A Reflection on my Grandma's Passing

I’ve been putting off writing about my Grandma’s passing.  Unfortunately, I also don’t feel like I can write anything else until I do it.  So, this may jump around a bit, but I’m going to try to just sit down and sort out some things today, which is exactly two weeks since she passed away.  I know this piece will break every blog rule.  It will be long.  Very long.  But, it’s something I need to do before I can get back to writing like I normally do.

My Grandma found out she had cancer in November 2008 — right at Thanksgiving time. We happened to be visiting at the time, and she spent Thanksgiving in the hospital.  She had times of feeling better and times of feeling worse, but it was only in these last few months that she had apparently given up hope.  (The type of cancer she had is apparently not curable but is treatable.)

We traveled to visit with her and my Grandpa (“Papa”) in April, and we had a really nice visit.  But, I had a feeling that, though I thought she looked pretty good, there was just something funny.  With Grandma’s urging to come back soon, I was willing to schedule another trip just a month later – for the weekend of Mother’s Day and her birthday.

My parents had planned to go a few days before we went, but when my aunt said that Grandma’s doctor had signed off on having hospice come in for up to six months, they left even a few days earlier to help take Grandma to a doctor’s appointment earlier in the week.  It was hard to imagine that hospice would be appropriate.  I even said, flippantly, “What?  Is Aunt {name} trying to put an expiration date on her?”

When my parents got to my Grandparents, she called to say, “Angie – it’s not good.” And, every day, she called and warned, “It’s really not good.  This just really isn’t good.”  She would also tell me some of the things going on.  It was hard to believe that the things might be true.

I really knew it wasn’t good when one day, my Mom called to say, “I’m just too young to deal with this.”  I knew that what she meant was that emotionally, she felt like she just wasn’t old enough to have to deal with what was happening.  I still remember that was one of the things that made me realize how bad it was.  I think that’s even the first time I asked, “Do you think she’s going to die soon?”  I didn’t want the “Yeah, I really think so.” that came next.

By the time we got there on Friday of that week, Grandma was pretty much sleeping all day.  We spent seven hours there the first day, and she slept the whole time.  Hospice had also just brought in a hospital bed for her to use in the house.  Just shortly after we left that day, she did wake up for a short amount of time and asked for my Mom, but that was pretty much the last day that she talked.

(I will just interject right here, I guess, to say that two of my sisters also came and stayed for the duration.  Kristin came on Friday and Erin on Saturday.)

On Saturday when hospice came out, they cleaned her and also found bed sores.  They told us that sometimes it doesn’t take long for those to develop.  They taught us how to turn her, and from that point on, we started taking two hour shifts (two people at a time) to turn her, with three hour shifts through the night.  During the first day of turning, she would moan when we did it and even try to fight it.  During one turn, when she was turned toward me, I stroked her hair and said, “I’m so sorry, Grandma.”  Even though she hadn’t been talking by this point, very quietly she said, “I know.” (Yeah, it goes without saying that I cried.  But, I did.)

Also on Saturday, we had a visit from the (Episcopal) priest that is the pastor at the church that I went to as a child.  He was a very kind man.  He prayed with us and visited with us.  He also anointed Grandma, who was not really reacting to anything (other than our turning her).  During the prayers and anointing, she cried. We all cried too, as Grandma was not a church goer and there were many times when we weren’t sure of her thoughts about God.  She also took communion for the first time in probably 40 years or so (that’s my guess, though I’m not sure).  She cried during that too.  That time will probably be one of my most vivid memories of the whole time there.  It was moving and powerful.

On Saturday night, Papa (who has had heart problems as long as I can remember) sat down in his chair and told us to get him a baby aspirin.  (Yes, this is going just about where you think it’s going.)  He put on his Bi-Pap breathing thing and reminded us that if he would “pass out” to get our hands off him, as he has a defibrillator, and we called 911.  As the police and paramedics came, everyone pretty much stayed wherever they were.  Most of my kids were in the garage with one of my sisters (and apparently poor Noah stayed downstairs alone).  I was next to Grandma’s bed and kept trying to sooth her.  Though she was not moving on her own at that point, she sat up in bed as the paramedics were loudly working.  I gently eased her back down and she grabbed my arm.  I was pretty much a crying mess.  She calmed after the noise was done, and we all nervously waited for news from the men (my Dad and Eric went with Papa to the hospital).  Papa stayed in the hospital until Monday morning, and they said it was not a heart attack.

