Circles: Life and Death

        For the longest time I was proud to say that all four of my grandparents were alive, but as of January 10th all of them are now gone.  My first experience with death as an adult was with both my grandfathers, who died within a month of each other.  They never had a chance to meet my children.  Zoey and Hunter are still just at the beginning of life, but since their births the lives of both my grandmothers have ended.  The parallels between new life and the end of it are undeniable.  As Zoey and Hunter stumbled on their baby little feet as they learned to walk, my Grandma Larson began to struggle unable to stand well on her own and lost the ability to move as she once had.  As my kids learned to talk, she grew quieter, watching more than she interacted, words escaping her.  As Hunter’s teeth forced their way in, my other Grandma Lovatt’s began falling out.  As he learned new words and recognized people, she began to forget.  

When my grandfathers died I wasn’t as aware of the similarities between new life and death as I am now.  Seeing them at the end of their lives was my first true experience with death.  I didn’t have a strong connection with my maternal grandfather, but lived near him and was able to see him in the final stages of his life.  I visited him in the hospital and after he was sent home when nothing more could be done and was able to be there shortly after he died.  It was surreal to see his body there and know that he was gone from it.  No more breathing, no more heartbeat, just perpetual sleeping.  I was in the next room as the coroners took his body away.  I know that not everyone can find comfort being this close to death, watching loved ones as they go, but for some reason witnessing the end was a comfort to me.  It felt complete knowing I was seeing them for the last time.  

I had a deeper bond with my paternal grandfather.  He had struggled with his health for years and there had been many times we thought he would go, but he had prevailed.  So, it was hard to believe that it was really going to be the end, that he wouldn’t go home from the hospital this time.  When others left for the night, I was unable to make myself leave my Poppa’s side as he lay dying.  I was tired, but didn’t sleep and sat gripping his hand, telling him how much I loved him and that it was okay to let go.  More than likely this night was more of a comfort for me than it was for him.  At the time, I didn’t realize that he wouldn’t have wanted to die while I was there alone with him.  I can only hope that I was able to bring him some sort of comfort in what was to be the last night of his life.  He died the next afternoon, hours after I had returned home.  After I got the call that he was gone, I felt a huge hole in my heart knowing he was no longer in the world.  

In a way, I felt like I was a part of their moving on, their letting go of what was in this world and going on to the next.  These finals moments are blurred in my memory, whereas, I don’t see their bodies, but am more just aware of their presence.  My memories of them haven’t been tarnished by being close to them upon death, in my memories I still see them at their strongest.

After I became a mother the similarities between new life and the end of it were astounding.  I have seen both my grandparents and my newborn babies in hospitals wrapped up in blankets. Though my grandparents weren’t being monitored for growth as my kids were, but for what was no longer functioning as it should.  The circle of life that is more than just a metaphor for me now, having seen it both begin and end.  I watched my kids with wonder, as they grew into their bodies as my grandmothers were growing out of theirs.  If we are lucky enough to make it to old age, we cycle through life and return to the state in which we entered the world dependent on others to help us survive.  

In my blog, Princess Butterfly: A Poem for Grandma, there is a poem after the death of my paternal grandmother.  

On my Grandma's street

I wrote the majority of this before my last living grandparent, my maternal grandma, passed away.  She had been struggling with dementia and had of late been confused and paranoid.  I began writing this piece in large part because of her and what I had witnessed in what was to be her final month of life.  Her death on January 10th ended her month long stay in the hospital.  Zoey and I spent time with her on the Sunday before she went into the hospital.  I brought Zoey’s bike to my grandma’s house so my grandma could watch her ride it up and down her street.  She had always enjoyed watching her grandchildren, even if it had become difficult for her to recall their names.  I took pictures of Zoey that day, but regret not taking any of my Grandma.  After Zoey rode her bike we went to McDonald’s.  Zoey ate a cookie, Grandma ate a fish sandwich and I sipped my vanilla flavored coffee, then we watched Zoey play in the play area.  What I will remember most about that day was when my grandma told me with the excitement of a child that she had recently been to her mom’s house (her mom passed away at the age of 99 in 1990).  With a huge and awed smile on her face, she told me that she should take me there someday.  She had been having illusions that her own house was her mom’s house and that often it didn’t feel like her own house at all.  We returned to her house and Zoey and I sat on the floor coloring in Zoey’s Dora coloring book.  My grandma looked down at her feet, flat on the floor and said that this was her mom’s carpet.  The dementia seemed to be returning her to a time in her childhood.  During one of my many visits with her in the hospital, I heard her say, “mama” in her sleep.  I was struck by this as it reminded me of Hunter, who now calls me mama. 

Holding Zoey for the first time

There are several other moments that I will remember from the various visits I made to her in the hospital.  Her first night there, she was still mostly aware and she, my mom and I ate McDonald’s.  The last bites she would ever really be able to enjoy were of a Smore’s bar that Joe had made, that I had brought with me.  She loved sweets and I’m glad to know the last thing she ate and enjoyed was a chocolate treat.  In the weeks following she faded in and out, mostly fitfully sleeping and no longer able to talk clearly.  There were moments when she was aware of who was there and was able to recognize my mom and my uncle.  One night when I visited, the nursing staff was sitting her up and suddenly my grandma’s eyes opened.  I exclaimed, “Hi, Grandma!  It’s nice to see your eyes!  We haven’t seen them in a while,” and she had smiled.  Later that night when I left her room, I leaned over her bed, got close to her face and told her I loved her.  She said, “Love you,” back and focused her light green eyes on my face, in what I believe was to be the last time she truly knew me.

Holding Hunter for the first time

Perhaps as she imagined herself

My mom isn’t sure if my Grandma believed in Heaven and I wish I would’ve asked her about it while I had the chance.  I believe in a Heaven in which our bodies are healed and we become the way we saw ourselves in our minds.  My grandma had said she didn’t recognize herself as the person she saw in the mirror, now, I imagine that she is the way she saw herself in her mind.  I picture her smiling that large excited smile as  her mom, her dad and other relatives greet her.  I see a line of people waiting to say hello to her.  Amongst the people in line are our ancestors that she spent years researching in genealogy and she will recognize them immediately and feel at home.