Losing Grandma, part 3

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You know your family has been using the same funeral home too long when you call and they know who you are.  "Oh honey you sound terrible, take care of yourself.  Go back to bed."  I'm still sick as a dog, this isn't right.
Went shopping with mom for funeral clothes and spent $30 at Wal-mart on ginger ale and various cold remedies. 
The obituary is in the paper and online at the funeral home.
Text (I left in the errors, I'm too sick to deal with them):

LENA G. NANAFebruary 23, 1918 - February 15, 2012
Lena Gresto Nana, 93, of 191 Pool Road, North Haven, passed away Wednesday, February 15, 2012 at MidState Medical Center, Meriden. She was the beloved wife of the late Louis A. Nana. Born in West Haven on February 23, 1918; daughter of the late Adelino Gresto, Sr. and Santina Petrucci Gresto. A resident of North Haven since 1922; Lena had worked at the former Uhl Cigar Company for 29 years until her retirement; was a very active member of the North Haven Senior Center where she did numerous charitable works including knitting and crocheting; was a volunteer exercise coordinator and a parishioner of St. Barnabas Church. Mother of Ann-Shirley Rizza of Wallingford. Grandmother of Roberta Piedmont and her husband William. Sister of Albert J. Gresto of Fullerton, CA and the late Andrew and Adelino “Joe” Gresto, Jr. Also survived by nieces, nephews, great nieces and great nephews. Predeceased by her son-in-law Robert Rizza Funeral services will be conducted in North Haven Funeral Home, 36 Washington Avenue, Friday morning at 11:00. Family and friends may call from 10:00 until time of service. Interment will follow in the North Haven Center Cemetery. Should friends desire memorial contributions may be made to the CT Hospice, Inc., 100 Double Beach Rd., Branford, CT 06405.
We don't know if she would have changed the hospice donation to Alzheimer's in honor of my dad, so we left it as is; the assumption is that she was thinking of my grandpa (who died of cancer and hospice came to the house and helped care for him as he died)--she designed her obituary in 1997.  Honestly, make a donation to either if you wish, they both do good things for sick people.
Tomorrow at this time we'll be at the restaurant eating and remembering Grandma and it will all be over.

Losing Grandma, part 4

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Last night I was not a good granddaughter.  I'm not perfect.  There was a flash mob at a local bar for my high school class and I went. I was only going to stay an hour and I didn't get home until midnight.  A lot of people knew about my grandma from Facebook and gave condolences.  I was still sick too.  But I missed the formal reunion in 2007 when my dad died; I didn't want to miss an informal one because of my grandmother.  Staying home wouldn't have made my grandma alive again.
I did write the eulogy before I left.  It was hard to sleep when I got home, I was keyed up from drinking a lot of ginger ale (sugar--I usually drink diet Pepsi) and from seeing so many old friends.  When I got up this morning I went to print the eulogy and my desktop computer had crashed and my laptop (where I wrote it) isn't connected to the printer.  It's still crashed; I had to print from my husband's desktop.  Another thing to deal with.
My husband has caught my illness and I feel really bad about that.  So he was home sick in bed while I was out with my old friends.  This morning he was dragging and had to deal with dressing up and driving me and my mom to the funeral home at 9 a.m.
Grandma looked great in the casket.  The funeral director had plumped out her cheeks a little and she actually had a smile on her face, like it was a big joke that instead of celebrating her birth we were celebrating her death.  I think she looked so nice because she didn't suffer.  She was basically dead at my mom's house and they just kept her body alive for another day.
The visitation/service was very nice.  A lot of people came, probably close to 50.  Only one of my friends, but I didn't expect anyone to take time off from work.  My mom's work friends and walking friends and best friend.  My mother in  law and my husband's sister and her fiance.  My mom's cousins and some of their kids.  A few of my grandma's surviving friends. One of my cousins is now a hair dresser and is going to do my hair--it's freaky because she was born when I was in high school or college, I could be her mom.  I think she's the youngest of our generation.
