With Love and Gratitude

It has been awhile since I've written. My grandmother passed away two weeks ago on June 14. It was the heaviest experience of my life, which is no small thing considering it was 39 and a half years in the making. The ordeal was an incredibly odd succession of horrible and magical moments, mostly horrible in quantity, but soul strengthening in entirety, to say the least.

At around 4:15 p.m. on the Thursday before my grandma died, my mother had called me at my office and told me that I should come right away, as my grandmother was declining substantially (speaking incoherently, twitching, couldn't see clearly). Earlier that afternoon Grandma had said to my mother, "God is calling me, but I'm not ready to go." Hearing that comment was somewhat startling to me, as my grandmother was not a particularly religious person, save the comment she had made to the doctor a few weeks earlier who asked why she didn't want to eat any food (she said, "That's between me and Jesus.") Within about two hours, she had closed her eyes for good and started the labored breathing, still convulsing (I found out later that when the kidneys break down, minerals start to build up in the blood and cause this). Of course, it was awful to witness. Her mouth had drooped wide open (I kept thinking her emaciated face looked exactly like that painting, "The Scream"), and her breathing and the twitching got progressively slower. She was also a total skeleton, as the renal failure had severely affected her appetite over the last several months. She truly looked like a Holocaust victim with every single rib bone showing and her heart visibly beating out of her chest. She had to be bathed, re-positioned, and changed on a regular basis, which these wonderful nurse's aides did with such care and kindness. They reaffirmed my strained faith in humanity more than they could have possibly realized, as they expressed clear purpose and pleasure in doing a job that most would perceive as repulsive and grueling - they were true angels of mercy. Every night, the staff would tell us that she would likely die, but she continued to hold on, virtually lifeless and to the point where you would think that it couldn't possibly get any worse...but it would. The hospice nurse assured us that she knew we were there and could hear us, as the hearing is the last sense to be lost.

My grandfather's 81st birthday was that Friday. We were not going to go out to dinner as planned, of course, because neither my mother or I wanted her to die alone. My grandfather was too ill himself to sit with her for any extended period of time, so it was up to us. A visiting minister/spiritual counselor from the hospice had told my mother that day, "It is important to leave your mother alone at times. It is very common that people will wait until their loved ones have left before passing, and sometimes it is crucial for them to have that space in order to let go." I have heard this edict several times since, as well. So, we nervously went to dinner. We came back within two hours and things were the same. I was sort of shocked because my grandmother has a son who died before I was born (she believed, as I do, that she would somehow be reunited with him after passing) and she had been saying she wanted to die for a very long time. I read an article on a hospice website that indicated that the physical and spiritual ending do not always coincide in the death process. Sometimes people will hold on to work out their spiritual issues even though it is a struggle for them to hold on physically, and vice versa. As I said, my grandma spoke incoherently in those last two hours before she essentially became comatose. However, she repeated an estranged relative's name very clearly at least three times. My grandma rarely spoke of this person, so it was a surprising utterance. In addition, she squeezed my hand pretty regularly, even in that state. At one point, I had let go because I had to go to the bathroom. She let out a groan and twitched her hand repeatedly, but immediately calmed after I told her where I was going and that I would be right back. This was at a time when you would have never thought she had a clue I was even there.

The night before she died I had stayed alone with her all night because my mom and I had started to do longer shifts alone at that point, whereas previously we were staying together and going home to sleep individually at very short intervals. At 10:30 a.m. my mom arrived and I left so that I could go to work in the afternoon, as the hospice nurse had told my mother that she had seen people live in my grandma's state for as long as two weeks, even in the totally emaciated and deteriorated condition she was in. I had mentioned to my mother privately that, upon greater thought and reflection of the article I read, perhaps it was pissing my grandma off that we kept telling her it was ok to go, like we actually wanted her to die, or something (I loved her dearly, but the woman was easily offended). I said to my mother, "I've said everything I need to say to her. From now on, I'm just going to be there for her by holding her hand and telling her that I'm still there and I love her." Later that afternoon my mom told her, "Mom, I'm sorry if you think by what we said that we won't miss you or that we want you to die. We just love you and we don't want you to suffer anymore...but you go when you want!!!" (in a really cute, funny tone.) A few hours later, my mom was holding her hand and said "Mom, I'm going to the bathroom and then outside to make a phone call (to a friend who had called her), I'll be right back, though." My mom left for about five minutes and when she came back, my grandma had passed.

At 6:30 p.m. my mom called me at my office, which is only about 5 minutes away from the nursing home, so when I got there, her body was still warm. She looked completely at peace, and it gave me an overwhelming sense of peace, as well. I was so sad, but relieved she was no longer in pain. Like I said, it was a both draining and replenishing experience for me beyond what I could have expected in spite of hearing similar stories about the dying process from others throughout my life. The love and care people showed us was so touching. In a thoughtful note I received after her passing, one of my friends said I could take comfort in the fact that my grandmother is now "restored." I adore that thought. As trite or obvious as it may seem, I experienced a deep feeling of certainty that all love is eternal and beyond any intellectual measure or boundary. And in the midst of the painful feelings of loss, I gained an even greater appreciation of the beauty and perfection of life and its mystery. I would be sitting with my grandma and have very clear memories of happy times with her in my childhood that I hadn't thought of in years. It made me wonder if she was revisiting those thoughts at the same time, too. There is certainly a void and I miss her, but I am grateful, especially for having the time to tell her how much I loved her and how much she meant to me in my life. That I was able to do that and be there for her in the end was truly a gift. ~M1L