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[16 Mar 2008|08:37pm] |
Nothing like starting your period the same day that your grandmother dies.
Sigh.
It's been some kind of a week. Have known for some days that Grandma was dying. Heart problems had her in the hospital, where she broke her hip. She went to Aunt Arnie's to stay, someone figured out that she couldn't swallow, which meant she couldn't get food or water. Back to the hospital, IV. On Sunday the IV was taken out; she didn't want it, and she wanted to go home. If she started being able to swallow, great, but if not then she didn't want to fight it. Since last Sunday she has not had any fluids.
Yesterday I woke up to my cell phone buzzing. It was my dad, the first time we've talked since all of this began to trickle through the news path. All of my news has been gotten from my older sister, Tammy. The extended family on that side is lousy about sharing information about such things, but even after I knew, I didn't call Dad. We don't know how to talk to each other about simple things, and I no longer know how to comfort even a friend. There is a part of me that says it doesn't matter, simply calling makes the difference, but when it comes to my dad and big things going on, I often feel like an intruder. It's always been that way. I sent a card on Thursday. I'm a lot better at talking on paper than I am on the phone. I think we're both awkward, I think maybe he kind of understands.
Anyway. Yesterday morning, Saturday, I woke up to Dad calling. Grandma had died, sometime in the late night or early morning. Her heart had finally given out. We didn't talk long, just a few minutes. I can't remember all of what he said, except that he seemed discouraging of any of us coming down for the funeral. We're all going, so that worked well. :P I think, very honestly, that he will be glad to see us. I know I will be glad to see him. Sometimes you need your family, to touch base and remind yourself of what you all are to each other, that there is still that connection there, that you all loved someone. Something about it, I think, gives faith that the person who has left will be okay, that those left behind will be okay too.
Thinking about Grandma this week I have remembered her soft grandma voice, which she couldn't use this last bit because of her throat. I have remembered sitting on the counter in her old kitchen, and her giving me one of the cat figurines from her collection, a grey and white kitten with a bow. I remember the photos she always had on a special shelf, no matter where she was, and the blacksmith picture that always hung on her wall. I remember the berries I always forgot she grew, and was delighted to find and sneak. I remember her blackberry pies, and I know that they will always, always mean her for me. I remember the best strawberry shortcakes I've ever had in my whole life, and sharing one with Milt, who went before her. I remember the quiet, pleasant shadows of her house and how they always felt good. I remember her hugs, which somehow I remember as always being kind of sideways. I remember her hair, which never really did turn grey or white, not even now, at age 90. And I remember, a long long time ago, family gatherings when everyone put it aside and got together, and we sat at a forever-long table and all played Uno, and how it was loud and laughing and wonderful and good. And I hope, hope, hope, so much, that her children will remember those times, and remember that part of her, and revive and keep that. It's the best part of our family that's ever been.
It is hard to think that going to visit family in Washington will no longer mean going to see Grandma Mildred, too. I believe that people can and do hang around after they pass on. I believe my mom when she says Grandma Pearl is around, and when I was away from home and smelled something familiar from those moments in which Mom had said that, I was glad to feel like she was around. I'm grateful that I feel that way, because it makes it feel not heartbreaking that Grandma Mildred went, just sad at how it will be different, and how I will miss being able to hug her. I'm sad for my dad and his sisters, who've lost their mom, and I can't help thinking about the someday when my sisters and I will lose ours. I am so sad for all of them, and want very much just to hug them all very, very hard. Sometimes you just need to share space with your family.
Mom and Tammy(and Steve) and Heather and I will fly into Seattle on Sunday night. Mom from Tonga, Heather from Juneau, Tammy and Steve from Fort Wayne, and me from here. It feels really, really, really good to know that in a few days my whole family, my mom, my dad, my sisters, and me, will all share space. I am not a person who mourns the loss of the way we were. I was relieved when my parents divorced, and I am proud of my sisters and what they have accomplished and where they're at. But sometimes it's nice to come back together and feel that we are still family, all together, unbreakable.
Love you, Grandma. Give Chuck and Milt great big hugs for me, and come around sometimes, please, okay?
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