I have always been close to my grandmother. I grew up two blocks from her house and we would always spend time over there. In college, I spent a couple summers living at her house and spent two semesters of senior year living with her. When she moved into the retirement community, I moved into her house and have been living there for two years now.
On Christmas Eve, I was enjoying dinner with my family when my mom's phone began to ring. It was my uncle (dad's younger brother), so she answered. She made this face that didn't look like a good one and I heard her ask "is she going to the hospital?" My heart sank...I knew it was my gramma. She handed the phone to my dad and we wrapped up dinner as quickly as we could. My dad and I gathered up our things (and our courage) and jumped in the car to drive up to Portland. The car ride was quiet, except for my phone going off with updates from my uncle, who was at the hospital. When we arrived, my uncle swept my dad away and I sat in the waiting room of the ER with three of my cousins. After a few hours there, we were told that she was being moved to the ICU. My aunt, uncle, and dad moved their cars, but my cousins and I chose to walk through the hospital to get there. We silently all held hands, trying to make light of the situation. We were later informed that my gramma had a collapsed lung and severe pneumonia. She was put on life support and kept medically asleep. A specialist was called in and a procedure was done. Though it took a little longer due to her condition, she showed immediate improvement, which the doctor said was rare. She told us that there wouldn't be much change, if any, overnight, so my dad and I headed home.
I hardly slept, crying out to God for a miracle, for my grandmother to be healed. Christmas morning, my family tried to keep things as normal as possible. We opened gifts, ate breakfast, and continued to pray for a miracle. My family drove to Portland to visit gramma. It was the first time I was able to see her (aside from seeing her briefly when she was wheeled into the ICU). She was still asleep, but I just held onto her hand, told her that I loved her so much, and that everyone was in the waiting room, praying for a miracle. Gramma was stable, but was in critical condition. She was still on life support, but they were trying to wean her off oxygen. She seemed to be doing well with that and by the time we had left late that afternoon, the doctor said they were hoping to take her off life support the next day. We went to my mom's family's house for Christmas dinner. As much as I loved spending time with my family and getting to love on the little ones, my heart and my head were with my gramma. I desperately searched around, trying to get my shift at work in the morning covered so that I could just be at the hospital all day the next day. Something deep in my heart (and head and gut) told me that I just needed to be there.
Monday morning arrived and I got ready for work, as I was not sure if anyone had replied to my supervisor about working for me. When I arrived and saw someone working my job, I immediately left and went to the hospital. When I arrived, I quickly set my stuff down in the waiting room and went back to my gramma's room. She was awake and alert. She wanted so badly to talk, but couldn't due to her breathing tube. I walked in to her room while the nurses were taking care of her. They told me I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted to, but that because she was so agitated, they were going to sedate her soon. I greeted my gramma, grabbing her hand, and telling her just how much I loved her. She looked at me with this look that seemed to say "please leave...I don't want to be seen like this." I told her that other family would be coming soon and she shook her head "no." To this day, I am 100% convinced that gramma said no because she did not want her family to see her like this. I talked to gramma as if we were having a normal conversation and I noticed gramma starting to cry. I do not know if it was the pain or the fact that her granddaughter was seeing her the way she was, but those tears were real. And those tears shattered my heart into a million pieces. I was able to ask her yes/no questions and she would squeeze my hand to give a response. She slowly drifted off to sleep and I left her room to let her rest. Before I did, I spoke briefly with her nurse and doctor. Before I go on, I just want to say how much I LOVED her care team that day. Dr. Tucker and Marseile (her nurse) were so kind and helpful and really, truly cared about my grandmother. What a blessing they were during some of our most difficult days. Back to her story. They told me (since I was the only family there so far), that they were not confident enough with how she was doing to take her off support, so they would be leaving everything in/on.
I headed back into the waiting room and waited for other family to arrive. I attempted to work on my master's thesis, spoke with the chaplain, and texted updates to people who were praying. My aunt arrived with her three daughters and they went to say hello to gramma. We played games in the ICU waiting room, which had become our family base camp. With the size (and noise level) that comes with my family, it does not come as a surprise that people chose the larger waiting room to sit in. Daniel came to the hospital for a little while in the afternoon. He came in with me to see her. He stood there with me and rubbed my back as the nurse did a procedure to try to make my grandmother more comfortable. I was more than thankful for him that day, especially in that moment.
At 4:00, I said goodbye to Daniel, as my family was going to be meeting with my grandmother's care team to discuss all that was going on. We all gathered in the ICU conference room, seated in a circle, and Dr. Tucker and Marseile joined us. They ran down all of the medical information for us, explaining to us all that they had done, how she had responded, and what the outcomes had been. Over the first 24 hours, she had shown improvement, but then began to decline and the progress seemed to have stopped and gramma was declining once again. They asked us if we had any questions. On Christmas Eve, when my dad, Uncle Keith, Uncle Steve, Amanda, and I met Dr. Tucker for the first time, she told us that patients will usually choose their track within the first 24 hours - fight or...well, the other. I was really proud of Amanda at our meeting on the 26th because she had the courage to ask the question that all of us had on our hearts and mind. What track had our mom/gramma/momer chosen? It was the answer none of us wanted to hear, but we all knew. It was the other.
