My grandmother passed away about 6 weeks ago. While I didn't have a great relationship with either of my parents, I was very close to my grandparents. Her death came quickly, but its shock was somewhat mitigated by the dementia that she had developed in recent years. I had already been mourning the loss of my grandmother. She often didn't know who I was and had reverted to a child-like state. I cried every time I called or visited because I had already lost the grandmother that I grew up with.
The week of her death, she was admitted to the hospital for pneumonia. The first time she had ever been seriously ill in her life. She seemed to be getting better, and arrangements were being made to send her back home to the assisted living facility where she lived with my grandfather. But she started having setbacks, and then she had a stroke and was moved to ICU.
I wasn't getting good information from my aunt or my dad about her condition, and so I headed to Hometown to see for myself. I had had a bad feeling since she was first admitted to the hospital.
My dad thought she was doing better by the time arrived, but once I saw her for myself, I immediately knew this wasn't the case. She was septic and septic shock likely caused the stroke. My mother had been septic and I knew how serious it was and the mortality rate. I advised my dad that things weren't going as well as he thought.
My grandmother was semi-responsive when I first arrived and managed to acknowledge my presence and say a slurred "I love you." She became less responsive throughout that evening, and I volunteered to spend the night with her.
Around midnight her vitals became erratic. She was medicated, and minutes later her vitals slowed dramatically. I wasn't overly concerned. I'd spent enough time in hospice with my mother and MIL to know that the vitals of the seriously ill and heavily medicated slowed considerably. But she was dying, and passed away before any other family could arrive.
That was not my experience with death. My mother and MIL both took months to die. Over and over we thought both of them were on their last day, and each of them had many days left. But that was not the case with my grandmother, and I am glad. A long, drawn out death is terrible for everyone involved.
My aunt and my dad arrived shortly after she died. I waited outside her room so that I could intercept them and deliver the news. They were both in shock. Neither could see her and neither could deal with the funeral home. And so I was left alone with her again, waiting for the funeral home and clearing out her things.
I'm glad that I was alone with her when she died. That I was the one to take care of things. I was the oldest and favored grandchild (my brother and cousins will tell you this begrudgingly, and I will not deny it. I also spent the most time with my grandparents.) She's the person who loved me more than anyone else in the world, except for DH. Before the dementia, she's the one who wanted to know every detail of my life and my kids.The one I would call with good news. The one who begged to have PS come spend the summers with her. Who always made sure I had everything I ever needed. Who introduced me to everyone as her granddaughter the lawyer who also has three beautiful girls. It seems appropriate that I was the one there.
The next morning my aunt and I went to tell my grandfather. It is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, and the only time I've ever seen my grandfather cry. The next two days passed in a haze of exhaustion, making arrangements and playing the mediator between my dad and aunt. They hate each other and generally don't speak. I played the part of the peacemaker.
I feel like I am not old enough to have experienced so much death. To have planned so many funerals, written so many obituaries, given so many eulogies. To have watched two people that I love dearly die. My grandmother lived a long life and was healthy and active for most of it. But it does seem strange (and unfair) that DH and I both lost our mothers by the time we were 40. And we know there is more death to come. Our remaining grandparents are all in their mid-to-late 80s. This is just the part nobody told us about this stage of our life.
