Phillip Seymour Hoffman is Dead and so is my Grandmother

My grandmother passed away a week and a half ago. I knew it was coming, but only for a few days before she finally "left" as she called it, her fingers fluttering upwards off the hospital bed a few days before. I had been suffering a virulent lung infection which kept me from spending as much time with her as I would have. She had t cell lymphoma, and her blood count was at it's lowest ever. But she had all her hair--one of her final joys. We brought her home to die, and she passed without pain in her sleep.

I am still in disbelief.

I realized as I thumbed through her wedding album, and loose pictures, that my face was so similar to hers it was eerie. Being an only child, I have always longed to see myself within my parents faces, but never found a true similarity that made me feel complete. However, pictures of her youthful, rosy cheeks and creamy white skin like mine only made me miss her more. I remembered visiting the library with her as a child; it was one of our favorite places to go together and she would read me stories or as I got older I would read the books myself. Those mystical transporters that lined the dark shelves of the children's wing, waiting for me to pick them up and open them. Then running my fingers across the books that lined their tiny tv room, including Death of a Salesman and some John Le Carre novels to the left of my preferred chair. Their house was the beginning of my great love affair with reading and finally writing.

While I stayed at my parents house my blood-oxygen level dropped to 89%, which is 10% less than it should be for a 22 year old who doesn't smoke or have asthma. It was terrifying and confusing, as I waited for 9 hours in the ER to be discharged without anyone really knowing what was to blame besides a possible viral lung infection. As my breathing got better, I began to feel stronger, more like myself. Then I had a horrible bought of urinary retention which lasted for 24 hours and ultimately ended in my bladder being filled with a catheter for five days. I can finally piss on my own, after using some laxatives to help my constipation due to kratom extracts. I used them to keep my arthritis pain at bay... as well as keeping me high. We both know it'd be a lie for me to say it was not for the high.

At least I'm back in Queens, where I can make myself tea far from the watchful eyes of my parents.I gave my mother some kratom when she pulled a muscle in her chest shoveling. It "took the edge off" she said, so I felt happy to help in some way, even if what I gave her she would most likely frown upon. I doubt she realized based on the feeling that it was an opiate because she didn't seem bothered by seeing me take it. I don't know, perhaps it was a small reprieve.

Tonight, our friends are coming over to watch our favorite show collectively: "Workaholics". How ironic that none of us work anymore having both been laid off. They may be getting a ride down to NOLA on Friday, to live on as street punks and train hoppers. It makes me nervous that I'll never see them again, but I hope not.

All that can be done is to wait and see.
Lucy