Each day saw a big decline from the previous day, and by Sunday, she didn’t really respond to much at all.  But Sunday turnings and cleaning, she didn’t moan and complain anymore.  It made turning easier, but it also made it even more sad.

On Sunday, Eric and my Dad also went home.  They knew they wouldn’t be back until the funeral.  I didn’t watch Eric say goodbye to Grandma, but all I know is that he cried during it.  And, my sister Kristin, who watched, cried too.

Hospice came again on Monday morning (a nurse and a pastor).  The nurse told us that she suspected it would be within the next 48 hours, though it is hard to predict. We were asked if everyone who would want to say goodbye had come.  We wondered whether Grandma was waiting for Papa (her husband of almost 62 years) to come home from the hospital.

At lunch time, we were shocked to have the front door open and Papa walked in! He had been brought home by an Aunt of mine, who then planned to stay the rest of the day.  My kids were so excited that Jack almost knocked “Great Papa” over by running into him for a hug.

Everyone seemed to mill around Grandma a lot in the early afternoon.  After a couple of hours of that though, everyone went to do things.  One of my sisters promised Papa she would sit with Grandma while he went to his office to work on some things.  We were all so exhausted though, she couldn’t help but fall asleep.

Just a few minutes in to her sleep, I walked by the living room on the way to get the kids to go hike outside.  But, I stopped and looked into the room (I could see the hospital bed from there, but not Grandma), and I just thought, “It’s time, isn’t it?” I walked over and was sure she was gone.  I tried to take her pulse, but then couldn’t decide if it was hers or my own that I faintly felt.  I tried to do it again and looked to see my hand shaking uncontrollably.  I put my hand at her chest and couldn’t feel a heartbeat.  She had waited until nobody was watching to take her last breaths. (I had felt the whole time that I would be the one who found her when she passed.  The funny thing was, I thought everyone thought that too.  But, I was the only one who thought it.)

Everyone in the house came to say their goodbyes, and then the myriad of calls began — to hospice, to the priest, to family and friends.  It seems like those kinds of calls happened for days.

The priest was actually already on his way to the house when we called. (He also got pulled over by the police right as he got to the house practically).  I think I cried harder while the priest was there and we were praying than when I actually found her.  It seemed so much more real.  (He also mentioned St. Joseph being the patron saint of a happy death, which he said she must have had, to have been surrounded by family.  I gasped when he said this, as I had just been telling my Mom that a day or two beforehand, plus I had been asking St. Joseph for prayer intercessions each day.)

While he was there, hospice arrived and officially pronounced her dead, about an hour after I found her.

The rest of the week is more of a blur.  We (my Mom, two sisters, the kids, and I) stayed the rest of the week, and my Aunt came out several days as well.  We helped with obituary writing, funeral planning, and made a funeral meal feast.

In a surprising move, Kristin, Erin, and I (though we’re all pretty darn emotional people) all managed to read things we wrote at the funeral.  People at the funeral all seemed to agree that is was both the most emotional part and the best part of the service.

After the funeral, most of us stayed in a hotel.  We stayed at a hotel with a fabulous pool area that had a kiddie area, a regular pool (with basketball hoops), and a hot tub.  While it may seem silly that I’m adding information about this, it’s because when I think of those 10 days, that is going to be one of those things that’s going to stick with me.  All of the kids (which included two of my kids cousins) got in the pools, and so did Eric and I, plus Erin and her husband Alex.  All of the other adults sat poolside.

We had a wonderful time in the pool that night.  Adults played in the fountains of the kiddie pool with the kids.  We laughed and splashed and let the pool wash away some of our troubles. I watched, crying, as Erin helped Jack see how far he could go in the big pool and still touch.  It made me cry because it just symbolized family to me, watching my sister help my son like that.  The whole ten days had been all about family. It had been hard and heart wrenching.  But, if things had to happen the way they had, I couldn’t imagine any other way that I would have wanted it to happen.  We may live far apart, but in a time when there was a need, we had managed to put aside all of the busyness of our lives and there was only family.

It reminds me of a favorite quote of mine by Anthony Brandt which I don’t think I have ever understood more clearly than I do now:

Other things may change us, but we start and end with family.