Blasphemous Rumors
July 9th, 2005
The Gods and Goddesses. They have a sick sense of humor, and I can’t say I’m complaining.
Today was a hard day. Grandma is dying, and every day we kind of sit back and wait for the call. She’s in a medicine-induced coma to prevent seizures as a result of the multiple strokes she suffered earlier in the week. Selfishly, I want her back, but we all have realized and faced that she’s not coming back – not like she was, and so it’s time for her to move on. And you, Powers that Be, whoever you are, I know we don’t talk much, but won’t you hear me now? Take her. She’s ready.
Today, we went to see her for the last time with the rest of the family. Adam’s brother and his wife came in from Syracuse (brr!) and we all spent the day with his aunt and Grandpa by her bedside in the nursing home, all of us hanging together against the cold. She can’t see us or acknowledge us, but she knows we’re there, somehow, I just know she does.
Nursing homes are heartbreaking. It doesn’t seem fair that at the end of your life you don’t get some sort of golden reward, or laughter and joy – or any of the things you fucking deserve after 80-something years of taking care of other people. You get to sit in a bed and wait for death, too many of us without family or friends. And before you die, you are coddled and treated as a child – as if you haven’t experienced more hardships, challenges and joyful moments than any of us can possibly understand.
Today, we heard some of the activities in the day room next to Grandma’s suite. A large gathering of wheelchaired pseudo-convalescents were parked in various areas around the room while a smiley, odd little man WHO DID NOT SPEAK OR UNDERSTAND ENGLISH (I later learned he was Korean) attempted to get them to sing songs such as, “Bicycle Built for Two,” and “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore.” From the sounds of it, he was the only one singing.
I’m telling you, it’s not right. People deserve better at the end of their lives than to sit drooling in front of an overenthusastic foreign volunteer attempting to sing archaic folk songs.
Grandpa’s had a hard year. Watching the love of your life suffer has got to be the most gutwrenching pain in the world. You know how the kindness and sorrow of others is almost worse than your own pain? I think we were hard for him to see today. Our presence today brought him to tears more than once. During a particularly maudlin moment, we all sat in silence, the tears streaming down our faces, overwhelmed with the anguish of it all.
And then it happened.
“GOoooood Breesssst ARMERRRIIICAAAAARRR. RAAAND RAT I ROOOOOVE!”
And we all put our hands on our hearts and sang along, laughing through our tears.
God Breast Armericar, indeed.
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'
7 Comments Add your own
1. Yesrie | July 9th, 2005 at 11:39 pm
“She can’t see us or acknowledge us, but she knows we’re there, somehow, I just know she does.”
I just know she does, too
And think of the other entities/spirits she might perceive around her.
“‘…RAAAND RAT I ROOOOOVE!’”
I can only hope that Grandma heard that, too :>
2. Urban Chick | July 10th, 2005 at 7:03 am
they say hearing is the last sense to go, so i guess there is a chance she was able to hear your voice (and the rendition of god breast americar!!)
my own grandmother suffered a massive stroke last year but hung on for a further 4 days and i was anxious to know (i couldn’t be there) that people were still talking to her even though she was unconscious
((hugs))
UC x
3. Trina | July 11th, 2005 at 1:59 am
I know she can hear you, J. And if she should pass away on a summer’s day with the birds singing in the summer sky, then know that their voices will be in her heart when she passes on.
And from what you’ve said of her, *she’s* the one with the sense of humor, and when you die you’ll find *her* laughing…
4. WinterWheat | July 11th, 2005 at 9:19 am
The frontier of death is a sacred place, J. It strips you raw and clean. You’ll never find yourself so bluntly honest, open-hearted, expansive, and compassionate as when you’ve spent hours and days bearing witness to a loved one’s death. Vanity goes out the window; there’s no energy for it. It’s a shame, really, that it all has to close back in again as we return to our self-protective, vain, spiritually desiccated selves.
I’m so glad you’re letting the humorous moments touch you and using this time to connect with family. And I’m so glad your grandma has you with her. And yes, I too believe that she can hear you.
Keeping you in my prayers…
5. Kate | July 11th, 2005 at 9:30 am
Beautifully written post, J. Thank you. You have the perfect blend of sad and funny that makes you such an excellent writer. I’m sending you love.
6. Jamie | July 11th, 2005 at 11:21 am
As usual, in an oddly moving way, I end your daily posts in laughter. Sometimes when we’re faced with immense sorrow and a huge feeling of being overwhelmed, we’re reminded that her life goes on– in her family, in you, and in her crazy Korean karoake neighbor. Sometimes it’s all just a bit too much and you have to laugh at something, to remind yourself that you are still alive, still vibrant. She would want that for you, to be full of life, even when hers is coming to a close.
7. Atreau | July 14th, 2005 at 12:15 am
For me, saying goodbye to my Grandmother was by one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I couldn’t even go to the nursing home, it was just too hard.
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