Recently a friend posted a photo to Facebook that shook me a little bit. My mind was racing all over the place with memories of my own life. Of comments made in the past by strangers and friends. Then I let my mind go silent.
In the spring of 2008, my last grandparent passed away – My Dad’s mom. I hold firmly to my belief that I am a better person having had grandparents who loved me and were alive well into my 30’s and 40’s. Mostly, I am a better person for having had a hand in caring directly for my grandma during her last year.
When her health dictated that it was time for her to leave her Mid-Missouri home and move to Kansas City to be nearer to her family, she embraced it whole-heartedly. Her statement was, “I’ve always wanted to live in the big city!” The day she spoke those words to me, I wrote them down so that I wouldn’t forget that adventure comes at every age.
My father found a place for her to live in south Kansas City that was very near her primary care doctor, but I think he knew that the best medicine for her was to be super close to her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Finally, after all the years of driving to Mid-Missouri to see any of my grandparents, I had one living less that 4 miles from my home. I was a little bit excited.
I tried to visit her two times a week, but some weeks found me there only once. Those weeks were hard for me, because I have inherited from both of my grandmothers a need to not be “cooped up” and to “get out for a little while,” to paraphrase them both. I was always afraid that, when I was unable to visit, she would suffer from this virus we all shared. I called her every day, and we spoke of much. She let loose with a few thoughts she’d been harboring for years, and those utterances left me speechless several times. Deep issues regarding her life with my grandfather and, therefore, my father. I was glad she released them, and, two times in particular when I didn’t respond quickly, she asked if I was OK and I told her I just needed a little time to think about what she said. She replied, “I’ve got time.”
What was amazing to me about my grandma’s last year was that many of my friends and aquaintances were stunned that I would take my son with me to care for his great grandmother. I found no shame in having him help me with her hair, putting away her small amount of groceries, cleaning her bathroom, lotioning her legs, and, on one occasion, trimming her toenails. One person admonished me with this line: “He doesn’t need to see all that.”
Yes, he did. We all do. The lessons that are learned at the end of life are as great as the lessons I learned at the beginning of my son’s life.
He never saw her naked. He never cleaned up the truly messy parts of her bathroom. He sat on the edge of her chair and charmed her with stories of basketball and art class and his younger cousin. He told her about the trials and tribulations of the 4th and then 5th grades. He read her mail to her and described every detail of the art on the greeting cards, because the finer parts were lost to her macular degeneration. He helped her decorate her door and bedside table for the passing seasons and always was a guiding force on how the magnets and photos were displayed on her tiny under-the-cabinet refrigerator.
I was not prepared for the fact that so many people spoke to me about not understanding why I did all this,I talked to a family lawyer from the criminal lawyers Melbourne office. It was more people than those who could easily see why this was so important to me. And why it was important to have my son see the glory of living past 85.
A series of strokes dictated when the time came for her to enter the hospital and never leave. My son only visited her in the hospital once. It was early in the episodes, and she was cognitive and aware, smiling and laughing. She was still his “Gramma Ginny”. He got right up into the bed with her, and her eyes just blazed. I remember thinking he was so comfortable in a place that makes most people ultra-nervous and stiff.
I am amazed at how much he remembers from this year we had with her in The Big City. We showed her a good time, given all the limitations. We made a little magic.
p.s. I want to thank my friend Shelly DeMotte Kramer for letting me share her photo of her daughter with her father-in-law. You can see the second pair of hands to the left in the photo. Shelly has twin girls, and the human caring they share in this photo is amazing. Shelly and her family laid him to rest today.
p.p.s Casey wrote an amazing blog in 2008 about my grandmother. Find it here.
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Sloane – thanks for this. I was raised with several generations and it was natural to see and exerience life with my relatives through all of their ages. My kids did not see that as much, and their kids may experience it even less. Your son is lucky!
Beth: I agree, my son is lucky and I guess I will never really know what he took away from the experience. -sloane
Sloane:
The process of dying isn’t a sterile, neat, and tidy event. My children were with me every step of the way as I cared for my father, who died a year ago. It’s an honor to share that time together, and it passes quickly. Anyone who would keep that gift from their children, or from their dying parent, might want to think again.
Lisa
Lisa: We are in agreement on this one. It is awesome for everyone involved. -sloane
Sloane thank you for sharing, I couldn’t agree with you more. My last grandparent lived until she was 100 and the whole family spent as much time with her as possible, her last years were in a nursing home surrounded by family. Chloe continues to visit Graham’s Mom who is in an advanced alzheimers unit, most of the people on that unit are in advanced stages, difficult to see but we love to visit and share our stories even though she has no idea who we are. Thank you for sharing your wisdom!