Blood Clots and Cancer

I don't like long stretches of time that pass even though so much is happening.  In near-on three days, Michael and I have gotten some pretty shitty news.  As I am usually thinking of our next conversation in my "scheduled breaks," receiving the news compounded my already full thoughts before spilling over and, sending me into sulk mode.
Monday night, we were on our way to my grandmother's house to talk to her about possibly visiting the ER to treat a blood clot found in her lower right leg.  Before we left our house, Michael found me in our bedroom.
"Granddad is in hospice with liver and lung cancer."  He walked toward the window and parted the curtains with his hand to look outside.  "He only has a few weeks left."
I wrapped my arms around Michael like a towel to a child soaked by rain.
We managed that night to get my grandmother medication to breakdown the blood clot.  The next day, Michael and I began planning for his granddad's end.  Because we've been told there are only a matter of weeks left before he passes, as with most things that are given weeks to live or die, sometimes weeks pass onward accumulating into months, then years.  The only thing we do know is Mike will be there at the end thanks to help from my mother.  Our poor-assed broke-ness means I have to stay behind.

Last night my mother told me something about death I found fascinating.  She said death is something unlike other milestones in life, for every time it happens it becomes a distinctly new experience despite the fact it has already happened before.  In 2011, Michael lost his parents.  His mother went first from cancer in February.  Seven months later Michael's father died after arterial plaque lodged itself into his heart.
The severity of each death, even how close in time each death occurred is overshadowed by the distinctness of the losses.  Generally speaking it doesn't even matter how close a person could be to the loved one they are losing.  Death always seems to bring with it a new set of rules each time the game is played.
For days I've been wondering about that feeling of newness encapsulated by the experience of death.  You could say the feeling of newness is comparable to the beginning of a romantic relationship, but you would be wrong.  There are lessons learned or, ignored each person takes with them from relationship to relationship.  With death there are no lessons.  There may not even be enough time to get over one loss before you're hit again with another like my husband was.
Death just sucks.

Today, we got the opportunity to talk to family about what is going on with Michael's granddad.  It turns out this hospice is actually a nursing home.  After the experience of losing Michael's mother, I learned there are definite differences between nursing homes and hospice.  The latter is your appointment confirmation letter from death.  Michael's granddad does spend a great deal of time resting at the nursing home and the medicines he is being given are keeping him pain free.  Our family do visit regularly and for now we are just waiting.

During the weekend we can find out more about Michael's granddads' condition.