“Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family.”
― Anthony Brandt
It begins to rain almost as soon as we leave.
My brother Grant is driving; Brooke, my sister and Grant’s twin, sits next to him, doing her makeup in the narrow mirror on the back of the sun visor. I’m in the backseat, unshowered and dressed in yesterday’s clothes. Each of us pulled into the car by a call from our mother: “You need to come to the hospital.”
For nine months now, my grandmother’s health has unfolded like the chapter outline of a medical textbook, as undulating as a rollercoaster: brain surgery, broken hip, hip replacement, infections, blood clots – you name it, chances are she went through it.
And for eight of those nine months, I attempted to ride the rollercoaster from Asia via an endless exchange of emails and phone calls. On the best days, I managed to catch my grandmother on Skype, when she could pick up the hospital’s Wifi on her iPad, and a wave of relief would wash over me at hearing her voice another day.
On the worst days, I felt nothing at all, so removed was I from the situation, having no tangible concept of how thin and weak she’d grown.
Until I got home in May, that is.
* * *
Home. No matter how much you’re looking forward to seeing loved ones again, it’s not an easy place to return to after you’ve been away. Away. Lately I’ve realized what an important concept being away is to me. It has become part of who I am, part of my story: “I’m originally from Virginia, but now I live in—”
Returning to the US is always an adjustment, but this time – when my normal in Asia was so markedly different to what normal is here – has been even harder. Forever on my mind these last three and a half weeks is a single question:
Who am I when I’m not a traveler?
Who am I when I’m actually in Virginia, when I’m, you know, home? What do I write about? What should I post on this blog’s Facebook page when it isn’t a picture of pho in Saigon or bubble tea in Bangkok or yet another stunning vista on Shodoshima Island?
My friend Micaela said it perfectly last week: “You’re used to having physical movement to track your progression. Right now it’s about staying put.”
* * *
We get to the hospital and put on yellow robes and blue gloves to protect us from my grandmother’s current infection. Nurses float in and out of her room, armed with new packets of blood and plasma to replace what she began losing in rapid amounts early this morning. “They didn’t think she was going to make it,” my mom tells us, fighting back tears.
Grant hugs her first, then Brooke, who says, “You’re doing great, Grandma!” and then me. All I can manage to say is that I love her. My aunt gets there soon after, and then my dad. We ask my grandmother if there’s too many of us in the room, if we’re overwhelming her, but she insists we stay – so we do, all six of us.
Not long after they transfer her to ICU, my cousin and her husband arrive. Part of our group is dispatched on a lunch run and they return with Chick-fil-A, bags full of sandwiches and waffles fries and little packets of finger-lickin’-good Chick-fil-A sauce. Brooke distributes the combos and drinks and we pull chairs into a circle, apologizing to everyone else in the waiting room for the commotion of our impromptu family gathering. And it’s as we’re circling up, preparing to wait it out while the life of someone we love hangs in the balance, that my answer comes:
Even when I’m not a traveler, I am still a daughter, a sister, a niece, a cousin, and – this one being especially true today – a granddaughter.
* * *
On the way to ICU, my mom and I had stood in an elevator while another older mom and her adult daughter got on. As they were in front of us, we couldn’t see their faces but apparently the mother looked concerned. When they reached their floor, her daughter touched her shoulder and said, “It’s okay, we’re here.”
Those four words stuck with me like a mantra all day in the hospital, each word a distinct prayer bead to roll my fingers and mind around – as we cycled in to see my grandmother in pairs, as we waited for her blood pressure and heart rate to stabilize, as we circled up in the waiting room, digging into waffle fries and chicken sandwiches.
It’s okay, we’re here. It’s okay, we’re here. We’re here.
And all I could feel was an overwhelming sense of gratitude that for the first time in nine months, I wasn’t anywhere else.
I was home; I was here.
I haven’t been able to cry, until right now. Your perspective brought tears to my eyes. I’ve been in “caregiving”and “care management” mode for so long now, I’ve forgotten how to feel the pain of possibly losing my mother. Thank you for finding words for my pain. You asked, “Who am I when I’m not a traveler?” I ask, “Who am I, now, when I am not a caregiver?” It seems we are both on a journey. How beautiful to see this from the perspective of a granddaughter. Thank you. Love Always, Mom
Mom, I loved reading your comment. I know I was away for so many months while you were caring for Grandma, but it has truly meant the world to me to be around these last few weeks. I hope we’re both able to live our way into the answer to those questions – adjusting to life off the road, and adjusting to life with a [hopefully] healthy mother again. I’m so glad we’ve got this summer ahead of us! Love you.
I’m crying! Such a beautiful tribute to life and love and your grandmother. It is the struggle I have all the time. I want to be there, but I want to be elsewhere too… I want both in equal parts. Hang in there, Candace. I’m glad you get to be there for your family.
Yes! I think it is perhaps the traveler’s greatest dilemma. While I’m always dreaming of where I’ve been and have still yet to go, I’m also so grateful for these few weeks at home to re-connect with friends and family. As you and I have both been learning, journeys are such a circle, aren’t they? Returning only to venture out again. I’m really hoping our paths cross Stateside this summer!
Thinking good thoughts for your sweet grandmother and your whole family Candace! I’m so glad you can be there right now – I’m sure it means the world to have the family all together. Hugs!
