Agoraphobia Support Group

"Thirty Six Steps"

by Cheryl in 1999

The last time that I saw my Grandfather, I remember vividly. I was twelve at the time and stood by the door to the Intensive Care unit. Fiddling with the elastic cuffs of my long sleeve lavender blouse, I nervously peered through the the peek-a-boo window in the door and spotted the warning sign, "No one under 13 allowed!" My Dad, on the other side of the door checked to see if the nurses were paying attention. He quickly opened the door and the cool air swooshed my face as he hurried me inside.

The smell of antiseptic, clean and benign, permeated the narrow corridors that lead to Grandpa's hideaway. I followed Dad down the hall, my heart was racing and the smell of illness gagged me as I tried to keep up. The ICU door closed behind me with a silent burst of air. I focused on the back of Dad's blue shirt in front of me as I walked the gauntlet. Suffering all around, I dare not look to either side. Dad had an enormous stride, it took three of my steps to equal his one. I know this because I counted, I remember; only thirty six steps.

As I close my eyes now, I can still hear the rhythmic beat of the heart monitor coming from his room. The constant beeping was a testimony of his existence, although it remained hidden, deep inside. I was led into a tiny room with a sink on the left, a window slit on the right and a faded orange leather chair beside the bed. He was unconscious and I thought, "hooked up like a stereo system." Dad motioned me to sit and then he left the room to stand guard.

I sat an eternity in that old chair as tears welled up in my eyes. He was withered and fragile, yet I summoned the courage to reach for his hand. Astonishingly, it was warm and firm. I talked about school, his garden and Dad. There was no response but I felt he was listening. He was interested and I was comforted. The door squeaked open much too soon, "Time to go," Dad whispered.

The tears released though my hand didn't. I stood and kissed the top of his bald head and whispered, "I love you Grandpa." I studied his face one last time and as I released his hand, he used his remaining strength to squeeze mine, to say goodbye. As I walked out, I wiped tear stained cheeks with my sleeves. Dad pointed to the exit and said, "Do you want me to go with you?"

I stood tall and shook my head. "No, I know the way...only thirty six steps." I walked down the corridor with a lump in my throat, my eyes fixed on the exit sign.

I counted.

I did this a bit early because I have a doctors appointment first thing in the morning.

Oh Cheryl I loved this story!! It made me cry but I loved it!!!!!

Oh Cheryl, this made me cry as well... Today is an All Saints' Day in Poland and I woke up thinking about my mom. Her death in fact. How horrible it was. I cried.. Your story is so touching and so beautifully written... It made me think that that must have been the way my boys felt when I called them to come to the hospital the night before my mom died, to say their good byes. She was pretty much unconscious at that point and I could see how hard it was for them to approach their beloved grandma. To give her that last hug. They were so close! It was so sad to watch... Thank you for sharing this heartfelt story my friend.

That was an amazing story.. and yes, I am teared up.

Aw, thank you. My Grandfather was born in 1900 in Kars, Russia. He came over by boat when he was 4, so he didn't remember much about the homeland. As a father, he was rough...but as a Grandfather, he was gentle. The squeeze that he gave me my hand, I will never forget. Love transcends all time, illness and expectations.

I remember this story because of the 'baby steps' that I am having to take in my life now. Each step is a struggle at times. There was a time that I took each step of my life fro granted, but not anymore. In life, we all have moments of 'hand squeezing' by those we love. Do we recognize it?

Oh my goodness I'm sitting here with tears streaming down my face remembering the very night my dad passed away.

I was in charge of timing his breathes and when it got to every 10 seconds I saw him take his last breath and was not prepared for what happened to me as my heart broke into a million pieces.

I really pissed everyone off as I walked out of his room and would not say one word to anyone as they were all standing in the hall including my mother.

I quietly went to the nurses station and told them he has passed away and they all jumped up and ran down the hall.

Not one soul in my family knew he was gone till they saw the nurses running down the hall and I just walked over to the elevators and pushed down as I heard all of them screaming and waling!!

Not one of them would come and sit with me as I held his hand counting his breathes and telling him to run to the light.

They would just stick their heads in and ask how many mins between breathes!!!

None of them were brave enough or had any brains to think of what I was going through.

I silently walked to my car and drove home in shock wondering why I had not one feeling about anything!!

The next day I got a nasty call from my sister telling me how rude I was to just walk out without telling them he was gone!!!

Rude??? I sat there for over 8 hours all by myself counting his breathes and holding his hand.

Not one person ever in that 8 hours ever asked if I wanted or needed anything and that's why I just walked out like I did.

So Cheryl I thank you for sharing your experience with us and felt I needed to share mine as well.

I saw that little girl who was so brave to sit with her grandfather as I felt like that same little girl holding my daddy's hand talking to him and telling him things I thought he needed to hear(whether he heard or not I'll never know)

But when I saw he was finally gone I also kissed the top of his head which was full of white hair and remembered all the times he kissed the top of my head as I was growing up.

I was compelled to post this. The story is not just a story, it is a piece of me. Like you said, your heart broke into a million pieces. You survived while being compassionate. You did nothing wrong by giving all that you had. Your father understood that even if your extended family didn't.

Such a beautiful story Cheryl. Thank you for sharing it with us. It really touched me.

It made me cry too...I love hearing about your family! You speak of your grandfather often. Yes love does transcend all...