saying goodbye to my grandmother…

My grandmother died last Friday. I have tried to think of a way to lead into that, instead of starting with that emotional bomb, but I’m coming up empty. So there it is.

On the morning of Sunday, November 4th, I got a call from my sister. Gramma had been admitted to the hospital a day earlier after a mild fall – no broken bones or severe bruising, but her body temperature was 85 and her oxygen saturation was down in the low 70s. Doctors thought her organs were failing and she might not survive the morning. I immediately booked a flight and 2 hours later I was in the air headed to my hometown. I was prepared that my Gramma may have already passed by the time my flight landed, I picked up a rental car, and drove to the hospital.

Fortunately by the time I arrived Gramma was still hanging on, but we didn’t expect her to survive the night. I slept for a grand total of 45 minutes that night, a few minutes on the cold, hard hospital floor, and the rest spooned up against my older sister on the tiny hospital pull-out cot.

By the next morning, Monday, Gramma’s stats were higher. We had removed artificial feeding and hydration on Sunday, so it was still just a matter of time. For the next few days, I went to sleep each night expecting to wake up to news that my Gramma passed in the night, but every morning she was alive and stable. My mom, sister, aunt, cousin, and I developed a bit of a routine over the next few days. I would stop to pick up my mom each morning, and we’d arrive at the hospital with coffee. We spent hours crammed in the hospital room, all 5 of us alternating between chatting, watching t.v., or sleeping for a few minutes here and there. My aunt and cousin stayed overnight in the hospital most nights, but one night I was able to convince them to go back to my sister’s to sleep, and I got to spend the night with Gramma.

Spending the night alone in the hospital with my dying grandmother is one of those wonderous life experiences I will never forget. I read to her (from an Anne Lamott book, if you read my last post). I held her hand and played music for her. I just talked to her as if she was present and awake, even though she wasn’t (I’d like to take a moment to thank my dog and the Academy for allowing me to practice on how to talk to something that doesn’t respond). The implications of what I would have to do if her status changed in the middle of the night weighed heavily on me, but I cherished every minute alone with my Gramma.

By the morning of Friday, November 9th, my Gramma’s oxygen had started to decline and her breathing was a little more erratic. As the day progressed her stats worsened, and at 4:13 that afternoon, my grandmother took her last breath, surrounded by 5 women who loved her. I got to hold her hand as she died.

I found myself becoming anxious and uneasy as she neared the end, but was surprised to find that I felt totally at peace when she passed.  I think that’s because she was totally at peace – she didn’t appear uncomfortable or in distress, she just looked like she was sleeping.

My grandmother’s death came as a huge shock. Just a few weeks ago, she could walk around and use the bathroom on her own, knew and recognized her 3 granddaughters, and never complained of illness or pain. If at the beginning of the year you were to tell me that a loved one will die this year, I never would have guessed it would be my Gramma, or my mother-in-law, who passed away 5 months ago. I would have guessed it would be my mom, who has a progressive terminal illness. If I’m being honest, I’m a little relieved Gramma went first. Parents shouldn’t have to bury their children, and I find it reassuring that the world is proceeding in the order it should. But I’m back to expecting my mom will be next, and that’s less reassuring. That my mom survived this year, and two women in my life didn’t, doesn’t release my mom from death’s slow grasp.

It has been a shitty year.

My Gramma died just a month shy of her 99th birthday. She spent 50 of those years married to the love of her life. And while she desperately wanted to live to see 100, I think she left with no regrets. She died peacefully, without pain, surrounded by 5 women who were crazy about her. Honestly, we should all be so lucky. And while I already miss her so much, I can’t imagine a better death – lots of morphine, Frank Sinatra on the radio, Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy on the t.v., and 5 strong independent women holding your hand.

I usually try to conclude these posts with some kind of insight I gained, or deep thoughts I’m left pondering, but my Gramma’s death inspired none. Sometimes death can be beautiful and peaceful, and after my mother-in-law’s ordeal, maybe that is the only insight I needed.

I was, however, left contemplating a related experience from last week. More on that in the next post.

Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers and your friends and families. I’m thankful you have allowed me to be a part of your lives.

“To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the times comes to let it go, to let it go.” – Mary Oliver

Smell ya later.
– Linds