“please, please, please, just take me home”

O despair! i just got back from Green Oaks, where i spent an hour with my grandfather begging and pleading me to take him home. the last half hour was him telling me, in his hoarse whisper, that he wanted to go home so he could die, or kill himself. he was just miserable.

i can’t tell how much of it is real, and how much is just hospital madness.

he told me at one point: “I know you think you’re doing the right thing, and I think you’re doing the right thing, but…” (the rest i couldn’t understand). so there were points where he seemed more than vaguely lucid. he also said that if he died there (at Green Oaks) that i’d feel terrible. i agreed.

i don’t know what to do. am i doing the right thing? is he going to get better? or should he come home, so he can die in the comfort of his home?

eight o’clock came, and with it, visiting hours were over. i tried to prepare him for my departure, but he begged me not to leave him. he wouldn’t let me leave, and in the end, i just had to turn and walk away. what else could i do? it is breaking my heart to hear him talk like that, and i don’t want to believe that he could be Telling It Like It Is. not in his condition. if he stays, he’s still got a fighting chance at survival, at least in the short term. what the hell am i supposed to do?

it is maddening, distressful, and it makes my heart hurt far more than any woman ever could. i wish i could trade him places.