The First Fall

What do you do when you receive a call from a strange number? What do you usually do? I know I ignore them. I let them leave a message and if it’s actually important I’ll call them back. Well, that’s exactly what happened that day. The day I was starting my new job, and on my break, I check my phone and see a voicemail from 20 minutes ago. “Hello this is John from Fire Rescue, we’re calling because it seems Edna has had a stroke and we are taking her to the hospital”. What do I do? I call my mom, my dad, my sister, I called on Jesus (we’ll get to that a little later), Budha, Moses, Beyonce and anyone else with magical powers. My grandma had had a stroke behind the wheel after some useless POS decided to hit her car, she was literally the victim of a hit and run. Some coward decided instead of checking on the elderly lady behind the wheel, he would drive off because a ticket isn’t worth my grandma’s life. BTW if you’re the sketchy ass is reading this, I hope it’s from prison and I hope you are getting a lot of unwanted attention by a man named Big Dawg who doesn’t blink and has mountains for arms. Sorry, I never got to speak to this dude before so I figured on the off chance blogs are anything like “Missed Connections” on Craigslist, I didn’t wanna miss the opportunity. Back to the day, my life was forever altered: two simple words “Call Ashley”. Two words uttered by the matriarch of my family that made me realize JUST how important I am to her. She was stroking out and who does she ask for? Me. Not my mother the physician, not my dad the hero, Me. The 24-year-old college dropout aspiring comic who’s the dictionary definition of “she’ll figure it out one day”. I’m basically an incredibly good looking basement dweller so the fact that she held me in such high regard to be her emergency contact was nothing shy of eye-opening. It sounds dramatic, but until you’re that person in that situation you won’t get it. Once everyone was called, my mother RUSHED from 3 hours away, all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins (who you’ll meet on this journey) were blowing up every cell phone possible. Edna was stabilized, and I thought all would be normal. Bless my little naive heart, so full of optimism not knowing that from that day forward my life would be changed forever. Turns out, she has dementia and is in rapid decline which basically means shit is about to get real rough mentally and physically for ALL of us. This isn’t a walk in the park for anyone involved, it’s not some amazing story of a medical miracle…This is my story (with a tiny bit of fiction in hopes of immortalizing my grandma in a Netflix series) of making the conscious choice to watch my grandma be ushered into the afterlife after spending years worshipping a God who repaid her with dementia and immobility. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take so hopefully we can do this over five years.  I’ve been trying to find a way to cope with this, believe it or not, it takes a toll on people like me who’s moral integrity can be labeled as “questionable” at best and blogging just seemed right. I mean it’s healthy, free, and when I’m not working on my portfolio or on a stage working for smiles and a free whiskey sour, I have a new hobby. I must warn you, my interpretation of the last few months will be a little weird and I might even come off as depressing, but it’s because I’m watching my grandma die. I’m not writing to inspire hope, I’m fighting for my sanity. I’m literally doing everything I can not be consumed by sadness, anger, confusion, and depression. So read my story, comment on it, share yours with me, correct my grammar, but please don’t judge me. I’m already kicking my own ass.