Life is going from one crisis to the next.

That's what my grandmother said.

Seemed somewhat pessimistic and jaded coming from her time worn lips. She'd seen the days when money was scarce and jobs where precious, when fruits were given as treasures and everything had to be stretched. It scarred her, those days of the depression, it made a mark that would stay with her the rest of her life.

A mark that was made deeper by the years following, when the World took to War. No one was safe, there were new dangers around every corner. Her whole world became one of survival. She did that for the rest of her life, surviving. It was like pulling teeth to get her to enjoy herself, she would shake her head in wonderment at my purchases that did nothing but entertain. My habit of going to the movies every month seemed astonishing. She was always looking, always waiting for the bottom to fall out. The pantries were always over stocked, at least 2 spare of everything. We could eat off that pantry for at least two weeks.

I wonder what sort of scars time is leaving on me.

Morbid thing to ponder I know, but mortality seems to my constant companion lately. I saw the last years of my grandmother's life, up close and in 3D. I was the one she called when she needed to go to the hospital, when my uncle has taken to the bottle again, when the garbage needed to be taken out. When the chips were down and her age took precedent over her spirit she leaned on me. And yet...when the crisis was over, and the dust had settled I was just a kid a again and was helpless to make the changes needed.

There were a lot of things that I would have done differently in those last years, to make her life better, and more than just survival. If only they had let me have the power.

What's done is done I suppose.

But now the wheel turns and now I am faced with the death of my grandfather. He is dieing, and his time is short. I become the ban sidhe of my own family, ironic. Unlike my grandmother, I have no real relationship with my mother's father, other than blood and the love she has for him, which in itself is enough.

Once again I see the paralysis take hold of one of my parents, becoming a child herself. Unable to come to terms with the changing wheel. Not wanting to see the withering man that exists now, the psychological hold of the parent-child relationship is too strong to confront.

Maybe it would be different if she was there to see the struggle to get down the stairs, to realize the strain of obligation towards others drag on him so he relinquishes all thought of his own comfort. Would that help her see what she needs to do and take action?

I worry. My Grandfather will die. And my mother will see these...sad circumstances when it's too let, when there is no longer anything she can do. And it will haunt her. The same way her mother's death still haunts her. I know the voices that plague her... If she had stayed just a few days longer, she wouldn't have had to die alone in a place she did not recognize... I don't know if my mother is strong enough to live with such guilt twice over.

But she will not move, she fears his death and fears his disapproval.

Once again I am helpless, I can't reason with my Grandfather, he is little more than a stranger to me. And with every passing of the wheel I fear his grasp of sensibility gets looser and looser. My last chance to make my only surviving Grand-anything's final days the happy and comfortable ones he deserves lays in my Brother's hands.

I pray to the Dadga he has the strength and the wisdom to do what need be done. To see that someone must intercede on Grandfather's behalf and remove him from the life of servitude to progeny that never learned to care for themselves. A man of his age, of his health should not be working janitorial labor full time to support fully able bodied people. He should be surrounded by family who love him and will care for him, fishing with his grandson, and gambling the night away with his daughter.

I have born witness to the sorrow that not confronting the mortality of a parent can bring, and will bare the mark of those lessons learned. When the time comes and my own parents reach their twilight years, may my heart and mind be as clear as it is now, for no good can come of the denial of Death's hands.