My Grammy

Well, my Grammy died. She died on a Tuesday morning. We had moved her into a nursing home, after a valiant effort by my grandfather, my mother and my aunt to help take shifts with her and care for her every day. It broke my heart to think of her and Grandpa being separated. Imagine being with someone for 75 years, and then not being with them. She was confused and sad that she couldn't go home again. It made me ponder old age, and how, after a while, we loose little bits of ourselves. You move from your house to a senior community, a senior community to a single room in a nursing home. You lose control over your body, and start to lose your memory and ability to communicate. It is scary. But even though all these things were being taken away from her, her heart still shined brightly. Even though all the trappings were stripped away, Grammy was still her kind, loving, beautiful self.

She came down with pnumonia and the flu at the same time. I had been alerted earlier in the day, but then received a note that she was getting better. Late that night, a text woke me up in bed that things were dicey, and that I should pray. I fell asleep with my phone in my bed, with "She should have died hereafter. There would have been time for such a word" in my head. It was the first time those words made sense to me. It was not a brush off of her life, but a plea for more time. He is so busy with the battle preparations and being king that he didn't pay attention. He didn't take time with her. I was planning on visiting her as soon as the show was over, but it was too late now.  I woke up and got ready for work and saw that I had missed a call around 6. I called my family back and learned that she had died. It was a short phone call and I had to get to work, so I didn't really get a chance to deal with it. I broke out in spontaneous crying here and there throughout the day. Tori got me coffee, and Bobby gave me a Reeses cup, after which I promptly burst into tears at the gesture. Every time I ate one, he would put another on the desk in the exact same spot.

That night I called my mom to see how she was and what happened. It was more than I could have hoped for for Grammy's passing. She was on life support. The doctors told my mom that it would be kinder to let her pass, as she was in pain. They made phone calls and got the family all together, all 6 of her children and Grandpa. My aunt Sarah had to drive to my other aunt's house to bang on the door at 2am, but they all got there. They said their goodbyes and my uncle John spoke to her on the phone. My Grandpa said the rosary with her one last time. They had vowed to do it every day together in their wedding vows, and they did.

They took off the apparatus, and Grammy hung on for a long time before breathing her last. My mom and dad said they marveled at how much death was like birth. It is a struggle, and you go from a place that is safe and warm and familiar to a new place you know nothing about.

The family finished up with the doctors and then walked out into a beautiful sunrise. My mom said it was a bit more orange than Grammy would have liked, but there was some lovely pink to it too.

I took two days off of work because I knew I needed to devote all my resources to being with and helping my family. The wake was strange and exhausting. Moments of being ok, and then moments of bursting into tears. Hundreds of people came, more than I expected. It was wonderful that Grammy had such a loving turn out. She looked odd in the casket. Beautiful, but not herself. I kept looking at her hands, her beautiful hands that I could still feel on mine. At first I couldn't go up to her. But then when I went up, I couldn't leave. I had to keep standing with her and talking to her. Maybe because I didn't do it as much as I should have when she was alive. I sat with Grandpa for a little bit which was really nice. He was more active than I have seen him in a while, talking and laughing with people, but he kept checking on her. They played a slideshow of pictures of her, and at the end we saw an amazing video of their wedding: silent and just a little hint of colorization. Grammy going from the house to the car, the car to the church, an inside shot of the church that was so dark you couldn't see anything, and then them both coming out of the church together. It was beautiful and they both looked so happy.

After the wake, the cousins went out to Unos, the only place open that late in Columbia, and had drinks and bar food. We caught up and talked about Grammy and how we felt and it was really nice. It was odd because the lights had been flickering occasionally at the wake, and the flicker accompanied us to the bar, and flickered even more when we were talking about her. It was nice to think it was her with us.

The funeral was the next morning. Lee came and stood with me the whole time, and was an amazing pillar of support. Grammy was carried in by the pall bearers, all my uncles, and cousins and my father and brother. I can't even imagine what that feels like. To be carrying her. They set her up off to one side, and I couldn't help thinking that that was kind of how it was at family gatherings. Grammy, off to one side by herself, or with grandpa, sitting and smiling while the family whirled and talked around her. I couldn't watch the lid open. It was too weird. It would have made it very plain that she was in a box, and I couldn't deal with that.

My family went up and said goodbye. Lee came up and stood with me, even though it was very strange for him to see the body. I had my rosary with me, and she was holding hers, so I clinked our rosaries like they were glasses. Then I made the sign of the cross on her head, like we always did to each other when we were saying goodbye.

The funeral was lovely. The reading was about the perfect wife from proverbs. The priest spoke about her life of service in the hope of reward in the life to come. My aunt Leenie gave us her life story, which I appreciated so much since there was so much I never knew about her. She was kind and giving and lively and strong. She sang and she wrestled with her faith, and fought for what she believed in. She loved our Grandfather deeply.  Katie, my cousin, in her grandchildren's eulogy described it best. Our grandmother was an immigrant from another time: a more refined, more polite time, in the best sense.  I have regretted that we were not closer to Grammy and Grandpa. Perhaps it was because when we went up to Pennsylvania on holidays to visit them, there were so many cousins around that we never sat and talked with them. As I got older, I grew to appreciate more and more their presence in our lives, but my life would always sweep me away.

We had a small reception after the service, and then we caravanned out to the cemetery. It was the friendliest old hodgepodgey cemetery I had ever seen. Lots of monoliths and large tombs and statues scattered over a rolling hillside, like how I imagine the cemetery in The Graveyard Book looking. It was good to know that Grammy would be in a friendly cemetery. The service at the site was abrupt and too short. We arrived and then we were done. It was weird to give her such short shrift when we were about to put her in the ground, that very final, very concrete act.  But we lingered and gave her roses, and took roses for ourselves and then said goodbye one more time. I told my mom we should picnic there when it was spring.

Then we got into our cars and drove to my parents house for the after party. It was odd because Grammy wasn't there but it was too crowded to really feel the hole yet. Easter or Mother's Day will hurt. The cousins moved downstairs away from the noise, and found that our place was taken by two 8 year old boys, our second cousins, who were going through all our old stuff. It was a shock to realize that we weren't the kids anymore.

Daddy drove me home, and that was that. I am drying Grammy's rose in my closet, and whenever I think of her, she is smiling in a pink and gold glow. In her honor, I am doing my best to pray more often, to be more polite to people as a sign of how much I value them, to be of service.

I hope that she stays with me always.