So. I saw my first dead man this afternoon.
In the ventilator rehab hospital my grandfather has been in since January, he rooms with two other men. So far, out of his roomates that he has had in the last two months, three have died. Today, I saw one of them.

He was a large fat man. He was new to the rehab. Richard, the old neighbor, had been moved to a private room to make room for this fat man in our room. He needed an extra large bed to fit his body. He was not even weaning off the ventilator. He didn't look good to begin with.

And so, when we came in to visit my grandpop today, the curtain was surrounding the bed of "fat man." We didn't really think about it...we thougth they were working on him, changing the linens and stuff. They left the curtain around when the nurse left the room. My mom, who keeps comparing my pop pop to all the other patients in the hospital as how well he is doing, was going to sneak and check around the curtain while the nurse was out to see how his numbers were. My dad yelled at her. Curtain means privacy.

Good thing my mom didn't look because she would have been a little surprised at how "well" the fat man was doing. After the nurse informed us of "fat man's" death, I had to peak around the curtain...I mean, I never had seen a dead man. I didn't get a good look, but, I could tell he was dead. It was wierd and strange to think that life goes that fast. I mean, just yesterday, he was alive and thrashing. Today, today...today was the beginning of his eternity. Life is but a vapor.

And so, when they brought the stretcher we high-taled it out of there, but not before commenting that the stretcher and body bag that they had brought for the man would not suffice the massive size of "fat man." I guess they didn't find it as amusing as we did.

Now you all are going to think that my family is unempathetic, unfeeling, morbid freaks. Well, maybe you are right, but...sometimes laughter is just good for you. And sometimes it's not. But sometimes, you just can't get through things without laughing. Some things are just that hard, I guess.

My mom hates my aunts. With a fervor. My grandpop just looks so good. His numbers are just great. He is weaning so well. All she wants is more time. But I guess there is nothing we can do about it.

But pray. Pray for a miracle. His doctor doesn't believe in miracles. He says they only happen on tv. But we know he is wrong. My grandmom is a miracle. We could never imagine brining her home from the hospital and not having to give her sponge baths. Today, she just went and got herself a shower. I did not have to do one thing. Our neighbor who is a nurse never even expected her to walk with a walker again. She should see her now. She's almost to a cane. It's crazy.
She's our miracle.
Seeing her walk into church a month ago, people called a miracle after hearing about the months she had spent in the hospital after heart attacks, being resusitated, having to be held down in her hospital bed or she'd run away, a broken pelvis, and fighting pneomonia, just to name a few....she is our miracle.