... for it to be good news.
Crawling out of bed about to face a day, which I’m fully aware will be comprised of phone calls and emails, conversations with family members with whom I haven’t spoken to in years, repeating the sad details, planning the services. And then the long silences shared with my immediate family, holding hands, an empty tissue box, unsure what to say or mumble, because words cannot sew, or tape or glue together the void… facing a day like this is hard. Don't worry.... this entry will get happier...
People say losing grandparents happens, and it does, all my friends
have – but the hard part isn’t my loss, yes, I am grieving, but it’s
watching my mom lose her mom. My grandmother was in her seventies, she
was in pillates class a month ago, she was traveling to New York, and
she was sassy and full of life. She was too young to leave us – too
young even for the US Consensus, but for her the time was right.
There were too many obscure occurrences in the last 48 hours to
believe that her frail body couldn’t take any more IVs, or that she
quit fighting. Her body never gave up, but around 4am her spirit let
go.
People say, “She is in a better place, she isn’t hurting anymore…”
These statements are all true. Death is the predictable part of life,
right? The event we can count on, but can never prepare for. My mom
left Houston only two days ago, after being told that my grandmother
was on the road to recovery – there was scientific proof we were
allowed to hope. Enough so to give my mom permission to fly to Denver
only for a few days. She arrived home late at night, the next morning,
well this morning, she had an appointment scheduled, a day of laundry
and catching up and then she was scheduled to fly back to Houston to
root her mother on while she did physical therapy, to drive her to
doctor’s visits, to help her heal.
My grandmother had many visitors yesterday; she was lively, telling
stories and joking with the nurses; she convinced everyone she felt
well. She spoke on the phone with each of her children. She ate French
toast. For the first time in weeks she didn’t take anything for the
pain. We were convinced that she wasn’t suffering. Nobody thought
anything different than she was getting healthier. My grandfather
received a phone call around 2am. He drove to the hospital and he sat
next to her for two hours. She told him she loved him and then she
promised him she knew how much he loved her. And then she stopped
breathing.
When I heard the shaky voice over the telephone receiver this morning,
my first reaction was; when is the next test? What is the next
procedure? The new prognosis? But when I pressed the “End” button; I
realized there are no more nexts. Death is game over.
My mother has always said, “The day I lose my mother will be the
saddest day in my life. I don’t know how I will get through it.”
But as I type this, my mother is upstairs and sleeping. We chuckle
because she drives the same as her mom and pokes around in her
nightgown, she makes the same facial expressions and she loves us more
than anything – she is her mother’s daughter. My mom is curled up with
her head in my father’s lap. He loves her so very much. How can we
ever be sad when there is so much love? My brother and sister and I
have taken turns scratching her back and bringing her tea and kissing
her forehead.
Today is now over. Tomorrow there will be flowers and more phone calls
and funeral arrangements. There will be cleaning of closets and
heirlooms to divvy amongst the cousins. And then there will be
photographs to organize and photographs to frame and then we will have
choices.
Why her? I wonder… I’m a person who refuses to accept something
without attaching wisdom - a lesson, a skill, some takeaway to store
and tuck in my back pocket for later use. The phrase, “sunk cost”
doesn’t exist in my vernacular. Experiences and situations and
hardships must have meaning – I seek value. And even with all the
horror in our world, I have trouble understanding why my grandmother
had to leave us, so soon, too soon.
You see....My grandmother was at peace. She had closure – she was the
strongest and that's why she had to go first. Like most matriarchs who
keep traditions alive, who don't forget birthdays and the names of
boyfriends, she scolded us and she spoiled us - but she always
accepted us. When we think of her we're flooded with a desire to make
things right, tomorrow we can say “I love you” to all the people who
can pick up their phone.
She was more than a mother and a wife, she was also a philanthropist,
an only child, a Houstonian - she has friends from every walk and
every chapter of life - from the opera to the ballet, from bookclubs
and the Hillcountry, all the way down to the Christian halfway home.
Her family always came first – she came through with flying colors -
she was cheering - attending graduations, dances, weekends away - she
tended to us when we were sick and she threw the parties when it was
an occasion to celebrate. And although her calendar was abundant of
new acquaintances and old friends, overflowing with big trips,
organizations and charities; her life was still very simple.
Every moment she spent, she spent well. Every person with whom she
spoke, felt heard. A little woman of 5'2'' made so many hundreds of
people feel loved.
In a few days the extended family will fly in from around the country
for her funeral and we will grieve. We will witness everyone at his or
her most vulnerable place. Men will cry and the children will wear
dresses and suits and won’t understand the eulogies until years down
the road when they will hear stories about the grandmother they cannot
remember. Her death has left a hole in our family and the only way we
can fill it; is by loving each other. We will have to take it upon
ourselves to organize family reunions; remind cousins of birthdays.
She took great joy in gift giving - it was a way for her to show
people she knew them, their needs, how she could communicate - and
the gift she left us with is time. There is enough time to love harder
than ever before and let go of the things that hold us down – that
waste our moments – that prevent us from relishing and experiencing
and enjoying the very stuff that life is made of – each other.
People keep saying that although my grandmother has passed, one day
we’ll join her in heaven. And while I believe that is true and that
will bring comfort to most; heaven still seems so very far away.
This morning, after the phone call and before I crawled out of bed, I
closed my eyes and prayed. I took a deep breath and felt her presence
protecting me, helping me navigate the future; I envisioned her
laughing and heard her telling me the sweetest things that put a song
in my heart. Now, whenever I miss her... I close my eyes and she is
with me. And that will last forever.