And one surprise.  My grandpa had one sibling left, his sister Elsie.  I wanted to find her.  I did find her online in North Branford but I don't have a North Branford phone book and my mom said not to pursue it because she wouldn't come.  My grandma had sent her a letter and never gotten a response.  I felt really bad about not calling her; I thought she'd want to know her sister-in-law had died.  Then toward the end of the viewing in walks this tiny ancient lady with a cane, being held up by her son, and my mom almost fell out of her chair.  It was Aunt Elsie.  I hadn't seen her in probably 20 years, if not longer.  Obviously she saw the obituary in the paper.
The priest knew my grandma and I was really expecting something great from him, but he read basically the exact same thing as the chaplain did on Tuesday--my father's house has many mansions and the new version of the 23d Psalm which hasn't got the resonance of the King James version. Nothing personal. We invited him for lunch but he declined.  I read my eulogy (below) and then her brother spoke extemporaneously, from the heart, about what a hard worker my grandma was, how his earliest memories are of her going off to work at a shirt factory where she was paid piecework to pin and iron shirts, standing up all day, to help support the family during the Depression.  He talked about special foods she used to make--icebox cake and fruitcake--and how he looked forward to eating both, as they both had to mature before being eaten.  He did choke up a few times but ultimately he was okay, as we all are.
The service at the grave site was very short, basically just a prayer of farewell.  She's with my grandpa again, body and soul.  There's one spot left in the plot for my mom (and my dad's ashes).
The food at the restaurant was very good, we had about 20 people at 4 tables and everyone enjoyed everything.  We stayed there about 2 hours.
Now I've got to bring my cats to the vet, and my mom's going to come along, and we're going to make a side trip back to the cemetery to take some of the roses.
Rest in peace, Grandma.  I love you.  Say hi to my dad and Grandpa and Aunt Bert and everyone.  Hug and kiss all the animals.  
~~~~Eulogy~~~~
The last time I talked with my grandma was Sundaynight.  She seemed to be in a goodmood.  We were playing a word game, andwhen my mom took the letter she wanted, my grandma sassed her, saying “Oh, whydon’t you just go home!” and laughing.We made plans for her 94th birthday next week.  She didn’t care that she was going to be94—“It’s just another day” she said.  Iasked her where she wanted to go eat on Friday—today—and she waved her handsand said “I’m happy to go anywhere” and we decided on Red Lobster because shelikes the shrimp.  But then I guess shemade other plans without telling me, and she’s having lunch somewhere elsetoday, without us.  My grandma was a generous woman.  She worked a Mike-Rowe-worthy dirty job at acigar factory for almost 30 years (and because of my exposure to that cigarfactory, I will always love the smell of raw tobacco) and never complained evenwhen her hands turned yellow from handling the giant bales of leaves.  At night, with those same tired discoloredhands, she would knit, crochet, sew, and tat the most incredible lace.  When she retired, she donated the skill ofher hands to the North Haven Senior Center.  They would give her material and yarn andpatterns and she’d make quilts and lap robes and bags and funny little dollsfor them to give away or sell.  Some ofthe material and yarn was ugly and yet she put the same care into the finishedproduct as she did with the prettier goods. My hands look just like hers, but I was never able to pick up evenrudimentary knitting skills, unfortunately. My grandma taught me not to be afraid of ghosts.  That sounds weird, I know.  But when I was little, my grandparents movedinto a haunted house.  It was not an oldcreaky spooky mansion, just a regular ranch house where the previous owner haddied, but not moved on.  Her name wasMrs. Winters.   Mrs. Winters would walkup and down the cellar stairs and rattle door knobs and that was about asmenacing as she ever got.  In fact Ibelieve she was a kindly ghost, because when I slept there, she would cover meup.  I was never afraid of her because mygrandparents were so matter-of-fact about her presence. I suppose I thoughteveryone’s grandparents lived in a haunted house.  I believe that when my grandpa died there, hetook Mrs. Winters with him, because I never felt or heard her again.My grandma was quirky and generous.  When I was a teenager, she sat me down andsaid if I ever wanted to try a cigarette or to drink alcohol, she would buy itfor me and share it with me.  She didn’twant me sneaking around and getting in trouble. I think that’s exactly why I never did—because of her offer.  It might not have been “cool” to smoke ordrink with Grandma, but I never felt the urge to sneak booze with friendseither.I had a bad cough every winter for most of my life, and shemade me a bottle of homemade cough medicine. She drew a label that looked like a pharmacy sticker, with infiniterefills and the ingredients.  