Three years ago this morning, I woke up to my dad calling to tell me that my Grandma was about to die. Rather than leap into that grief, I sprung into action, calling the airlines to get a ticket home for the funeral of someone who wasn't yet dead. The action of getting that ticket was preferable to starting to feel the impending loss.
I guess I knew that I'd have the rest of my life to greive Grandma's death.
Later that morning, after our tickets were finally purchased, Dad called back to say that Grandma was gone.
All I could talk about was how I'd bought our tickets. Even at the time, it seemed insensitive but I think I had some idea of how hard it would be from that point on.
Our tickets were for a day or so later. We played hockey that night, all part of my need to put off the inevitable and somehow, I scored two goals in one game.
In the week or so before her death, it was finally clear that the end was near. Grandma was the toughest of the tough, she put up a brave fight against illness and a deteriorating body for longer than most people would, but in the end, the inevitability of death won out and we knew she was about to leave us. Those wonderful women who cared for her stayed around the clock, kept her clean and comfortable. Esther, who was from Africa, did a traditional dance a number of times. Grandma loved to see her dance. Lee only worked weekends but she knew what was coming and stayed over as well, holding Grandma's hand and showing her the kind of love Grandma deserved.
At the very end, many many members of my family crowded into Grandma's room, gathering at her bedside, holding her hands. She asked what time it was, then within an hour or two of asking that, she was gone. She left this world surrounded by love. You can't ask for more than that, you just can't.
I was not there that day. I had debated going but in the end I knew that all the trips I'd made to see her were enough. I'd said goodbye a thousand times, I'd told her everything I needed her to know, which in the end boiled down to one thing: that I loved her like crazy.
Andrea and I travelled with my brother to the funeral. We missed connections, sprinted through airports and in the end, I talked our way onto the last connecting flight of the day, waiting patiently at the podium to speak to each group of ticket agents about our plight. I like to think that I used the same politeness that Grandma showed me to get us onto that plane.
The visitation at the funeral home was loud loud loud. My extended family is not small; we spilled out of the room and into the hallway, our din drowning out anything that might have been going on across the hall. Some of my family saw Grandma's body beforehand but I could not. I looked away from that side of the room until the curtain was closed. At one point, it was just like a tv show -- I saw a relative who hadn't been speaking to another relative for some time beforehand. That relative said 'I wasn't speaking to (other relative) because...' and at that moment I swear to you the volume of the room was turned a notch higher, drowning out the reason. I just smiled and said 'oh,' because obviously I didn't need to know whatever that reason was.
Rather than be sullen mourners, I like to think we sent Grandma off right that night. It was exactly how it always was at her house, with her there at the breakfast table, drinking her coffee while all of us carried on around her. Except of course that this was the last time it would be like that.
The next day was her funeral. I was to speak. Somehow, I'd always thought that many of us would speak, after all I don't consider us a particularly shy bunch. But somehow it worked out that it was all me, at the very end of the Mass. My mom's main concern was that I make sure everyone knew we'd be having a bigass lunch afterwards, she'd spent an inordinate amount of time coaching me on the exact wording of what boiled down to 'hey, there's lunch in that room out back' but I guess that was her contribution.
Despite my sort of boisterous persona, the truth is that microphones freak me out. So I'd spent the days between Grandma's death and that moment in the church being nervous about how my voice would sound in that cavernous church. I was also preparing and rehearsing in my head what I'd be saying about her.Here's what I said, and now you can appreciate my mom's input on the last bit about joining us for lunch.
I delivered it like a pro. I owned that pulpit (you can't say that everyday!) and the most important thing: I sent Grandma off right, I honored who she was to me, I celebrated how very lucky I am to have had her in my life. Adoption is a crazy, random business, at least it was back then. I could've been placed with any old family but I wasn't. I was able to share 32 years of my life with a wonderful, wonderful woman who I adored from the moment I met her. Lucky, I'm so lucky.
Do I still think about her? Of course. Do I still miss her like crazy? You bet your ass. I will miss her for the rest of my life but that doesn't mean I don't feel grateful as hell that I got to know her.
Rest in peace, Grandma. I hope the canasta game is still going.
Labels: Grandma
1 Comments:
This is a great post. Thanks for saying this to us today. You still honor her today.
5:29 PM
Post a Comment
<< Home