A decision we can live with
I spent an inordinate amount of time over the past few weeks agonizing over a monumental problem: Whether to bring my daughter Teagan (age 9) to see my dad one more time before he dies.
In the "pro" category is the fact that, despite sharing ten months on this earth, Teagan and my beloved Grandma McIlroy never got to meet and I will always regret it; Teagan was, up until July 30 (when Carl married Heather and got two awesome stepdaughters in the deal), Dad's only grandchild; she had expressed a desire to say goodbye; and I didn't want her to be scarred for life because she didn't get to do so.
In the "con" category is the fact that things can go south (in a way that might be scary for a 9-year-old) very quickly; he is already very different than the way she remembers him; I wasn't sure I wanted her last memory of him to be of a sick old man in a bed; and I didn't want her to be scarred for life because of it.
I wrestled with it. I talked to my husband, my mom, my dad, my brother, my friends, my colleagues, and my boss about it. And still I couldn't decide.
And THEN it occurred to me (because sometimes I take a while to catch on) that the one person I hadn't asked was Teagan.
Here's how it went in the car yesterday: Mommy: Honey, you don't have school on Thursday or Friday...what would you think of going to Cheyenne to see Giempa one last-- Teagan: YES. Mommy: I want you to remember that he looks a lot different-- Teagan: YES. Mommy: And he can't get out of bed by hims-- Teagan YES. Mommy: And he talks a lot slower than he used-- Teagan: YES. Mommy: And there's not a lot to do there. We just sit around and-- Teagan: MOMMY. I WANT TO GO SEE GIEMPA.
Needless to say, I just bought plane tickets.