Dawn's Digression.
Monday, April 07, 2003
Granny passed away on April 1, 2003 around 11:15pm. My aunts, mother and I were there with her.
The phone rang Monday morning at 6:20am. I was asleep, but jumped out of the bed and said, "Oh, God." It was my mother. She told me Granny had quit breathing that morning for at least 3 minutes. My aunt Lu was there with her and called my mother, Uncle George, and Aunt Laura to come up there. I packed my duffel bag, called in to work, and Michele and I headed out to the hospice. Granny had been sleeping since Friday afternoon. Her breathing was irregular all day. She'd stop breathing for a few moments...then start up again.
Around 1pm in the afternoon, she seemed to have an extremely difficult time breathing. My uncle, aunts, mom and I were around her bed, the five of us touching her. In a strange way, that scene is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. If Granny needed any affirmation that she was loved, it was the five of us there with her. Also, her best friends I mentioned before -- ends up she had been best friends with one of them since birth. I didn't realize that. They spent all day Monday and Tuesday at the hospice with us as well. I tried very hard to be respectful of 'the kids' as I call them (Lu, Laura, George, Mom). I wanted to be with my grandmother, but also understood I was not one of her children. She had told me and my mother both that she always considered me one of her own. I hope that I wasn't intrusive. Or too intrusive. After she died, I sat with the women until George came, then I left the room so the Kids could be together. I've felt I'm in a strange position because I'm not quite one of her children, not quite a grandchild. I was thinking I didn't have anyone coming from my same position, and then I realized we all had different relationships with her, and none are coming from exactly the same angle.
I think I'd like to type more about those two days I spent with my family and Granny in the hospice, but it feels cheap to share it. I think it is something between me and them that should most likely remain so.
I am having a hard time. Last night I dreamed Granny had quit breathing and had been dead for a couple of days and then all the sudden sat up in bed. She was trying to get out of bed. It was really disturbing. I've also woken up in the middle of the night watching Michele's chest to see it move with her breathing. Both times I freaked because I couldn't see her chest moving, and was afraid she wasn't breathing. The tears come and go. I find that I am completely confused. I know I am too old to be confused, but I just keep thinking to myself, 'That isn't my Granny.' But it is, isn't it? And how could that be? My Granny doesn't die, other people's Grannies do.
Here is something touching. My grandmother had two pictures that went with her to the nursing home. And they went with her to the hospice as well. One was of her children and their spouses. The other was of her grandkids. The only thing Granny had of her own at the hospice was those two pictures. The night she passed away, George walked up to me and offered me the pictures. He said because the Kids already had copies, and I'm the oldest. He said later too, that they didn't want them. But I like to think of it as me getting the last thing Granny had with her. And I remember the day we gave her the pictures, and exactly what she said. I hung the photo of my aunts and uncles in my bedroom. The picture of the grandkids is atrocious, and I refuse to hang it right now (I had bad hair.) But when Michele and I get a house, it will definitely hang in our hallway.
The phone rang Monday morning at 6:20am. I was asleep, but jumped out of the bed and said, "Oh, God." It was my mother. She told me Granny had quit breathing that morning for at least 3 minutes. My aunt Lu was there with her and called my mother, Uncle George, and Aunt Laura to come up there. I packed my duffel bag, called in to work, and Michele and I headed out to the hospice. Granny had been sleeping since Friday afternoon. Her breathing was irregular all day. She'd stop breathing for a few moments...then start up again.
Around 1pm in the afternoon, she seemed to have an extremely difficult time breathing. My uncle, aunts, mom and I were around her bed, the five of us touching her. In a strange way, that scene is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. If Granny needed any affirmation that she was loved, it was the five of us there with her. Also, her best friends I mentioned before -- ends up she had been best friends with one of them since birth. I didn't realize that. They spent all day Monday and Tuesday at the hospice with us as well. I tried very hard to be respectful of 'the kids' as I call them (Lu, Laura, George, Mom). I wanted to be with my grandmother, but also understood I was not one of her children. She had told me and my mother both that she always considered me one of her own. I hope that I wasn't intrusive. Or too intrusive. After she died, I sat with the women until George came, then I left the room so the Kids could be together. I've felt I'm in a strange position because I'm not quite one of her children, not quite a grandchild. I was thinking I didn't have anyone coming from my same position, and then I realized we all had different relationships with her, and none are coming from exactly the same angle.
I think I'd like to type more about those two days I spent with my family and Granny in the hospice, but it feels cheap to share it. I think it is something between me and them that should most likely remain so.
I am having a hard time. Last night I dreamed Granny had quit breathing and had been dead for a couple of days and then all the sudden sat up in bed. She was trying to get out of bed. It was really disturbing. I've also woken up in the middle of the night watching Michele's chest to see it move with her breathing. Both times I freaked because I couldn't see her chest moving, and was afraid she wasn't breathing. The tears come and go. I find that I am completely confused. I know I am too old to be confused, but I just keep thinking to myself, 'That isn't my Granny.' But it is, isn't it? And how could that be? My Granny doesn't die, other people's Grannies do.
Here is something touching. My grandmother had two pictures that went with her to the nursing home. And they went with her to the hospice as well. One was of her children and their spouses. The other was of her grandkids. The only thing Granny had of her own at the hospice was those two pictures. The night she passed away, George walked up to me and offered me the pictures. He said because the Kids already had copies, and I'm the oldest. He said later too, that they didn't want them. But I like to think of it as me getting the last thing Granny had with her. And I remember the day we gave her the pictures, and exactly what she said. I hung the photo of my aunts and uncles in my bedroom. The picture of the grandkids is atrocious, and I refuse to hang it right now (I had bad hair.) But when Michele and I get a house, it will definitely hang in our hallway.
Dawn, 2:41 PM
