Saying Goodbye

I just called the University of Maryland hospital to speak to my grandmother for what will likely be the last time.  She was not awake.  I don’t know if she heard me or not, but I had to try.

Approximately two years ago, as I lay in the hospital in labor with my child, she lay in a hospital 12 hours away, after having passed out and fallen in her bathroom the night before and having lain there all night.  Despite our concerns, she largely recovered from that episode.  She even eventually went back to her own home, despite my family’s concerns for her being alone.  Then last week or so,  she fell again and hit her head.  Come to find out she had something wrong with her carotid that when she turned her head a certain way, she would pass out.  While she was in the hospital this time as the family and doctors decided what course of action to take, her health began to decline.  She has gone from lucid, although understandably depressed, to what basically amounts to comatose.  She has a cyst and fluid on her brain.  Now she is having difficulty breathing.  She will likely not live out the weekend.

And I really have no feasible way to get there to see her.  Even if my mother bought me a plane ticket (because my husband and I can certainly not afford one much less two right now,) the last experience I had taking my toddler through airport security without the benefit of my husband’s help was harrowing and stressful enough that I swore I’d never do it again.  The thought of it makes my stomach feel icky.  Nevertheless, my mother really wants me and the baby there for the funeral…needs us there.  She is emotionally incapable of handling the impending  loss of her mother.  Even if my grandmom lived to be 100 and died peacefully in her sleep, I think my mom would be incapable of handling it.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about the people I have known and loved, the “old days,” when I was a child.  As a child, I suffered from an undiagnosed anxiety disorder, so I was almost never completely carefree, but those days were probably the closest to carefree I’ll likely ever be.  And when I think about those old days and how they are over for good, it’s something I am not completely at peace with.  Everything changes.  That’s life.  Nothing can stay the same.  It’s just the way of things, and the old adage “youth is wasted on the young” is fairly accurate, in that children generally do not have the emotional or mental maturity to be fully present, “in the moment” so to speak, as they grow and experience life.  I mean, they definitely live life in the moment in many regards, but do they stop while they run, while they play, or even while they sit bored in church, to appreciate the moment and realize how fleeting it is?  I doubt it.  That was something I myself first discovered around the age of twelve, and my anxiety over the passage of time and the retrospect way we experience life in general has been a source of anxiety for me ever since.

Well, I feel I have digressed from the original subject.  But then again, maybe not.  This is all related in one way or another, and as I got off the phone with the nurse who held the phone to my grandmother’s ear, and the tears pricked at the back of my throat, I just felt like I had to write.  And there is so much more I could write.  Like how my grandma will never get to see my daughter, her great-granddaughter, again.  Like how my mom’s health is not good either or how my cat is dying.  About my cousin who died tragically six years ago or my uncle who we lost in ’99, and how it’s still hard to believe he’s gone sometimes.

I’ll just say one more thing.  Right after Christmas, only days after my daughter and I returned, my husband’s grandmother succumbed to a stroke brought on by hip surgery she had right before Christmas.  I am very thankful that I made it a point to take the baby to see her on the night before her surgery.  That was the last time I saw her as well.  My husband and I could not make it back to Maryland in time for her funeral either.

Both his grandmother and mine were (are) wonderful ladies who were, in many ways, the heart of the family.  In the case of my mother’s side of the family, my grandmom is likely one of the only things still keeping a strained family together.

But like I said before, resistance to change is futile and will only end in anxiety and fear.

I don’t know what beliefs I subscribe to at this point in my life.  That’s been another source of confusion and anxiety for me for a long time.  But I do hope that peace will somehow find my grandmother and the rest of my family during this difficult time…and maybe there will be some peace left over for me.

18 responses to “Saying Goodbye

  1. This was so hard to read knowing I am so far away. 😦 So many of these thoughts sound so familiar to me. It’s not the right time or place to talk about it, but when we get together —whether sooner or later–it’s you, me, and a bottle of wine.

  2. Oh, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry about your grandmother. Losing someone you love is always horrible, especially if you can’t be there. If you can’t be there for your family. I know exactly how you feel. And I do hope your grandmother heard you on the phone that time.

    I’ll be thinking about you. And I hope you, and your family are doing alright. Stay strong!

  3. I read this last night, but it wasn’t the time for me to comment. Reading again, now it is. Its good that you got to make that phone call – I actually do believe she heard you. You know yourself that what you said, she already knows, too. But it helps to know you got to say it out loud one more time.
    This is hard for me as I lost my mother when she was only 57, and I only 27. I am not over it, like your mother, I will never be over it. I hope she doesn’t bottle things up like me and my father do – it sounds like she doesn’t, which is hard for you but healthier for her. If you can’t make it to the funeral, and it sounds like it will be so very hard for you to do so, I’m hoping your mom will be able to get her support from others.
    I cannot think about the passage of time and what might have been – those truly are the saddest words ever written or said. My defence is another sort of disorder, in that my actual sense of time is really poor.
    I’m sorry to hear this is happening to you and your family. Try not to stress too much over what you can’t help and do your best with the things you can help with. X

    • I am sorry to hear about your mother. My husband lost his own when he was sixteen and he says much the same thing, in that he will never be “over it.” I can’t imagine how it must feel.
      My mother does not bottle things up, but neither does she always choose appropriate ways of expressing what for her must be overwhelming emotions at times. This is just as bad for her, especially given her health, I think. I think balance is the healthiest. (My husband is also a “bottler” like you 😉 )
      Thank you for your kind words.

  4. If it’s one thing I know, it’s grandmas. She definitely heard you. Grandmas are amazing at everything. Hope things get better. Your in my thoughts.

  5. Pingback: This time last year… | alienredqueen

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