"98 is great; 98 takes you to Heaven's gate"

Unlike other relatives who I’ve had the blessing to watch grow old, my grandmother never grew old…. until the very end. At that point, I was praying for her to die.  Because that is what she wanted.  Because death would bring relief.  Because she was ready. 

And, I guess, because I didn’t really think she would.  I thought she’d be around for at least a handful of years – because that’s how she was. And she didn’t seem near death, just patiently waiting for it – until the end.

The end brought her to the hospital.  She had an obstructed bowel, among other things. The doctors could not believe that she had withstood that pain for so long. But my grandmother had a high tolerance for pain. 

She grew old in the hospital.  She looked weathered, but still sweet.  She looked tired and ready for something else.  Her fiery determination was put toward dying and not toward living.  She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t dying.

She thought if she moved from the hospital to a nursing home, death would come more quickly.  After all, her sister had died shortly after moving to a nursing home.  We told her that wasn’t the reason to go to a nursing home.  Not all people die soon after arriving there.

She wanted to know if she could die while sitting in her chair watching TV.  She was told it was certainly possible.  She wanted to know if she could die from starving herself.  She didn’t have much of an appetite before going into the hospital, and she was having more trouble eating once she was there.

My grandma was ready to return to her parents, my grandfather, and her siblings who had all died before her.  She had had a complete life.  She had used up her life and wasn’t prepared to put more effort into it.  That is why I prayed for her death (only I called it relief in my prayers).

And, now I realize – more than ever – I didn’t want her to die.  I had her best interest at heart, but not my own.  I did not want her to suffer.  I did not want to see her struggle as her physical body “failed” (her level of physical failure was still much better than most people her age) while her mind still flourished.  She was sharp as can be up until the end – remembering birthdays, memories, and details.

I still have conversations I’d like to have with her.  I still have things to learn from her.  I’m still wondering about my grandma’s life when she was a young mother, a middle aged mother, my grandmother in the early years.

I hold my grandmother in the highest regard.  The meanest thing I ever heard her say was “Lisa-la, you look like you put on a little weight.”  I knew I had to take better care of myself if my grandma was pointing that out to me.

Everyone loved her – loved her beyond.  Beyond an innate familial love.  Her love penetrated deep, and she didn’t have to do much to let you know it.  My grandma was an observer.  She received joy from sitting back and watching her children, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren be together.

She baked with love.  The walls of her home resonated with love.  And the love remains now that she is gone.  My mom said my grandma saved everything.  My parents found the booklet from junior high graduation.  I found an autograph book that was from my grandma’s elementary years.  There are pictures – pictures of everyone in our family.  There were seven siblings in my grandma’s family.  There are pictures of everyone and their children and their grandchildren….

I don’t think she necessarily spent her time rummaging through her pictures and memorable keepsakes, but they sat in drawers – brimming with love and pride.  In fact, next to all the pictures of grandma’s family that were forever on the refrigerator were a picture of “pride and joy” (the cleaning supplies) because that is what her family meant to her.

My grandma passed away on December 16, 2012 – the same day that my friend, Cindy, was born. Cindy – my friend who passed away much too early in life.  And, that’s really all I can say about that right now.

I saw my grandma before she was buried.  I’m not sure if I was “supposed to” or not.  I didn’t ask.  I wanted to see her.  She looked happy.  She looked like the grandma that I remembered – not the one in the hospital (who, really, compared to most sick, grumpy old people – was not far from her old self and was hardly grumpy… but she still wasn’t her old self, and she was a bit grumpy – as far as my grandma is concerned).  I was glad to have that last vision of my grandma – a vision of content.

Along with my brothers and sisters and cousins, I carried my grandmother – like I had carried my friend, Cindy – to the next phase of life. That’s when it sinks a little deeper – and with Cindy – a lot deeper.  Too deep.  We knew we were helping my grandma to fulfill her last wish.  The last time I had seen her, I told her I would keep her in my prayers.  She said, “Don’t pray for me.”, and I knew what she meant.  “I’ll pray for your wishes to be granted, Grandma,” I had told her.  And, so I did.

The world has changed again.  And, I know every day, somewhere – the world is changing and we are not aware of it.  But, when it hits close to home – you become aware.  And, whether you want to or not, you begin a process of contemplation, analyzing, and peacemaking.  You find your way and your place in the world again.  You begin to look forward again.  You start to live again.  As my grandma always said, “Yesterday is history.  Tomorrow is a mystery.  Today is a gift.  That’s why they call it the present.”