Okay, I'll Talk About It

Going through my blogs recently, I found one that I had started writing in December and hadn't posted. I don't want to let it go, but I wasn't sure about posting it. While editing today, I realized that I still can't write about it without pain in my heart, so I know it's still meaningful to me, and I suppose if it's my personal blog, that's what matters. Even so, I ask that readers forgive me if this seems way past the moment of appropriateness for posting.
May 2012 - DM
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December 17, 2011

Over the past week, Andrew and I have longed for a way to express our emotions of our grandmother's passing (other than simply crying). I wanted to write, but didn't think that anything I could say would not have already been said before by another who has lost someone. Originality doesn't matter all that much, I suppose, but I had hoped that perhaps I'd have something interesting or profound to say.

I don't.

Quite honestly, losing a loved one for the first time (that was this close to me) leaves me hollow and numb. The words don't come as easily, save for the obvious observations that I make at random moments (such as, "This truly sucks"). Andrew and I both wondered if we should make a Facebook post about it, and a couple family members asked if we had. Aside from me private messaging a few, and asking for family to call me, I hadn't said anything publicly. We were scheduled to have a holiday party this weekend, but we cancelled that. So, no, social media hasn't seemed to help us much here. Anything we would say on Facebook would be the first thing we said after our tragedy, and nothing we've considered seems to express emotions, thoughts, truth, and action all in one.

But I can't just not say anything. That's not in my nature, and after my 32 years of life, my friends and family generally know that this is exactly how I express myself. To not do so would be out of character, and since I have to keep convincing people that I'm all right, and not about to jump off a cliff, it would be only appropriate. So I will write about what happened, some of how I feel, and I guess we'll see where it goes from there.

Sunday Night
Andrew and I had planned on staying in on Sunday. We'd stayed up on Saturday night and I'd had a bit to drink, so on Sunday, I was slightly hungover. I keep having to learn these lessons of 'I'm too old to drink this much.' Usually Sunday nights were our night to hang with the folks, but Andrew and I had gone out to dinner the night before with my grandmother at the Legends, where my grandfather maitre d's. Afterward, we came home and hung out with a friend (and drank too much wine). Later on Sunday, another friend who was driving from Connecticut to Oregon (moving west for a new job), called me. He was in Minnesota, and asked if I had time to meet up. Andrew and I were eager to see him, so we jumped on the highway and headed north. We were right next to the Mall of America when my grandparents' neighbor Lindsay called me and told me my grandmother was in the hospital. "Head toward Shakopee," I told Andrew. "We have to go to the hospital."  When I spoke with Lindsay, I didn't think about why it was her calling me. I suppose I had just assumed that my mother had lost her cell phone, but gotten a hold of her to call me. I also assumed that the problem was Grandma's leg. She had been in the hospital in June with some problems, and I figured that was it again. But when we arrived at the hospital, that wasn't the case.

Andrew dropped me off while he parked the car, and I ran in, seeing my cousins David and Wayne in the waiting room. They stood up when I entered, and Wayne's look told me everything. "Oh, god," I said. "What -."  He took my arm. "Your Grandma isn't doing so well. She had a stroke. It's not looking good." I'm paraphrasing right now, as I can't remember everything exactly, but essentially, I knew this was going to be the worst night of my life.

Wayne took me back into the emergency rooms, and I saw Mom and Grandpa next to Grandma, who was laying on a Stryker critical care stretcher. My mom looked at me with tear filled eyes and said that Grandma wasn't going to make it. It was a cerebral hemorrhage, and it was inoperable. Though I can't remember if she told me the inoperable part, or if that was a doctor. Either way, up until that point, I was letting my mind believe that she was fixable. That if the doctors knew what they were doing, they could bring her back to her normal self. I got angry quickly and in my mind, I was screaming, "No! Fix this!" But doctors aren't gods, as much as we want them to be.

Grandma lay on the stretcher with a breathing apparatus in her mouth. Her eyes were open and dry. Grandpa held her hand and cried. We spoke to her, encouraged by doctors saying that hearing was usually the last to go in these cases. My grandparents' neighbors had arrived and were in the waiting room, hoping to hear better news, or await the final call. Mom, Andrew, Wayne and I switched out positions from the waiting room to the hospital room, giving updates, making phone calls, and most of all, trying to be supportive for Grandpa.

I called my brothers several times until I got a hold of them. I told Jake to call my father. I wasn't on the phone with Kyle for 30 seconds before he said he was already in the car and on his way. Jake started to look for flights. My heart melted as I told him what was happening, and he just kept repeating, "Oh, god, oh, god," Later on I would tell my mother how hard it was to not be able to protect my little brother from everything. He's almost 30, and I still want to keep him from all the bad things in life. Her too, being overly emotional and sensitive her entire life. but this was the reality of it.

