she was overtired. After a small lunch, I managed to get her to take a nap. I slept as well, barely having six hours of sleep the night before, and stress before sleeping. After she woke up nearly two hours later, I had gotten a call from both my mom and Lindsay’s father. Mom said that I’d possibly be going back into the hospital later on tonight, while Lindsay’s father had said that he’d be back in an hour. So I made dinner, got the young girl to eat, and her father returned.

 

I was dropped off home but went back out soon after to the library. I sent an email out to my friends, giving them a brief explanation about an absence I knew was going to happen to me. I saw an email from Sapphire with an art commission about an upcoming fanfic she had been working on, as well as an email from an old friend from Beast Wars Comedy and Fanfiction, my original hosting site. Rain was delighted to have heard from me, and I from her. I miss the talks that we had shared over three years ago, and I hope that someday we may be able to talk like that again.

 

Once the notes were all in place, I biked home and had just enough time to rinse off and wash my hair. I chanced into something slightly better-looking than jean shorts and a t-shirt, and we were back at the hospital. By this time, Grandad had been placed in a private room. I sat with my cousins and talked for a bit, annoyed that favorite uncle of mine, and then went in to look at the old man. He was having a slight bit more trouble breathing than before. I expected that.

 

After a loose schedule of talking with the cousins, then going in to check upon the others in the room with Grandad, I happened to be in there as two nurses were using a sponge-like thing to moisten his mouth. Immediately, he puckered his lips shut. This caused amusement among the family, and I admit, I was smiling as well. This was the first movement I had seen him make since we had arrived here. His hands clenched, his forehead wrinkled slightly, and he refused to open his mouth. The nurse was laughing quietly as she managed to moisten his cheeks and tongue anyway, with or without his cooperation.

 

Seeing that my cousin was having trouble with that massive baby boy of his, I offered to take him back out of the room. Only I encountered another cousin of mine, who’s one month older than I am. (There are over thirty of my generation in this family, if you’re wondering. And about five of a next generation already starting to come up, including the boy-tank.) I knew that my face lit up when I saw him. I hadn’t expected him, and I had missed talking with him. He said that he wished we had met again under different circumstances. I couldn’t really say anything, but I managed to hug him, and he went into the room. Not fifteen minutes later, and he was out, talking to us about Halo 2, and everything Xbox. Oh, do I love Halo, yes I do. It provides wondrous distractions from painful reality.

 

After a while about half of the family left, and soon it was our turn to leave. I went in, and then helped spread another blanket over my grandfather. And I cried. To see a man who had been a loud-speaking, robust, ornery so-and-so being reduced to this . . . It’s saddening. Heart-wrenching. I kissed his forehead, whispering that I love him, that it was okay. “Don’t worry, old man. Don’t worry.” And I cried. But he’s comfortable and peaceful, and the kindest way for him to go out is in his sleep.

 

We left. That was an hour ago, now, since it’s 2:27 AM. I have to get to sleep. More will be written as time progresses.

 

 

 

Still July 8, but twelve hours since I started this. Time on the computer reads 1:42 PM. I woke up at 11:30 AM, but rolled over and went back to sleep. Woke up again about a half hour ago, but as you can tell, I stayed up. I’m feeling better than I have in a long while. Nearly twelve hours of sleep can revitalize anyone.

 

 

 

11:15 PM

 

It was peaceful. Grandad went out while we were singing “Amazing Grace.” But he was peaceful to the end, and he had his pride. I saw him go. He had three bouts of gasping for breath, his mouth shut tight, and each time we knew that he was closer to the end. During one such bout, we knew that it would be his last. So we sang. We told him we loved him. We said who was with him, and who was around him. He stopped breathing first, but I could see his pulse still going. Then that, too, flickered, wavered, and went out. That was around seven-PM. Bells from a nearby church went off just as he left, Mom said. I hadn’t noticed.

 

Most of us were crying. I was sobbing as well. I didn’t mind. Two of my younger cousins were crying as well, and I gathered them to me, holding one to each shoulder. They cried with me. Their elder brother could only look at the face of the man who had been our patriarch.

 

Brendan Anthony Fahey was the father of eleven children who lived, and possibly three who had not made it. He had been a scoundrel, but a strong man who didn’t waver in what he thought, and wouldn’t change his mind for anything. He had been a man who had been extremely handsome, passing that physical attractiveness to my uncles. He had married a simply beautiful woman who was my Nana, by the name of Margaret Fahy. Together, they had six boys and five girls, nine of which added to the numbers so that now I have over twenty-nine cousins. Their looks have traveled through our family, so that you can see the resemblance between cousins and even those of my mother’s generation. I have a cousin who even looks almost exactly like I do. I have cousins who can talk with me as an equal, no matter what age they or I may be.

 

I have a family who will always be there for each other no matter what may arise.

 

And I thank God and my lord Jesus for that.

 

 

 

 

On the Other Side of Forever

Rebecca A. Fahey-Leigh

 

            Fly, be free!

            Don’t turn around, don’t you worry

            We’ll look after each other

            We’ll meet again, you’ll just see

            On the other side of forever

 

There’ll be joy and laughter

No more sadness or pain

It’s a happily ever after

Though you’re gone, thank God you came

 

            Fly, be free!

