The topic I'm writing about today is one I've wanted to write about for a while, but it's still a sensitive subject, so it's been difficult to write. So if I start sounding over emotional or something, bear with me. I hope you all understand.
I am a firm believer in following your gut. For some reason, and I can't tell you if that reason is something physically built in us or from some outside source, but for some reason, your body and/or mind can tell you what you need to do, even when you're telling it you should be doing something else. Recently, my gut was tested. I fought what it told me to do, but when I gave in, I realized it was right.
Back in February, my Granddaddy got sick. He found out his heart was only pumping 20% of what it should be and for that, he was hospitalized. As my family sent me text messages to keep me updated on the situation, my gut started trying to butt in with words I never wanted to give in to—this could be it. I argued with myself for a few days, telling myself it couldn't be it because Granddaddy's way too stubborn. He'd be okay. Well, I quickly lost that battle. I got the courage to ask my sister to tell me when I needed to buy a plane ticket home. I didn't need her to tell me, though. I knew. Somehow, I knew. I decided I was flying home to be with my family. Then there was the question of when? I asked my husband countless times when he thought I should go, but he only told me I needed to decide that. It was more probable to leave Monday, but for some reason, I knew I had to be there Sunday. I knew it was only a day's difference, but I just knew I had to be there then and no later.
So Sunday morning, my husband dropped me and our daughter off at the airport. I made it safely and, after grabbing lunch with my sisters and mom, we headed to the hospital. At the hospital, I knew I made the right decision. And ya know, I will never forget Granddaddy's smile when he realized I was sitting at the end of his bed.
Nothing changed that night. He stayed in the ICU and we all stayed in the waiting room until Daddy herded us all out for Granny and Granddaddy to rest. The next morning, the doctor was supposed to come reevaluate the situation and see what the next course of action would be.
And when that next morning came, it was very clear to me that I was right in choosing to come Sunday. When his doctor came in, Granddaddy told him he was done fighting and was ready for the Lord to bring him home.
We didn't know when it would happen, but now we knew it would. And it became a waiting game that no one wants to play. The family gathered and we spent the next hours visiting Granddaddy (who was then moved out of ICU into a regular room so everyone could see him). As the sun set, we grew more anxious. Would this be it?
After spending the entire day trying to keep everyone else happy, my baby was starting to get fussy. I knew I couldn't keep her in the hospital waiting room all night, she'd never sleep, but I didn't feel right leaving. Eventually, my dad and I convinced my sisters to head to my mom's house for the night. We all needed rest. We were so uneasy, though. After being back for only a little while, my older sister said sorry, she couldn't stay. She had to go back to the hospital.
My younger sister and I tried to ignore the same feeling in our guts and headed to bed. We couldn't sleep. I kept trying to convince her not to leave because, if she did, I'd have no way to get to the hospital the next morning. I wasn't even convinced myself. Then, she got a text message from our dad saying they took Granddaddy off of his medicine (which was the only thing keeping his heart going. Previously when taken off of it, his heart stopped three times.) I don't think I've ever jumped up out of bed so quickly. We ran around getting ready to go. I ran my mom through how to work my daughter's apnea monitor and we were in the car headed back to the hospital.
The immediate family (Granny, Daddy, my aunt, cousin and sister) were gathered around Granddaddy's bed as Granny told stories about him to the hospital's chaplain. We all waited in his room until the hour grew later and later and our heavy eye lids were ignoring our heavy hearts. We each drifted off to sleep, some in his room, some in the waiting room just down the hall.
Granddaddy did make it through that night. Even then, I knew we were right in following our gut instincts and going back. We needed to be there for Granny, for Daddy, for our aunt, for each other. That day, Granddaddy was moved to a hospice center at a different hospital. I think that once that happened, we all felt slightly calmer. After a few days, though, that inner argument came back. At some point I had to go back home. My dad and Granny talked to me, telling me Granddaddy would rather I go back home and do what I needed for my little family than to stay there. As my dad put it, I was there when it mattered the most. So later that week, we flew back.
I woke up that following Sunday and I just knew. I hadn't talked to anyone, but I knew. I still got out of bed. I still went to work. But the whole time, I waited for my phone to ring. Only a few hours passed before it happened. I stopped what I was doing and walked to the bathroom without even checking the caller ID. I didn't need to hear my sister speak to know why she called.
I miss my Granddaddy so much every single day. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to be there for his funeral, but I know my dad was right in saying it was more important for me to be there when I was. And my gut knew that, even if I felt like I was wrong.
There is a point to this long story. The point is that even if you're feeling unsure about making a decision, your body knows the answer. Listen to it. Whether it's going to visit a relative in their last days or seeking psychiatric help or what, just listen to your gut. My experience with losing Granddaddy proved that to me more than anything. In case you missed it, here's all the times my gut was right:
-I knew this was it.
-I knew I needed go home.
-I knew I needed to be there before Monday.
-I knew we needed to go back to the hospital.
-I knew Sunday was the day.
So please, don't ignore that little feeling in your gut. It's trying to tell you the right thing even when your brain argues.