That evening, Grandpa had said he was sitting with Grandma (around 4pm) watching TV and reading the paper. Her hands started to shake and when he asked what was wrong, she couldn't answer. She went limp, and Grandpa yelled downstairs to my Mother, "Come up here; something is wrong with Mom, we need to take her to the doctor." Unable to move her, my mom called 911 and they came and took her and my grandfather to the hospital. Mom followed in the truck, the neighbors close behind. My other relatives - Grandpa's brothers and their wives - came soon after and were in the ICU with us. Kyle and Tony joined us too, but after the breathing tube was removed, they all left. It was only a matter of time before she was gone.

[May, 2012 Note: Later, my grandfather told us that my Grandmother had complained of a headache prior to this. This surprised us, because my Grandmother rarely complained of pain.]

The doctor in charge of Grandma's care sat Mom and I down and explained what had happened. She had suffered an aneurysm, resulting in a brain hemorrhage. "Aside from dying in your sleep," he said, "this is the best way to go." He said it happened fast and that Grandma didn't feel any pain. We were thankful for that, but of course, that doesn't help our pain. I still cannot understand why I couldn't have her longer. Anything less than 100 years these days seems short.

So the plan was such: Grandma would be moved from Emergency to the Intensive Care Unit. They would let the paralytic that Grandma was on wear off and then remove the breathing tubes. After that, we would see how long she would breathe on her own. After we got to the ICU the attending doctor told us that this could last five minutes to three days. Grandma lasted 45 minutes breathing on her own. We sat next to her, holding her hands, talking to her. My grandfather soothingly spoke to her, "Rest now. Let it go, honey, just let go..." It was probably the most intensely despairing thing I've ever had to witness.

Andrew, Grandpa, my mother and I went home that night shocked and numb. How did this happen so fast? Why did this happen? What do we do now?

"What do we do now?" was figured out pretty quick. The hospital called the White's Funeral Home in Lakeville, owned by my grandparents' friends. Jim White then called us at home not long after we got there, and we also talked to a medical examiner. It was obvious to us immediately that this was indeed happening, and not just a bad dream. Something I quite honestly keep hoping is true. I keep hoping I will wake up from this nightmare.

[May, 2012 Note: I still keep hoping that.]
[August, 2019, That hope never fades.]

Monday
Before Andrew and I went home on Sunday night, we (the family) had already set a time to meet with Jim White the next day at the funeral home. That, in addition to planning some other things and calling everyone we knew, were our plans for Monday. My grandfather's mind has been slow for some time, and his memory lapsing. He was stuck in a recursive loop of "Who did we choose for pall bearers?", "What time do we go?" and "Did we call ____?" It was everything we could do to not let him go crazy. After a couple phone calls, I realized that Grandpa should not be on the phone. At all. He cried with every call, and visibly shook when it rang. I made a list of people who called and notified Grandpa who they were. But he wasn't speaking to anyone. It was just too hard.

Kyle made a Facebook post on Sunday night, a shout-out of sorts alerting others of my grandmother's passing. Not too many people are friends with us both online, but I did have a few people comment on it and on my page, which both surprised me and warmed my heart. I saw these on Monday and was happy that at least a few friends of mine knew my Grandma. I wished they had all gotten to know her better. I wished more of that for myself.

We were not short of people visiting on Monday. My grandmother's best friend Doreen came over, and brought sandwiches. I called my Aunt Mary and she and my Uncle John came over, and helped Mom and I pick out clothes for Grandma to wear. The neighbors came over and told us they were bringing dinner that night. We were thankful that after the planning at the funeral home, we wouldn't have to do too much. Or so we thought.

That night, we had a ton of friends, neighbors, and family come over. There is no way to describe it but to say that it was crazy. Mom and I had never lost anyone like this before, and therefore, didn't know that this is what should be expected. People coming over and everyone bringing food. And even though that night we were completely exhausted, I think it was what we needed. Not only as an assurance that we would sleep, but most of all, our friends helping us to fill the void that was opened when Grandma died. It was a good reminder that in times of need, there are wonderful people who want to help and remind you that there is still love to go around.

Tuesday
Having slept Monday night, we felt better on Tuesday. Less crying, more standing tall for each other, and we hoped maybe less people stopping over. However, we were warned by a friend of my mother's that our visits could continue on like Monday. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Tuesday we cleaned, went through some stuff, and visited the florist. Also, the obituary came out in the paper, so we got a few more phone calls. I still didn't allow Grandpa to answer the phone. I would give it to him if he asked, but that only happened a couple times. His ex-business partner Frank called and offered to pay for the post-funeral luncheon, but we couldn't accept. My Aunt Mary had told us that she and Grandma had been discussing funerals six months ago and my grandmother insisted on a church luncheon with "nothing fancy." Since we had nothing else to go on, we accepted this request as the one thing we could do.

