“I never thought dying would be hard….”
These were the words my grandmother whispered to me today as she lay in her bed in the hospice care facility shortly after giving her doctor orders to remove the IV that’s keeping her alive. She has not eaten for days and requested removal of the feeding tube two days ago. After considering her future, she has opted to dehydrate.
My grandmother is resolute. That is the word my mother used when she called to let me know that it was time to say goodbye. No amount of pleading was going to change her mind but she was offering me this one last chance to say everything unspoken, tell her how much we love her, how much we will miss her, how much she’s given to us for all of these years.
My grandmother has always been resolute. Brilliant mind, practical heart. She is a “get it done” kind of lady, and she has endured more heartache and hardship in her 95 years than I can even imagine. Yet, she gets it done anyway, even when she would rather not.
And now the business of dying is upon her. She is 95, her body is shutting down but her mind is just as sharp as ever. As she sees things, it is pointless to push back on a body that’s had enough, no matter the strength of spirit and mind that inhabits it. Simply put, she’s ready to move on.
I can’t say the same for me. Even though I’ve had the incredible privilege of having her for 47 years, I still want more. I daresay my mother, brother and uncle agree, but we aren’t selfish enough to ask that of her, so we kiss her forehead, hold her hand, tell her how much she has been to us for all these years, and pray a silent prayer that in this final passage, God will be merciful to her and to us, that there will not be pain or suffering, but simply peace in the transition.
In my heart, I am a death-coward. I haven’t wanted to face what I understand is inevitable, preferring to live in a state of denial for as long as I can, but when I am in the room, confronting it head-on, I finally understand what has become a cliche’….that death is hard on the living, but not on those passing.
Yet, it is hard. She told me so. She told me that she didn’t understand why it was hard, but it was. My selfish mind interpreted that as her way of saying she didn’t want to leave us. It was only upon reflection hours later that I realized the hard part was our insistence on being hangers-on, keeping her here when she was ready to be free of the fetters she’s labored under for the past couple of years.
Her one regret, she said, was not being here in 15 years to see what Sticks, Dancergirl and their two cousins (my brother’s kids) become. I understand that — her greatest joy was in the accomplishments, the “get-it-dones” of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She always saw our potential when we didn’t. She pushed us to use it, and sometimes we hated it (at the time), but now, sitting next to her I am forever grateful that she asked me to be more than mediocre, that she expected that I do good, honest things, that she required honesty — intellectual and social — from me.
47 years is not enough. No time is enough. I don’t want to let go of her, yet that is required of me, and it is the sacrifice she’s asked of me. How can I refuse? I have never been able to refuse, because I know she is right. I kiss her and tell her outright that it’s okay, I can let go and I’ll be all right. I am, after all, my mother’s daughter and she is my grandmother’s daughter and we are all resolute in our own fashion.
She takes care of business, letting me know that she has left a ring and a necklace especially for me, jewelry that has meant much to her over the years and is now to be mine, and eventually my daughter’s. She tells me that I should let my mother know what else I want. I’m speechless, honestly, because being in denial means I’ve never even thought about such things. I only want one thing and that’s the one thing I’m not going to get. Do other things matter? I cannot even think about these things now, so I tell her I will do as she says, of course, and let her know how much her generosity has meant for my entire life, not just today, but always.
My mother asks me to begin writing Grandma’s obituary so it will be ready when the time comes, only days from now. I feel inadequate. But it was a specific request, brought to me because there is a belief that I can do it. I don’t know where to begin. How do I sum up 95 amazing years in three paragraphs?
Resolute.
Brilliant.
Always doing good for others.
Those are the themes. Now I just need to write them. I hear her telling me that she knows I can do this, because she knows I can write and I am her daughter’s daughter, made of the same genes, the same mettle, the same resolve.
Dear God, I hope she’s right. Rest well, sweet Grandma.
