The Culmination

What follows is the account of the past two days, in which my grandmother, a quadriplegic of 16 years, saw at long last, the end of her life. She was 86 years old and was cared for by my grandfather. Every day, he exercised her limbs, monitored her health, and tried his hardest to make sure she was still alive.

They've been through many hardships -- extending simply beyond the past 16 years. They were married just as my grandpa entered the military to serve in World War Two.

I heard a number of terms in the past 48 hours. "Lingering," "holding on," "finishing," but I think I like "Culimination" the best. It fits.

What I've written here was written in two seperate sittings: one earlier today at my grandparents and the other shortly after recieving the news of her departure. You'll note these with the tense changes.

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1)
“Thanks for stopping by.”

“I might come back tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

“Of course it’s all right. We’ll always be here. Your Grandma may not be, but she’s alive tonight, God bless her. It’s a terrible struggle, but we’ll see her again.”

The conversation was held over the open dishwasher and in the bright light of the kitchen. My grandfather spoke with wisdom that only a grandfather can speak with; an alchemy of knowledge and experience that was both humbling and vast at the same time. His voice didn’t quiver once when he spoke and it was said in a way that the entire drive home, I kept rolling it around in my head.

My grandmother is dying. They claim she’s been dying since the day she fell and broke her neck 16 years ago. I’ll tell you she’s only been dying for a few months. But, to be honest, my father and uncle see her more than I do and part of me has to take what they say into account.


2)
Before slipping out into the living room on my second visit here in as many days, I just sat on the couch and stared at her face. The only word I can think of is ‘ghastly.’ I don’t even know why; maybe it’s just the expression she has. Her empty, slacked eyes; her jaw moving just slightly in a vain attempt to get more air into her liquid filled lungs. There was a sound like liquid coming from her that mouth and a smell came off her that was foul; it was worse yesterday, by far.

I had to get up and walk away. Just go into another room for a few minutes and regroup. Could I go back in there? Could I stand there and watch her die?

“It’s a hard thing to love your Mom and to want her to die,” my uncle Brian told me about an hour ago. Just before this, I heard him utter something that had become a Woodside mantra the past two months: “I just want this to end.”

When he told me this, my mind went to my Mom and being in the hospital when my Grandma Craver was losing her war with cancer. I wondered if she thought that – I don’t think she did, honestly. But it sparked something that Janine said to me this morning.

“To be honest, I’m not going. It’s going to be hard and it’s going to bring up all these memories about watching Grandma Craver dying.”

(Grandma Craver is sometimes regarded as a sort of patron saint in my family)

So here I am, alone with my aunt and uncle . . . my grandpa . . . and my grandma who is the star of the show.


3)
Yesterday, I was struggling with the fact that I could be at work packing some asshole’s groceries when my grandma died. So I left after 5 hours and went back to my place, where I worked up the courage to call my grandpa. He sounded a little surprised to hear from me, but welcomed me over with open arms.

When I walked through the door, I was a little taken aback by what I saw. My grandma was leaned forward with her face the way I described earlier – open jawed, eyes slacked.

Moments later, I was sitting in the living room with my grandpa and Uncle Brian, being grilled about my up-coming wedding. My aunt Pat arrived – thankfully – which spared me from more of the same. I talked to my Dad briefly, who seemed surprised and caught off-guard by my being here. We had to move some stuff, but I returned with him in tow – at which point, we sat and ate dinner just like any other time. In the family room, watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy.

Honestly, just any other visit. It made both my father and me uncomfortable, a fact that he shared with me. I liked that; he doesn’t open up much about that sorta thing and I’ve been trying to get him to lately.

We walked as my grandpa napped and then I went home.


4)
My grandpa and my uncle love to sound clever. They act like goofballs and I like to think I have a little bit of that charm and humor – but it’s unsharpened and dull.


5)
This morning, I awoke and was aware that the she wasn’t dead yet – simply by the fact that I hadn’t gotten a call yet. I sat downstairs this morning, planning my day. The phone rang and I strongly suspected it wasn’t good news; in fact, I was right about that.

But not exactly.

It was Tricia, in her half-panicked, half-crying tone. “My grandpa just had a heart attack!”

I couldn’t believe it. Part of me wanted to make a joke (I did later: “I think your grandpa read today’s script wrong; my grandma was supposed to have a heart attack!”) This added a new dimension to the day; a new struggle; a second concern. Part of me wondered just how the next few days would go. Surely our trip to Pittsburgh was out of the question.

I went to the hospital after dropping off an order for our wedding cake (heh, yeah) and then I went and saw Tricia and the family. I held her as she sobbed into my shoulder, then we had McDonald’s sweet tea and discussed the potentials the day.

After that, I went back to the house for a while and ended up going through some things before I made my way over here. I helped Brian cut down some dead branches.


6)
Yeah. And I’ve been out in the living room ever since, waiting for dinner, hearing my aunt and uncle try not to bicker. My aunt Pat, who has been so great during this whole thing, is seeming to lose some patience. My grandpa is kinda wandering the house and napping. And I’m sitting on the couch in the living room, writing my thoughts. My uncle, as much as I love him, is kinda nosey. I was questioned when I first came out here about what I was doing. As though I’m five and I might break something.


7)
I left not long after dinner and Jeopardy. I took a long way home, then got back and laid down on the couch, getting comfy in my distractions. Tricia’s grandpa’s pacemaker is fucked up and after some tests over the weekend, he should be out soon.

Thank God.

Kyle came home, interrupting my reading, and we chatted a bit about some things that weren’t about death. And then, as he was heading to bed, my phone rang, I saw it was my Dad and saw that it was 11:10 and knew what had happened. I paused, knowing what the call would be.

“Your grandma passed away about half an hour ago.”

Grandpa had been napping, Aunt Pat was in bed, and my Dad and Uncle Brian were sitting the family room when some unusual noises brought their attention to what was happening. And then . . .


8)
And then it was over.

As my Dad explained to me what had happened, I wasn’t full of sadness. I didn’t break down in tears, I wasn’t on the ground sobbing. I just felt . . . relief. Pure and simple relief tinged with a little happiness. Oh God, it’s over. It’s over, she’s free . . .

She’s free.

I have this striking visual in my head of her walking – just like she used to. Walking towards Bob Garthwaite and Granny and even Grandma Craver. It’s corny, it’s hokey, but it’s beautiful in my head.

She’s finally free.