Granny is dying. Though her vitals are still good, the doctors say she's okay, Granny is dying. It's in her half-closed eyes, in the slacked jaw and slurred speech. She spent yesterday saying her good-byes, she's talking about her late husband and letting go. The end is near.
Asher and I saw her briefly yesterday. I was struck by the moment - how irreverently babies stomp on the pall of death, with their grunts of approval and insistence on waving to everyone in the room. He didn't recognize Granny, but he knew his Grandma and Grandpa were there, and felt certain they must be there to play with him. He had no sense of reverence, no hushed tone. He wanted to wave and squeal and eat his yogurt and charm the nurses, already. The nurse commented, "It's something, to think they go from that (pointing at Asher) to this (pointing to Granny)." Something, indeed.
When we left the hospital we went to dinner with Brian's family. And remember, band family, how we left Lane's father's funeral and met for dinner and had so much fun? Because what was needed more than anything else was a lightening of mood, to be able to laugh and to trust that life would still move forward. Our dinner last night was like that. Brian's brother made funny faces at the baby, Asher laughed obligingly and picked off everyone's plate, and all was as it should be. Almost.
Granny's dying, but Granny is the happiest person I've ever met. She LOVES to laugh. She's enjoyed her life immensely, and she has hope for her future. Had she been able, she would have loved Asher's breaking the mood at the hospital. She would have laughed with us at dinner. She has been a part of our daily lives for most of the time Brian and I have known each other, and she will be missed every day. But I'm not sad right now. I can't think about Granny's life and be sad.
Anyway, I didn't mean to write a eulogy. I mostly wanted to comment on the fullness of life in the hospital room, how we move from stage to stage, time ploughing forward irrevocably. And how the quiet of death and a baby's snacktime intersected yesterday afternoon.
9 comments:
that's beautiful stephanie. i do remember that dinner - and it was just what we all needed. we were at Romas - I remember that too. :) i am glad that your family was able to have that yesterday. and i know that granny would love that asher was bringing joy and life into that hospital. (not just that room, but to the nurses as well) i'm praying for you guys right now - i know that the waiting is sometimes the hardest part of death. waiting to mourn is a terrible place to be in.
any aforementioned friends passing through during the holidays? a meal seems appropriate.
i am of course praying for you guys too. i'm with brian on the asking about people passing through for a meal. keep me posted.
This is good, Steph. I hate to hear that Granny isn't doing well. (((HUGS)))
I'm sorry to hear that. Even when someone has lived a full life, it is sad to watch that life slip away. And the contrast between her and Asher is poignant, indeed.
Just wanted to say that I was here and listening and praying.
Just thinking of you....this was a beautiful post.
I agree with your other posts, that was absolutely beautiful.
I am sad to hear that Granny is dying...please tell Brian and the rest of the Gates clan that we will be thinking of them. I have found memories of Granny from our "younger" years.
Found your site through Julie's pledge class...
I understand completely how you feel. When my grandmother died three years ago, I delivered the eulogy (I still have the transcript). I went out and bought a sweater that I just knew she would have loved - BRIGHT, with sequins, pretty obnoxious actually- and wore that to the funeral. Everyone who REALLY knew her thought it was great.
It's really hard to watch, I know, but if she knows she's loved you've done the best thing possible.
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