She likedeverything to be hand-made when possible. When my friend had a baby a few years ago, my grandmother crocheted areceiving blanket as a gift.  My friendentered it into the Durham Fair, and it won a prize, which she gave to mygrandma, who was shocked that anyone would think her simple blanket was worthany honors.If you know me well, you know I inherited something elsefrom my grandma besides her hands.  Shewas stubborn.  When I was little, she hada fancy red coat.  When somethinghappened that made her angry, she spoke up. She’d put on that coat and go towhatever place she was upset with, and speak her mind.  When we said Grandma was “putting on her redcoat” we meant “going on the warpath.”  Idon’t have a red coat, but I’ve been known to venture down that warpath a timeor two!  My grandma’s red coat is longgone, but she never stopped speaking her mind or being stubborn.  When her doctors told her to take her bloodpressure medicine or she would have a stroke, she said she didn’t care.  She made her choice.   She was ready to go.She lived almost 94 years. She had slowed down a bit toward the end, but she was still mentallyagile—when I took her to the bank recently, her checkbook was only off by lessthan a dollar—and she didn’t need help with anything.  Only her very last day on Earth wasn’t a goodone, and trust me, it was only a bad day for her body.  Her soul was already gone.  She had 34,324 good days and who can ask formore than that?
Lena Gresto NanaFebruary 23, 1918February 15, 2012

sometimes death is okay

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I've had a couple of weeks to think about my grandma dying and I've had to tell a lot of people.  And I've found that their sympathy is almost unwanted because the more I think about it, the more it's okay that she died.  It's not that I don't miss her--for instance, today I saw a friend of mine; he's an artist who is helping me with my next book.  His boyfriend is some kind of cousin of mine. I was going to ask some questions about my "cousin's" family to figure out the exact connection and then I realized that it was useless as my grandma was the one who would have known how to figure it out.
It's weird to visit my mom and her house is empty and quiet, no loud TV, no running water and flushing toilet.  It's even weirder for my mom, who never lived alone before.  We went through Grandma's things and I felt like a ghoul every time I wanted something. I took a doily she made, some plastic storage containers, and a potted cactus plant that belonged to my grandpa.  I'm selling her furniture on Craigslist.  My mom gave away all the extra afghans my grandma had made to a nursing home, and also gave them her collection of canes.  Her decent clothing went to a local place that helps homeless people.
And it's all good. I don't understand hoarders, who when someone dies clutches all their things tightly.  My grandma loved to give away her afghans.  To keep them (and not use them) would be disrespectful.  To know that someone is warm because she is wearing my grandma's jacket or sweater makes me feel good. My dad's clothes went to charity too.  I kept one shirt, a green one he really liked.  I don't need 12 garbage bags of clothes and stuff to remember my grandma and dad, and having those 12 bags wouldn't make the memories I have any better.  This blog is a much better resource and it only takes up cyberspace, not closet space. 
It is okay that my grandma died, for a few reasons.  She was, basically, 94.  She was fairly healthy and dementia free.  And she chose the method of her death by not taking her medicine.  Only the very last day, maybe not even 24 hours, were "bad" in the sense that she'd had the massive stroke and yet not died yet, but since she was gone (brain dead) that barely even counts.  When I tell people that, they are okay with it too.
And then I think of my dad.  It was beyond okay when he died, it was good, it was a blessing, but it was still wrong.  He was only 67.  He never enjoyed his retirement.  His last 6 weeks he was in agony, just far enough from being a vegetable to be in pain.  His death was a relief, a release, for all of us, and in that way it was also okay.  But in the bigger scheme of things, a man barely in his 60's should not have dementia, he shouldn't go from diagnosis to death in barely 4 years, he shouldn't brutalize his wife and forget his daughter and forget how to talk and how to read.  There is nothing that is okay about early onset Alzheimer's (or any kind of dementia).
People who don't have a loved one with dementia cannot understand how the families of patients, toward the end, pray for death.  They think they would never ever wish for someone they loved to die. (They probably haven't seen end-stage cancer either, in that case.)  People who have been there, done that, we all just nod and say, "it's okay to feel relieved.  I get it."
