Waiting on Death

I quietly walked into the room. Her large King-sized bed that I remember climbing like a mountain to get on as a child, has been replaced with a tiny twin medical bed. 

The house itself was sparse in decor. There were no more pictures on the walls or on the mantle like before. I don't know when all of that disappeared or why. I hadn't been inside her house in such a long time.

You see, I am the worst of the worst granddaughter. I know that. My Grandmama has had dementia for years. So many that I cannot really recall when it started. What I do remember vividly is the day I visited and she no longer knew me. I was a stranger to one of the most wonderful and influencial people in my entire life. This woman who I had known through every season of my entire existance had lost me in her mind. I was no one special anymore. Over and over she asked if I knew her. She asked me if those were my children and with each question a part of me died. I mourned my grandmother after that. I had lost her...all of her. It was all gone. She'd never again recall our Christmases at the old house or how I'd play with all her old hats. She didn't remember the amount of her peach cobbler we could all put away or the family yard sales we had under her carport where we had watermelon seed spitting contests. The great move from her old house to her new wasn't even a distant memory. She had even forgotten the people she told me not to date and why. How can I thank her for being my rock during surgeries and recoveries when she can't even remember my name? My heart broke and I mourned because my Grandmama was no more. And so I stopped. I stopped visiting. It was too painful and she was already gone. 

Her body was not done however, for years now. That strong woman has held on longer than anyone imagined. Her daytime caregivers became her family and their numbers grew as they now watched her around the clock. 

A call from my cousin came through the car stereo as I rode out of town to get my boys from camp a couple of weeks ago. "You  need to go see her," she said. The end was drawing near. I had avoided going for so long but I knew she was right. So when I came back home, I visited. There in that hospital bed laid a tiny woman. She was so small...smaller than I'd ever seen. She smelled fresh though, as I bent over and kissed her cheek. She was well taken care of. I'd heard stories of her not being able to walk or even talk these days, so I was surprised when she opened her eyes and turned a little and in a very clear voice said, "Thank you!." 

I understood her just fine and it even made me smile. I didn't know what to say. How do you say I'm sorry for abandoning you? I sat in the chair near her bed and I held her hand. I stroked her white hair back around her ear and I whispered, "I love you Grandmama." She stirred a little with eyes still closed. I continued to speak into her ear and kiss her cheek. When I kissed her, she'd smile. I'd do it again and again just to see that smile. She had been in so many dark places with this disease. The anger, the fear, the crying spells she'd have were scary and painful to watch. But here was that smile I hadn't seen in so very long. Then, she opened her eyes and scanned the wall in front of her. She turned towards me and proceeded to tell me about little boys running around and how clean this place was (her own house). She even muttered something about throwing something over the fence. All of it I understood. To see her so "alive" made me kiss her over and over again on that cheek. I will never forget the look she turned and gave me. It ws a signature Willette look. A little furrow in her brow but with a smile - all to say, you silly girl. Again I laughed. She turned on her side and the visit was done as she drifted back off to sleep. She was peaceful. She had smiled!

Apparently its painful to die, or so my dad tells me. He said that she moans in pain so Hospice keeps her on a steady diet of Morphine. I am sure she's just hurting from starving to death because she refuses to eat or drink anything.  Always a stubborn woman. 

I am glad of one thing. She forgot long ago that she lost her baby boy to cancer. No mother should have to endure the loss of their child. To forget it was the only gift this disease gave her. 

Today I took my children to see her one last time. This visit had no smiles. There were no words. She didn't even see me when she opened her eyes. Instead she stared past me into something else. Each child held her hand as they sat in my lap. Tears flowed down both mine and Addison's face when Grandmama laid her other hand on top of Addison's. Their's was a special bond. There wasn't anything left to say. So I leaned over and kissed that cheek for the last time on this side of heaven. This time I whispered for her to give Papa and Darrell a kiss for me. "I'll see you when I get to heaven. I love you. You were a great Grandmama."

Till she meets Jesus though, we wait. We wait on death to come. We've said our peace and kissed our last kiss. She can go home now Lord. She can go. 

If tears were a measure of love....you were phenomenal. I love you Grandmama.