I've been helping take care of my Great Grandmother for approximately four years now; however, the past year has been the most intense. This past week has been the most memorable. We had a scare on Sunday and needed to take her to the emergency room. Essentially, the morphine she took for four days had greatly impacted her body... a greater impact than what was intended. She has pain and we've been trying different methods to help ease the pain. Most of the time she says, "oh, I feel fine!" and just gives us this grin. Or, it'll be a bad day and she stays in bed, telling us the prayers she prays to die and wanting to go home. It breaks my heart to hear about how someone wants to die, how someone just wants to go to another place and not be amongst those they love.
That last statement has had me thinking for months now... and really, death is the most beautiful part of life. For those who believe in God, we get to be with our Maker and experience what eternel life is and be where there's no more pain, tears, emotion... just sheer existence with those you do love and the one who has loved you the most. And of course, you could be reincarnated, in Paradise, or just buried. I know that when my Great Grandmother passes, I'll be happy for her- happy she isn't in pain, happy that she's with her mother, and happy that I was able to share the moments I have with her and be able to take what I've learned.
This has also got me remembering about the deaths within my life:
I remember my paternal grandparents had passed away within a year and a half of one another... taking care of both of them and handling the family drama when I was 11-13 years old. I knew something was wrong when my grandfather decided to wear sweatpants all day. I asked him if he was okay and he replied, "why wouldn't I be?" I simply said he wasn't in uniform and then had to explain that he had a uniform. The man always wore trousers and a button up short sleeved shirt, pocket protector w/ two pens, a mechanical pencil, regular pencil, and an eraser. He mowed the lawn in uniform, trimmed the hedges in uniform, went to work in uniform, cooked/grilled in uniform, and just about every picture of him has him in uniform too. There was the occassional cardigan. Unfortunately, he was an alcoholic and his liver retired early. It was Thanksgiving Eve (in fifth grade) and we were there for his last breath.
My paternal grandmother was an Elizabeth Taylor look-a-like (if only she had the money to age like her too) and is the vainest woman I've ever met. She strung my grandfather along and they had an extremely unhappy marriage (they didn't share a bedroom and were rarely in the same room together. The one thing they talked about together was how much beer they needed to buy that week and who was making the run). My grandmother wore bright red lipstick and bright blue eyeshadow every day that I knew her and it didn't matter what color clothing she had on. Infact, when she passed there were 57 shades of lipsticks in her bathroom and countless eyeshadows (some from the 60's, unopened, with price tags still on them). She had thick (dyed) black, curly hair and black eyes. She stayed up until the early hours of the morning watching movies and drinking beer, and then slept in until the afternoon. Sleeping over was great (seriously, who pulls all nighters at the age of 5?) and I watched movies that I probably should never have watched at my age... but I believe that this is how I developed my love of movies. We watched everything.
She also took pictures of every waking moment of our lives (my mom loved this because she never had to buy a camera). Eventually, the smoking and alcohol had caught up with her too. She had lung and liver cancer when I was in the sixth grade. My mom and I took care of her too.
Unfortunately, both parents of my grandparents had watched their oldest child pass. After their passing, my relationships with my great grandparents changed dramatically. I was never close with my grandfather's parents to begin with, but my great grandmother was a woman who really influenced my life. I think of her on a very regular basis, along with my grandmother.
When my great grandparents had passed, I was much older and handed death differently. I became withdrawn, wrote, locked myself in my room listening to the Dave Matthews Band, and ran on my treadmill obssessively. When my grandparents had passed I just locked myself in my room and listened to The Beatles very loudly.
I remember when I experienced my first friend passing, it was in seventh grade. They had committed suicide and it impacted the whole community. I grew up in a small township and everyone knew everyone. It impacted me even more so because I was over their house just a few days before and we all laughed and had a genuine great time. It was the first time it ever hit me that someone at my age can die by their own hand. Before that time, I only thought adults had committed suicide.
Since then, I've had a good handful of friends pass away- mainly car accidents, one other suicide, and one from cancer. Since then, I've been able to handle death and the celebration of life. However, the passing of my great grandmother will be rough. It's just going to be so different from all the others and I believe it's because my better understanding of eternal life.
The first death that I saw my mom grieve was her grandfather and who I called great granpap. Great granpap was this extremely tall (not just becuase I was little, he was 6'6) man with a cane. He lived on this huge farm, that's still in the family, and I would hang out with chickens, run through wheat fields, and then eventually I'd slip and fall in a cow pie (ahahahhaha, SO GROSS!). He kinda scared me when I was little because he'd sit in this chair and poke me with a cane, I didn't like the poking thing, but it was mainly a poke to get some bananas. We'd sit and eat bananas together. Apparently he could eat a bunch of bananas every day and not OD on potassium... I could do that if I wanted, but I never have. I LOVE bananas and could eat five in a day (probably).
My mom believes that I picked up my love for bananas from my great granpap. I picked up my love for make-up, films, jazz music, and tacky decorations (all in fun, not in seriousness) from my grandmother. I picked up my love for the academic world from my grandfather. I picked up my love for my family history/culture, cooking, and foreign language from my great grandmother (the same person who told me 'a lady never curses or uses such language' when my grandmother would curse out my dad or one of her younger sisters... therefore, it's not really in my nature to curse and you know I must be unnaturally good and angry if I slip something in).
It's also just amazing, in general, on the things you carry with you from those who have passed and how they'll influence the rest of your days. My great grandmother had taught me how to be humble, how to trust in the unknown, and how to manage your finances.
She also taught me that it's okay to laugh about death when you are planning what to do with your ashes with the undertaker. (You would have thought we slipped her some Grey Goose instead of water).
I've been praying that she has clarity in her mind, that she's forgiven and let go of all that needst o be, and that she has peace within while she takes her last breath. And I hope that you, too, will pray that as well.