Stay Alive,
Lindsey
I am a firm believer in following your gut. For some reason, and I can't tell you if that reason is something physically built in us or from some outside source, but for some reason, your body and/or mind can tell you what you need to do, even when you're telling it you should be doing something else. Recently, my gut was tested. I fought what it told me to do, but when I gave in, I realized it was right.
Back in February, my Granddaddy got sick. He found out his heart was only pumping 20% of what it should be and for that, he was hospitalized. As my family sent me text messages to keep me updated on the situation, my gut started trying to butt in with words I never wanted to give in to—this could be it. I argued with myself for a few days, telling myself it couldn't be it because Granddaddy's way too stubborn. He'd be okay. Well, I quickly lost that battle. I got the courage to ask my sister to tell me when I needed to buy a plane ticket home. I didn't need her to tell me, though. I knew. Somehow, I knew. I decided I was flying home to be with my family. Then there was the question of when? I asked my husband countless times when he thought I should go, but he only told me I needed to decide that. It was more probable to leave Monday, but for some reason, I knew I had to be there Sunday. I knew it was only a day's difference, but I just knew I had to be there then and no later.
So Sunday morning, my husband dropped me and our daughter off at the airport. I made it safely and, after grabbing lunch with my sisters and mom, we headed to the hospital. At the hospital, I knew I made the right decision. And ya know, I will never forget Granddaddy's smile when he realized I was sitting at the end of his bed.
Nothing changed that night. He stayed in the ICU and we all stayed in the waiting room until Daddy herded us all out for Granny and Granddaddy to rest. The next morning, the doctor was supposed to come reevaluate the situation and see what the next course of action would be.
And when that next morning came, it was very clear to me that I was right in choosing to come Sunday. When his doctor came in, Granddaddy told him he was done fighting and was ready for the Lord to bring him home.
We didn't know when it would happen, but now we knew it would. And it became a waiting game that no one wants to play. The family gathered and we spent the next hours visiting Granddaddy (who was then moved out of ICU into a regular room so everyone could see him). As the sun set, we grew more anxious. Would this be it?
After spending the entire day trying to keep everyone else happy, my baby was starting to get fussy. I knew I couldn't keep her in the hospital waiting room all night, she'd never sleep, but I didn't feel right leaving. Eventually, my dad and I convinced my sisters to head to my mom's house for the night. We all needed rest. We were so uneasy, though. After being back for only a little while, my older sister said sorry, she couldn't stay. She had to go back to the hospital.
My younger sister and I tried to ignore the same feeling in our guts and headed to bed. We couldn't sleep. I kept trying to convince her not to leave because, if she did, I'd have no way to get to the hospital the next morning. I wasn't even convinced myself. Then, she got a text message from our dad saying they took Granddaddy off of his medicine (which was the only thing keeping his heart going. Previously when taken off of it, his heart stopped three times.) I don't think I've ever jumped up out of bed so quickly. We ran around getting ready to go. I ran my mom through how to work my daughter's apnea monitor and we were in the car headed back to the hospital.
The immediate family (Granny, Daddy, my aunt, cousin and sister) were gathered around Granddaddy's bed as Granny told stories about him to the hospital's chaplain. We all waited in his room until the hour grew later and later and our heavy eye lids were ignoring our heavy hearts. We each drifted off to sleep, some in his room, some in the waiting room just down the hall.
Granddaddy did make it through that night. Even then, I knew we were right in following our gut instincts and going back. We needed to be there for Granny, for Daddy, for our aunt, for each other. That day, Granddaddy was moved to a hospice center at a different hospital. I think that once that happened, we all felt slightly calmer. After a few days, though, that inner argument came back. At some point I had to go back home. My dad and Granny talked to me, telling me Granddaddy would rather I go back home and do what I needed for my little family than to stay there. As my dad put it, I was there when it mattered the most. So later that week, we flew back.
I woke up that following Sunday and I just knew. I hadn't talked to anyone, but I knew. I still got out of bed. I still went to work. But the whole time, I waited for my phone to ring. Only a few hours passed before it happened. I stopped what I was doing and walked to the bathroom without even checking the caller ID. I didn't need to hear my sister speak to know why she called.
I miss my Granddaddy so much every single day. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to be there for his funeral, but I know my dad was right in saying it was more important for me to be there when I was. And my gut knew that, even if I felt like I was wrong.
There is a point to this long story. The point is that even if you're feeling unsure about making a decision, your body knows the answer. Listen to it. Whether it's going to visit a relative in their last days or seeking psychiatric help or what, just listen to your gut. My experience with losing Granddaddy proved that to me more than anything. In case you missed it, here's all the times my gut was right:
-I knew this was it.
-I knew I needed go home.
-I knew I needed to be there before Monday.
-I knew we needed to go back to the hospital.
-I knew Sunday was the day.
So please, don't ignore that little feeling in your gut. It's trying to tell you the right thing even when your brain argues.
Stay Alive,
Lindsey
In loving memory of Granddaddy September 4 1935 -February 26, 2012
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