            Don’t turn around, don’t you worry

            We’ll look after each other

            We’ll meet again, you’ll just see

            On the other side of forever

 

She’s waiting for you up there

Nana’s waiting for her dance

You’ll once again play flute without care

Stiff limbs will move freely; here’s your chance!

 

            Fly, be free!

            Don’t turn around, don’t you worry

            We’ll look after each other

            We’ll meet again, you’ll just see

            On the other side of forever

 

On the other side you’ll see

There’s a brightness that will be            (2x)

 

            Fly, be free!

            Don’t turn around, don’t you worry

            We’ll look after each other

            We’ll meet again, you’ll just see

            On the other side of forever

 

 

 

 

July 15, 2004

 

It’s been a rather long week. I’ve been all over the map, it feels. On Friday and Saturday, I really don’t remember what happened. I think I slept most of those days away. Wait, no, I remember Saturday. Nicole “StarGazer” came over and she met the family. We went to Wal-Mart just before closing.

 

Sunday I biked to church, then set up for the services. I’m part of the Audio/Video team, and I mainly help out with the PowerPoints and other such computer nonsense. After services, I sat in the fellowship hall and listened and watched my church family, thinking about life. After a short while, I found Mom and told her that I was going back home. So I went, and was passed by on the road by my senior pastor on his motorcycle, beeping his horn at me. I waved, then continued on, smiling. He’s like a father to me, and I really appreciate the way that he always looks out for not only myself, but the entire youth contingent at the church. He’s simply wonderful.

 

So I’m biking to the apartment complexes I live in, and on this one hill, I always ride down it without my hands upon the handlebars. Balance and skill usually keep me in the seat of the bike. Not this time. I hit a rounded curb, still no-hands, thinking that I can just pop over it and its mate, but . . . no. Bad idea to begin with. The tire hits the rim of the second curb, twists, and the bike goes down. Thus, I go down. And skin both my knees and my palms. Sheer genius, I tell you.

 

I look down at my feet, seeing that they’re out of the clipless pedals (I’ll tell you about what my bike is like some other time, but basically it’s a road-bike with a few advantages). So I didn’t break my ankle. I look at my bike next, and see that the handlebars are twisted to the left, and the right brake is also facing left. The bike broke the fall, even through I got a few bumps and bruises.

 

Thank goodness neither of the aunts staying with my family were home. They both made a big fuss about my fall, and I don’t know what they would have made of my actually walking in with slightly-bleeding cuts. So I cleaned myself up, and soon Mum was home, demanding to see what I had done to myself, since I had called her and told her. She saw the “boo-boo”s and grinned at me. “Did it feel good?”

 

I replied instantly that it actually had. It was the elation that I hadn’t been hurt worse, and that I had actually gotten up after the fall that was the good feeling.  Even though I hurt, it was a reminder of respect towards the bike, the ground, and good old gravity. Thank you, Newton’s Law. Like I needed another bang to my left knee.

 

 

 

On Monday, July 12th, the wake for Grandad was held. I had made a picture collage for the occasion, consisting of him, his children, my generation, and my cousin’s three boys. I also met up with Patrick, that cousin of mine who’s into Halo, and we basically spent the day together. My friend Krissy, my “identical” twin-sister, also came, and we stayed together. See, the reason for the quotation-marks, are because I’m white Irish. I hardly ever tan. I burn like there’s no tomorrow. Krissy, on the other hand, is from the Dominican Republic. She’s Hispanic and looks it, especially in the summer, when her skin is nearly black. She’s also about six inches taller than I am. So we’re “identical.” We’ve been best friends for over seven years, and I love her with all my heart like the elder sister I’ve never had.

 

Another cousin slept over that night, coincidentally the younger sister to Pat. I showed her my anime and manga collection and stuff, but we had to sleep, since we had to get up early for the funeral on the next day.

 

 

 

Tuesday, July 13th, Grandad was buried.

 

Now, I respect different beliefs of faith and all, and I love the diversity that it represents . . . but I don’t think that I really would want to go through another Catholic funeral again. If I didn’t have ADD before the funeral, with the priest who preached, I think I contracted it after. (I actually don’t have ADD, but that’s a joke among those who I had graduated with. We said that because of the nearly-constant stimuli of something always happening at the Aggie, we contracted ADD or ADHD somehow and . . . yeah. No offence meant to those who might have either, or who might be Catholic.)

 

We watched Grandad be buried, and then went to a reception were I managed to put a fussy five-month-old to sleep after a bit of a hassle, saving his mother from the trouble. After that we returned home, where I was completely slaughtered by Pat on Halo, but I managed to get one kill on him. HAH!!!

 

 

 

So that just about brings you up to date. Two family members have already returned to Ireland, but in seven weeks, they’ll be coming back to America with their kids for a family reunion. I think that I’ll document that one day at a time so that you don’t have these massive dumps like the one I’m writing now.

 

Life goes on; the road will ever be at our feet: all we have to do is take the first step.

 

Death is not an end, a closing of a book; it is merely a new chapter. It is a beginning. It is a marriage, if you can make that connection. It is a birth of a separate type, but with its own pain and yet, joy and elation that it has passed.

 

 

 

I love you Grandad, old man. I love you eternally. Give Nana a kiss and a hug for me.