After many more questions, Dr. Tucker and Marseile left the room, leaving the family to discuss what our plan was for gramma. We all knew that she was in pain and that she was ready to be reunited with grampa. Because of that knowledge, we knew it would be selfish to keep her on life support. So, after passing around a box of tissues, we told Dr. Tucker our decision. We wanted our gramma to be comfortable. We waited for my cousin to be dropped off after basketball practice before taking everything out. We all went and saw her one more time before she was slightly alert. Another nurse came in, asking if one of us wanted to go with her to pick out a quilt for gramma. I decided to go, looking at beautiful quilts that were made and donated to the hospital. I picked one out for her that was purple, her favorite color. Once we put it on her, we saw that some of the patches had gardening tools on it, which was one of gramma's favorite past times. It was like that quilt was designed just for her. I also noticed that the quilt was made by the "Coffee Creek Quilters." For those that don't know, Coffee Creek is the women's prison in Oregon. So, a little piece of me was with that quilt as well. Once everything was out, just about everyone in our family gathered in gramma's small room. We took turns holding her hands, talked, laughed, and shared stories. We were all "trapped" in the room during shift change. They normally don't allow visitors to stay in the unit during shift change, but they made a special exception for us. We all told Marseile to come see us before she left for the night. She came in to say goodbye, but being the amazing woman that she is, stayed to talk to us. She asked us questions about gramma, saying that she wanted to get to know her when she wasn't sick. She knew that our gramma had diabetes and asked what kind of candy gramma would eat if she could have. Almost in unison, we all said "Reese's Peanut Butter Cups." We all gave Marseile hugs before she left, thanking her profusely for all that she had done for our family.
Our new nurse came in, telling us that new admits needed ICU beds, so gramma was going to be moved to a room on a medical floor. We all quietly exited her room as they prepared to move her. My mom, dad, and sister said their goodbyes to gramma, as they would be heading home to Corvallis. As we were leaving the ICU area, Marseile stopped my youngest cousin and handed her a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. She told her it was the only one she could find, but she wanted to make sure it got to our family. Once again, I was amazed by the beautiful, simple kindness of this amazing nurse. We walked through the hospital, my youngest cousins and I linking arms or hands. We waited near the waiting room of the medical floor, figuring out what we were going to do, as her new room was much smaller than the one in the ICU. When gramma finally arrived in her room, we came up with a plan of attack and decided that, even though we weren't hungry, that we needed to eat. My cousin and I took orders and hurried over to a nearby Subway. We journeyed back to the hospital, slowly ate, and tried to figure out what the rest of the night was going to look like. I eventually ventured back to gramma's room and took my place by her bed. On Christmas Eve, when I first learned about my gramma being taken to the hospital, I wanted to prepare my heart to say goodbye. What became very important to me was not allowing my gramma to die alone. So I was prepared to spend days by her side if that is what it came down to. I sat by her bed, my hand in hers, spending time with my family. My aunt went home, followed by my other aunt and one of her daughters. Eventually, it came down to four of my cousins, my uncle, and myself in her room. I had one hand, Becca had the other. We all sat around the room, talking about things that I remember being a part of, but I can't remember now. In the midst of all of our talking, we would watch gramma. Her color was fading. At one point, her breath sounds changed dramatically. We all got nervous and brought the nurse in. She told us that what we heard was normal for someone that was in the process gramma was going in. We thanked her and tried to carry on, all the while each of us knowing that these were are last precious moments with gramma. Conversations kept going, laughter mixed with tears, and we all rallied around each other. My cousin Jenny put lip glass on that smelled like chocolate. Carrie decided to put some on gramma because, being diabetic, she never really got to enjoy (good) chocolate, so we wanted to make sure she had that opportunity.
We continued watching gramma. Watching her breathing became more labored. Watching as we were preparing to say our final goodbyes. We would be talking, then notice a pause between breaths. The room would go silent until we saw that next breath, then we were all able to breathe again. This continued for a while. We talked and watched, watched and talked. My uncle left the room, needing to just take a walk. In the middle of one of our conversations, I found myself looking at gramma, waiting for the pause to end. It was longer than normal. I waited...we all waited. I turned and looked at each of my cousins. I walked out to the nurses' station, and another cousin went to get my uncle. Joan came in the room with her stethoscope. You could hear a pin drop in that room as we waited. Nothing. She was gone.
