I’m not sure if the title of this post warrants much explanation or apology. There are polite and euphamistic ways to put things that are delicate in nature, but my grandma died this morning and I don’t feel the patience for such niceties.
I woke up around noon ready for the start of my night shift rotation when dad called. He had a little polite conversation before informing me. I wasn’t shocked, but a moment of disbelief held a deep breath before breathing the life of the statement into my heart and mind.
Grandma had been very ill since September and I had been fairly convinced she would pass away not long after her emergency admission. Every month since that one, I always felt, was on God’s humor. Still, as the feelings of permanence anchored on the moment, I came to understand why grieving is its own word, carefully created and crafted to be just different than sadness, longing and missing.
I’m not ready to eulogize the moment, yet, but I wanted to diary certain observations of the day. Her absence is made starkly more visible by everyone else’s presence.
I cleaned up quickly after talking a while with Dad, making sure I understood what “I’m okay” meant from his thoughts and words before informing Kerry and my work. In what I realize is not always the case, everyone responded respectfully and compassionately. Work made arrangements for my time with no pressure. Kerry was quick and urgent to offer to be with me for anything I needed.
After the necessary phone calls had been completed, I took some time to myself and let the fresh ink of thoughts dry a bit on my face before pacing out the next steps.
The death of close family members probably varies with infinite degrees and stories, but the days that follow, I would wager, are all familiar echoes. Immediately, plans are made for ceremonies, informing friends and family, casket selection, obituary column information, pall bearers, flower arrangements, marker selections and engravings, music selections, someone to officiate the service and even finalizing financial agreements with funeral homes and cemetary fees. It’s all very processed and set-forth with shadowy variations for cremations or exceptionally violent deaths or criminal cases.
My sister and I were present for these decisions on priviledge of proximity. We were close by and ready, so we were present to watch the three children make decisions about their deceased mother. A loyal husband, grandpa, rested at the end of the table incapable of hearing the conversations about the ceremonies and selections. Gravity pulled at his face and thoughts with twice the normal forces. It seemed clear that his frustration with not being able to hear the polite descriptions of available features and options was easily lost in his desire for a moment to grieve.
The reality is there won’t be a better moment any time soon, so best to get it all out of the way now and be pestered less in the future. Reality has little concern with patience or compassion, but if it did, I suppose none of us should ever die.
I found myself oscillating between roles of support, humor and reason. I tried to write out as much as I thought would be helpful for grandpa so he could feel apart of what was going on. Simple details that had already been predetermined seemed important to tell him. At least then he knew his kids were just confirming what he and Maxine (his wife) had already picked. Grandpa was upset, the way you should be upset for such an event.
While I lost grandma, I always felt very aware that my dad and his brother and sister lost a mom. I’m not sure I would feel ‘devastated’ at the loss of my parents, but the world would feel different in a way I wouldn’t want to accept quickly, if ever. The math logic is cruel, you have two sets of grandparents and only one set of parents, but it isn’t the numbers that make my dad’s loss greater or more personal than mine. It’s the affect this person had on his life versus mine.
So I honor that and do what I can to try and help these two brothers and sister through a magnificent loss. I tried to predict where I could help with smaller things and offered reassurance for choices as if I could really be any help. I even called upon my humor at times with good taste and timing to help keep the air fresh. These were my ways of grieving and participating. They are not so great as the choices for these siblings who each feel a great personal loss, but they were what I could do at the time.
I had good fortune to talk with Grandma at the hospital in September when she was first admitted. Her blood pressure had been out of control, her heart rate varied and her mental faculties were in complete disarray most of the times I visited. She appeared in bed as if she were playing charades and she had gotten the word ‘uncomfortable’ to act out.
But, one night I had stopped by to get a little overtime. At the end of the shift, I went up to the floor to see if her blood pressure had reacted at all to some of the treatment adjustments they had made. I’m not sure if they had worked or what, but I guess I know better than to question such a fine gift.
She was propped up in bed watching tv as if nothing were a matter. We had a clear conversation and I just felt like I was lucky. She knew she was sick and in the hospital. She knew people had visited her all day, but she knew she couldn’t recall it all. We talked about little things. We talked about all her kids, grandkids and great grandchildren. The span of her life and all it’s blessings were held in her smile as she reflected on each of them. She let out small half laughs in between thoughts. She used to laugh all the time and this was the first I had heard in a long stretch.
I took advantage of the end of our conversation before leaving. I told her I loved her and how thankful I was to have her as a grandma. I felt fortunate then, I’m even more indebted to such fortunes now.
There are a great deal many more thoughts and observations I have on this situation, but I retain a great deal of them privately. A great deal of stories unfolded through the day and I’m masking a great deal of the amplitude of emotions observed in so many others in respect for the moment.
For now, I stick with the explanation I gave as title and introduction for this grandma I love and miss.
Grandma died.
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