Years, and again just months ago, my grandmother had shown me a folder in the hutch in the den marked "Mom and Dad's Funeral Info." In an emergency, she had told me, find that folder. After grabbing the folder on Monday, I became aware that I was the only one who knew of its existence. Had my grandfather known, he would have forgotten anyway, but that my mother didn't know was almost a surprise. Almost. But I'll get to that.

The paperwork I had was limited though, and there were no real funeral requests, mainly because she and my grandfather had both paid for their services a decade ago. Not wanting to leave us with an expense, they pre-paid and all we had to do was verify the information. Verify, as in go to the funeral home, and make sure the coffin she picked out was still there. It wasn't. We found a comparable one that was very nice, but it wasn't the one she had chosen, so the Whites offered to ship the exact one from the vendor before the funeral.

My grandfather made a point to tell me that the pre-paying idea was Grandma's. She made them both go in and do it, and while I remember her telling me they had looked at coffins ("Grandma, that's so depressing!"), I didn't realize they had purchased their funerals. My grandma was practical like that. I'm so thankful she was. This would have been significantly more difficult if that weren't the case.

Wednesday
 On Monday, we had made an appointment for my grandfather to get a temporary tooth since he had lost one earlier in the month. He didn't want to look bad at the funeral. So on Wednesday, I took him to the dentist and waited while he was worked on. The dentist came out with Grandpa and told me that we would need to work on his teeth more, since his back ones were shot. I agreed that we'd come back next week, but obviously, this was not the time.

Tuesday had been quiet, guest-wise, and while I liked few people being over for reasons of not feeling like being a hostess, I still liked having people around to keep me from my insanity. From thinking too much. Because it's the quiet outside and the screaming inside that will destroy you. My mom's friends came over on Tuesday and mine came over on Wednesday.

Jake arrived on Wednesday night. "She's been doing everything," my mom told him. And I had. I made the lists, the phone calls, the emails, talked to the church, the funeral home, asked all the questions, made the decisions, and tried to keep everyone sane. But I also delegated where I could. Andrew was in charge of getting Jake, and should he be held up I had back-ups. I asked Mary and Doreen advice where I could, and called the funeral home whenever I had a question. I was on top of it. I could not let my grandmother down. This would be a perfect funeral. If there could be such thing. After all, no one wants there to be one in the first place.

I only broke down (at Mom-level, I call it) twice. Once on Monday, my smaller one, where I admitted to Mom that I would give up all other people in my life just to have my grandmother back. (Clarifying to my brother, I'm pretty sure I said I would sacrifice them on all on a pyre and grant my loyalty to any asking deity if I could just have her alive again.) My next one was Friday night. After a few drinks, my tears were ready to flow, and I lost it. I went to her for everything, I told Mom. Cooking advice, marital advice... There was very little I couldn't ask my grandmother about. And now I had to be the one who helped my grandfather. I didn't think I was up to the challenge. I still don't.

The Funeral Home

Our visit to the funeral home Monday afternoon was somber. Jim White Jr. (known to my grandfather and mother as Jimmy) was very helpful, and sincere in his sadness. He knew my grandmother too, and even though this was my first time meeting Jim (or perhaps again as an adult), I had the instant familial connection. The Whites are a wonderful family, and the older ones were very close to my grandparents. I know this was hard for them too. So I may be a little biased when I recommend their services to other families, but I think they do great work.

My Uncle John, grandfather, mother and I arranged ourselves around a big wooden table and with Jim looked over verses and phrases, quotations and arrangements. There was a lot to go through. Thankfully, we had four of us there to split up the work. I came upon one that we ended up using: "I Am Standing Upon the Seashore," attributed to Henry Van Dyke (though there is some controversy on that). I thought it was perfect. And "the glad shout" made me smile. (For those that do not know, my grandmother's name was Gladys.)


[Blog completed 8/26/19]
The Neighbors

The neighbors were absolutely wonderful. From food to someone to talk to, to help with a DVD video to play at the funeral (thank you, Josh!), they came through for me like no strangers had before. I didn't know them well, and I wish I knew them better. But we all have busy lives and I don't really keep in touch aside from Facebook. But I will be forever grateful for their help that week.


Epilogue

Years later, and after my grandfather's death, there's not much else to day. I still miss my grandmother every single day. I miss my grandfather too, but I was closer to my grandmother and I wish I still had her to go to for advice. I hope I will see her again someday. And I hope that she knows that I did the best I could to take care of my grandfather after he died.

"He won't survive this," I heard one person say of him, certain that they would be the couple that died within weeks, or months of each other. I don't remember who said it. And I wasn't in the right mindset to start a fight (rare, right?), but I would prove that person wrong. At least by 5 years.

They didn't have enough time. I wish they had more. And more together, and more with me. But of course, that is selfish, and not something I'm free to ask of the world. I guess I can only hope that I get to see them again in the hereafter.