Grandma Lila

I have heard the stories a million times....

When people have been married for their entire lives and one partner dies, the other usually goes soon after. Usually within weeks.

One month ago my grandma died. While she was not well for some time, her death was still not easy to handle. There’s something to be said for being away. In a lot of respects I would say I was the closest to her.

Since I was very little, my grandma and I were inseparable. I wasn't the first grandchild...not even the first granddaughter...but she was MY grandma.

We spent summer Tuesdays at the nail salon. She would pick me up early, I would sit right next to her at the desk, and then we would go to lunch. Those are some of the best memories I have of childhood...and what I plan to replicate when I have a granddaughter.

There were plenty of other memories... Grandma’s cinnamon rolls from the can tasted better than when anyone else made them. I begged to spend the night because when I did it meant dinner out in a dress and to be shown off to everyone grandma and grandpa saw.

A few years ago, my grandma fell and broke her hip. After her surgery, she gave up. She had been sick already...emphysema. Worse than that...C.O.P.D. When I found out she had given up, I left school (college) and spent the day with her at the hospital. I told her I wasn't leaving until she got out of bed and took a few steps. After a few days of doing that, she left the hospital.

She was able to come home for a while, a year maybe? Then, she gave up again. It happened slowly, and for a while my mom didn’t even know it was happening. She stopped being able to take care of very basic needs, and my grandpa was killing himself trying to be her caretaker.

Mom and Uncle Rodney decided to put her in a nursing home. It wasn’t easy, and it upset everyone, mostly my grandpa.

Grandma would look at him and blame him for her being there. It would make him cry. Her mind was going fast, and soon, she just kind of sat there every day and stared into space. I hated that. It wasn’t my grandma.

Every visit home, I would go see grandma. If it was nice outside, I’d wheel her outside until she wanted to go back in. Every time I went home, it was less and less my grandma I saw when I went to the nursing home. She slept a lot, and the last time I was there, she just stared at me the whole time.

I looked back at her and smiled and tried to think of something to say, but nothing really came out. She said, “You’re so beautiful.” I said thank you grandma. She commented on how long my hair was and wanted to know when I started wearing it long, so we talked about that for a minute. Then she told me how beautiful I was again.

When I left, like I had every other time in the last few months, I wondered if it would be the last time I would see her. I hugged her and told her I loved her and I’d see her again when I came back in town for Easter.

I never got to hug my grandma again.

It was a really busy and important week for me at work. It was kind of the “test run” to see if I could cut the mustard at the promotion that had been talked about. I was in charge of a week of events and meetings beginning Sunday and ending with a large public lecture and private reception on Thursday night. Sunday night’s dinner went well. Everyone looked at me like I belonged there. I was excited. Monday was hectic but wonderful. I took some time out of my afternoon to talk to my mom on the phone about random topics. She mentioned that my grandma had a slight fever but we didn’t dwell on it.

Monday night’s event was fine, and after it ended, I called my mom on my way home just like always.

She sounded strange.

I asked what was wrong, she asked where I was and if I could stop driving. Then I knew. I lied and said I was in the parking lot and could pull into a space, then she told me that grandma wasn’t well and they had been sitting with her for about two hours.

“I think you need to come home.”

I had asked that questions multiple times since I moved away. Every time something different happened to grandma I would ask, “should I come home?” It was kind of our secret language for “is grandma going to make it?” I didn’t even have to ask this time.

Mom worried about work, I said it was fine, I would make it work. Then, I went to my office and started to book a flight.

I hung up with mom and called my friend Greg. He had come to the end of the event I just left and hung out for a while. I told him what mom said and he turned his car around and met me at my office. He stood next to me while I booked the one way ticket, called my boss, and made arrangements for the week.

It was probably the most caring thing anyone had ever done for me.

Once we left my office, I went home to pack. What do you pack when you know your grandma is dying and you are going to have to go to her funeral? I started throwing things in suitcases, and my phone rang.

Grandma was gone.

I was so upset. Upset for everything I had ever said or not said, upset for moving away, upset for not being there. I was upset that my brother hadn’t gone to see grandma in more than a year. I was upset that I didn’t get to say goodbye. I was upset that my grandpa was sleeping at his house….not knowing his wife of almost 60 years had just died. I was upset.

I told my mom I was sorry for her and that I wasn’t there. We talked for a bit, then we hung up. I didn’t sleep that night. I finished packing, cleaned my room, took a bath, watched infomercials, anything but sleep. It was about 11 p.m. when my mom called, and my flight left at 6 a.m. Greg was planning to pick me up at 4:30 to take me. I was in the driveway at 4 waiting on him.

My best friend Racheal called me at about 5:30. I texted her after I talked to mom that night. She and I cried together, thousands of miles apart. She couldn’t believe what was happening and that I was alone.

I got on the plane and told the flight attendant I wasn’t feeling well and asked for some ginger ale. She told me to let her know if I needed anything else. I fell asleep for about five minutes somewhere above the Midwest and woke up knowing something was wrong. I got out of my seat and went to the front of the plane, but someone was in the restroom. The flight attendant told me I’d have to wait, and then realized I couldn’t. She shepherded me to her trashcan in the service area where I proceeded to get sick for quite a while. I told her everything that was going on, and she sat with me in her special jump seat next to the door of the plane and let me talk and cry.

Probably the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for me.

I landed in Kansas City, knowing my mom wouldn’t be waiting for me at the window for the first time since I’d moved away. But, Brian and Jamie were supposed to be there. I left the plane, scanning the window, no familiar faces.

I was alone again. The one time I really needed someone to be there to pick me up, and I was alone. About 20 minutes later they finally arrived, and we drove to St. Joe.

The next day was visitation. I never look at the casket when I go to funerals or visitations. It freaks me out and I just can’t do it. But this time, I had to. It was my grandma.

She looked so much better there. She looked like everything was better now. Not struggling for every breath, not hunched over. Her red dress was so perfect.

I sat with my grandpa the entire time. Then, when all the people started coming, I stayed with him. He was devastated. So much so, that I felt I needed to be his strength.

At the funeral the next day I looked at my brother during the service and he was crying. I have never seen my brother cry. I think he finally was able to let it all affect him. It was nice to see him as a human.

After all of the funeral stuff that day, we all went home and just sat around. We were collectively exhausted.

I woke up Friday morning knowing something else was different. Mom had gotten a call late the night before from my grandpa. He wasn’t feeling well. They spent the entire night in the ER. They thought he was fine though from there. Then, that afternoon, they took him back. Late the night they admitted him to the hospital.

This pattern continued for about 2 weeks before they finally found something.

Cancer.

My grandpa survived colon cancer about 15 years ago, and now, it attacked his bladder. They did surgery (3 actually) and found they couldn’t remove the cancer or the bladder. Sooner or later, it would just take him.

Fast forward to now…

My grandpa is in a nursing home today. We always said that if they put him there, he’d just die. Well, I go home Thursday for Easter and I just hope more than anything that he is fine until I get there.

The story is the same. Who knows how long grandpa has been feeling badly? He has been so focused on sitting next to my grandma’s bed for so many years he hadn’t taken care of himself. Now, we might lose him too. And who am I to be selfish and tell him he shouldn’t give up?

It’s times like the last month or so that make it the hardest to be away. I feel very helpless…and I feel very selfish. I’m the only one that isn’t there.