As I write this, I can see it so clearly. Joan said how sorry she was for our loss and left to get the nursing supervisor. I looked around the room at each family member, all of which had silent tears running down their faces. I texted my mom, telling her that gramma was with grampa now. I texted Daniel, telling him that she was with the Lord. The nurse told us we could leave whenever we were ready. I continued to sit, holding my grandmother's hand as other family members said their goodbyes and left the room. I continued to hold to my promise that my gramma would not be alone. I waited until the nursing supervisor came in, asking her when I would absolutely have to leave, because I did not want my grandmother to be alone. She told me now, because they would soon be up to take her away. I squeezed my gramma's hand, stood up, and gave her what would be her last hug and cheek kiss, just like we would do every time. I told her to say hi to grampa for me, and told her once more just how much I loved her. I grabbed her quilt, opened the door, and turned to look at her one more time before I closed the door.
The drive home, though brief, felt like the longest car ride of my life. Daniel was at my house when I got home. I didn't even make it in the door when I completely lost it. My heart had shattered into a thousand pieces that felt as though they could never be repaired. My life had been turned upside down and I felt more lost than I could ever remember feeling. Daniel sat me down on the couch as I cried. Living in what used to be my grandmother's house, I felt sick to my stomach that night. I just couldn't imagine sleeping in a house that was so full of a spirit that was now gone. Daniel helped me grab what I needed, grabbed my dog, and we drove to his parents house. Once there, the numbness, pain, and tears continued. I didn't sleep that night, texting friends who I knew would still be up. The next morning, more emails and text messages. I walked downstairs and Sarah (Daniel's mom), embraced me. Once again, I lost it. Life just didn't feel right anymore.
On January 4th, we held a memorial service for my grandmother. Since we weren't having an open casket, having a viewing before the service was vital to me. I needed that closure. Thanks to my incredible father, it was made possible. That morning, my mom and I went to the funeral home. I spent a half an hour in the room, talking to my grandmother. I know I probably would have looked like a crazy person to anyone that walked in, but I had to do it. I placed two pictures in her casket with her, one of her entire family and one of her seven granddaughters. Family was one of the most important things in the world to my gramma. As I looked at the picture of my family, I looked at the gramma I remembered. She had a smile on her face that looked like the result of someone in the family making a joke right before the camera went off (typical). I wanted her to be surrounded by her family always. After leaving the room, once again, sadness and tears overcame me. I realized that the last 30 minutes I spent in that room was the last 30 minutes I would spend with my grandmother until we are reunited in heaven. It was heartwrenching. I went home and waited for family to arrive at my house.
When my cousin Amanda arrived, we went on our journey to bring joy to a seemingly difficult time. When my grampa passed away, my mom had me write him a letter. We placed it in a balloon and released it, sending it to heaven for my grampa to read. I told Amanda about that when we were discussing how the little ones, especially the four year old, would grieve. We decided we wanted to do that for gramma. After a loooooong time spent figuring everything out in Hallmark (and a HUGE thank you to the incredible employee there), we had 20+ balloons to send to our gramma. Two had pictures from the little ones, and a couple others with notes to her tucked inside. We brought sharpies and the balloons to the cemetery.
The service was beautiful. "Uncle" Steve (my uncle's best friend since third grade) officiated the service. He knew my grandmother so well, so there was no one else that could have done a better job. I was so thankful for all of those who were there that day. Daniel came and I was beyond grateful for his presence. Some of my aunts and uncles from my mom's side of the family came. That is something I love about this family...my mom's and dad's side are extremely close. It's like it's just one giant family. There was so much love for my grandmother that day. I hope she realizes how deeply loved and missed she is.
After the service was over, we passed out balloons and sharpies, writing notes on the outside of balloons. As a family, we counted to three and released the balloons. It was beautiful. We all went to lunch after, looking at things of our gramma's, including pictures and funny little notebooks she left. My gramma kept track of the winners from ALL award shows (I'm not kidding...Grammy's to Westminster Dog Show). We ate her favorite cookies (Walker's shortbread) and just spent time loving on each other.
Today is Monday, January 23rd. Four weeks ago today, at this time, I was seated by my grandmother's bed, holding her hand, and praying for the pain to go away, both her's and mine. I'm still waiting for my pain to go away. I know that someday it will, but it still isn't easy.
Gramma,
I miss you more than I can express with words. My heart hurts daily, thinking about the fact that I can no longer just come visit you, or give you a call whenever I want to. As difficult as the last four weeks have been, I can only imagine how beautiful your reunion was in Heaven. I'm sure the Lord embraced you whole-heartedly and that grampa was so glad to be reunited with his bride. I cannot wait for the day that I will enjoy the same reunion with you. I know that each person that was blessed to know you in the 91 years that you were with us is richer just by having the opportunity to love you. In my almost 25 years with you, I know that I am one of the wealthiest women on Earth. I hope to someday be half the woman that you were. Thank you for being a beautiful woman of faith and the incredible leader of this family that you were. You were always my sunshine and joy (still are) and you are now my incredible guardian angel. I love you more than Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
All my love forever and for always,
Shannon