Thank you, Kathryn! That means so much. Where in the world are you now? Hope you’ve been well 🙂
Time waits for no person … yet sometimes if we can engineer it, then we should. You have. You have paid the ultimate compliment of love and (time to) give back.
Your memories from this period, which we all go through, will bring you peace and a way to move forward from the inevitable.
And ‘we are’ from those who have gone before. Great that you are there to assist the going. Don’t rush.
Then you can return to be that ‘somewhere else’ person.
Gerald, I can’t thank you enough for such an insightful comment, full of wisdom and truth to mull over during this period. I really appreciate you sharing that. Time is everything, isn’t it? As much as I miss Asia right now, I wouldn’t trade this time at home for anything – or anywhere. Hope you’ve been well!
So beautiful my dear, it brought tears to my eyes, and I had to go and Skype my own grandmother before I could come back and comment. It’s so important that, while you may feel that you own journey is on hold, you can be here to share in her journey back to health. This time is priceless, but you know, whether you are in Virginia, or out sketching the wilds of Asia, you are still travelling. This is all part of your ongoing journey. Sometimes you will be away, sharing your stories from a distance, and other times you will circle back to those you love to share them face-to-face. In the sharing, your journey has meaning. It’s like the symbol of infinity: you’ll be forever pulled in the direction of your dreams, but that pull is going to keep on looping back to your core. To your home. To your heart.
Hannah, my love, thank you for sharing your beautiful words and thoughts here. I absolutely love that picture of infinity – I’ve been thinking of journeys as a circle lately, but the infinity symbol is really an even more poignant picture right now. You couldn’t be more right about how our journeys never end, even when they seem to be on hold – they keep going and evolving, pulling us in the exact direction we need to be going. I so wish we could meet up soon – for now, I will be thinking over what you said on my journey back from NYC to Norfolk 🙂 Sending lots of love your way!
This is beautiful, Candace. So well written. I relate to this so much, even though I’m now on the opposite side of the spectrum. I emerged into my 30s with little concept of who I was but knew when I moved to England that I wanted to be the person I had become all of the time, not just on weekends or when I was travelling. My journey focused a lot on integrity (that word has become a mantra to me) and it was something I strived towards for years until now I simply am. I wish you love and peace during this time and am thinking of both you and your family.
Thank you so much for such a wonderful comment, Mandy – I really love everything you said about identity and integrity, and think you should absolutely expand this into a full post! Your thoughts about being our true self all the time are so powerful and something I’m not sure enough people think about. Thank you again for sharing your wisdom, and I so appreciate your well wishes right now. Hope all is well in London 🙂
You’ve said it all and said it better than anyone I’ve ever known. Thank you from someone who has been there.
You’re so welcome, Chris, and thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to read this and say hello.
You’ve captured the intensity and the power of being there for someone you love so dearly. I hate that it has to be these things that bring us together, but there is a beauty deep within it, seeing families come together, and it really reminds us that w’ere alive. Sending you lots of love as your family goes through this together.
Thanks so much for this, Carmel – I really appreciate it. That day at the hospital definitely showed me how powerful something as simple as our presence is – not even needing to say anything, just being by their side and holding their hand. Hope you and Shawn have a great weekend!
What is her age? My granny’s ill too =(
My grandmother just turned 85 this April, Lela – and I’m so sorry to hear about your own granny. How is she doing this week so far? I’ll be thinking of her and your family!
Another beautiful post, Candace. I hope your Granny is doing okay. As you know, I recently returned home, which was disorientating in terms of what I’m doing with my life and who I am, but it was important for me to be there too. An old friend of mine committed suicide while I was back, and it felt so important to be there for the funeral — especially for his sister (my good friend) and all the rest of our friendship group. I was so grateful to be there. On the other hand, I couldn’t stay forever and will likely miss other important events because of the lifestyle I’ve chosen. It’s a dilemma, but ultimately you have to follow your own path rather than that of others. Thanks for sharing.
Victoria, thank you for taking the time to leave such an insightful comment. I’m so sorry to hear about your friend’s death – that is a true tragedy, but I’m also glad you could be there with your friends (and his sister) to support each other during such a difficult time. There have been a few different things that have happened at home these last two months where I wouldn’t want to have been anywhere else – it’s never easy coming off the road, but I’m always grateful I do.
I’ve the same thoughts going through my mind at the moment. I’ve now been away from home for 3 years and when i go back to visit next month i’m not sure who to tell. I sense that my friendships have changed and I don’t know if it’ll be the same. It’s easier to turn off feeling worried about this when I’m so far removed from it. And rather than spend time with the various friendship groups I had established while I was last in Chatham, this time I just want to be with family and my closest friends.
And… i’m nervous about seeing my grandparents. None of them use Skype so I haven’t seen them since I was there last summer. Nana has dementia and isn’t doing well. This is life as an expat, eh?
It definitely is, Jen, and it’s the not-so-exciting side of it that people don’t often see. That’s great to hear you’ll be heading home next month, though – and I really understand your decision to focus on spending time with family. It’s easy to spread ourselves too thin when we’re home and then we end up leaving pretty worn out from all the running around. Hope all is well on your lovely island, and I’ll be anxious to hear how the trip home goes. xoxo
Reading this again this morning and finding a treasure for the day, “We’re here.” I am going to “be here” today and live in the very beautiful, very rich moments of this day.