The day my grandma had her final stroke, news came out about a cancer drug that reverses Alzheimer's like symptoms in mice.  I try to remain hopeful, because someday I might need that drug.  I don't want the final entry in this blog to be about how it was okay for ME to die.  But perhaps someday that will be the case.

Dichotomy in Death

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No, Dichotomy in Death isn't the newest JD Robb futuristic thriller.  It's the subject of a discussion I've been having on and off via text all day with one of my friends.  Her grandma just died.  Today marks 4 weeks since mine had her (ultimately fatal) stroke (tomorrow is the 4 week anniversary of her death) so death and dead grandmas are still a sensitive subject for me.
My friend's grandma came to death via a different path than mine.  She had cancer and supposedly had it beat, but then she started acting strangely, as if she had some dementia starting.  My friend's mom thought that the cancer had metastasized to her brain.  She started to lose weight at an alarming rate because she stopped eating.  A couple of days ago, they had to bring a hospice nurse into her home (she lived with one of her children) because she was too sick and weak to be moved to a facility, and now she's gone.
And my friend is facing the same quandary that we went through with my dad and my grandma.  That you love someone, and wish she would stay with you forever.  That's the selfish part, of course, because at the same time, this person you love is sick and suffering and in pain.  You want the pain to end for both your sakes.  So you feel bad for wanting the person to die, and selfish for wanting them not to die.
But when the pain inevitably ends in death, you continue to feel horrible.  Because you are glad the pain is over and the suffering has stopped.  And you are sad, so sad, that your loved one is gone.
And of course my friend had the other side of the coin in a different way.  She had a few days to say goodbye to her grandma and know her grandma heard and acknowledged it for what it was.  My grandma was gone when I said goodbye.  Maybe her spirit was hovering in that hospital room and heard but I don't think so--it fled the night before, trying to fulfill my mom's wish to find her mother dead peacefully in bed.  And with my dad, well, from day to day we never knew if he really understood who we were and we didn't know when if ever he'd die so how to say goodbye in that case?  The last time I saw him, about 15 hours before he died, I told him to go and said goodbye but he was so far gone, stage 4 Alzheimer's, brain damage, MRSA burning through him out of control, that he didn't know.  He didn't hear me either. 
That's why I can't be an atheist.  People have to go somewhere. If energy can't be created or destroyed, they have to be around in some form.  They have to know their children and grandchildren and loved ones have conflicting feelings about their deaths.  They have to still be here.  Otherwise, what is the point?

transitioning

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Today I was sitting in a restaurant, eating, and a text message came in on my phone. I thought it was my husband responding to an earlier message from me, and it wasn't.  It was from a really good friend of mine, whose adult son has cancer, and the message was to let me know that his time had come, any minute now.  Maybe even as I'm writing this, who knows?  The second part of the message was to ask me to spiritually be part of her son's transition team.  She also asked for my dad's help.
I was sitting there just crying over my food and the waitress came over and though the food was wrong (again, it had already been remade once) and I told her what I'd just learned and she said "Do you need a hug" and she hugged me.  It was so sweet.
I'm so sad for my friend, but at the same time I am so honored that she took time out from being with her son for the last time to think of me and to invite me in.  And invite my dad!  If there is ever a time in the world to be completely selfish, it's when you're watching someone you love die.  There is no room for anyone else there.  And she let me in.  She asked me in.  I'd go there if I could, but she's hundreds of mile away, and she's got 7 other children plus some grandchildren--no room for me to be there physically, that's for sure.
A transition team is basically anyone who is there, in body or spirit, to help someone transition between worlds.  You could work with women in labor, welcoming their new babies to this world, or with the dying, saying goodbye.
I wrote back and told her of course I'd be there with her in spirit and I assigned my dad and grandma and all the pets and whoever else is up there to welcome her son home with open arms, to bring him into the Elsewhere Bar and teach him what's what.
I'm so sorry for her loss.  Not having any children, I can't imagine the pain of losing one.  But I know how much it hurts to lose a beloved pet, and I'm sure it's 100x worse if it's your human child.  She had sent me a message in the fall saying that he was doing really bad and in a lot of pain, and that he, and everyone else, was praying for his pain to end, for him to die.  I know that feeling all too well, and the combination of relief and grief that will follow upon his death.
(image source)