My paternal Grandmother passed away almost five years ago and I miss her every day. She was such a huge part of my life and losing her was a devastating loss that I continue to feel.
Elsewhere in this blog I have talked about how my mom and dad dated in high school and married nine days after my mom graduated. (They divorced 18 years and five kids later.) What I haven't mentioned until now is that my mom and her three sisters were raised at the Veterans of Foreign Wars Home for Children as orphans. (My maternal Grandfather was killed during WWII.)
My beautifully southern (paternal) Grandmother took my mom under her wing and taught her everything she knew about being a wife, having babies and raising a family. My
Grandmother always considered my mom one of her "daughters" even after my parents divorced and my mom always felt my Grandmother was the mother she had never had. They had a very deep emotional bond that could never be broken. (All my cousin's still thought of her as "Aunt Betty".)
My Grandmother's husband, Granddaddy, passed away in July 1985 -- 52 years and a few days after they were married. Grandmother and Granddaddy had such a bond that we feared she would soon follow him in death, but she didn't. She continued to live in her brown house looking out over the river in the little island town until she was in her 80's. Due to declining health she became a resident of a care facility that totally doted on her. She always had a stream of visitors and we posted current photos of our families on her bulletin board.
Almost every summer, growing up, there were camping trips that included all the locals of our family tree. My dad's brother had five kids, my dad's sister had seven daughters, then there was my three brother's and sister -- just this group alone was a family reunion!
From the time I was 10 I was able to walk or ride my bike to my Grandparent's house and their door was always open. After my parents split and I moved back with my dad I would stay with them if my dad had to be out of town.
My grandparents were from the south -- Tennessee -- and moved to Michigan when my dad was a young boy. I can still hear their southern drawl in my head.
After my grandfather passed away I found myself spending a lot more time with my Grandmother. We used to have amazing conversations. She knew how abusive my father was to my brothers and my mother and she and I would try to psychoanalyze him. My grandparents did not raise my father to be such a monster. I also told my Grandmother about the abuse I suffered at the hands of my brother's. We talked about everything.
When she was became the resident of the long-term care facility I was living on the other side of the state. I called her frequently, sent her cards and drove the kids to see her whenever I could. We referred to her as Grandma-Great.
In early June 2002 I received a call from a family member telling me that Grandmother wasn't doing very good. As had been in the past, she would do poorly health-wise for a short time then things would return to normal. I had no reason to think this time would be any different but I took time off work to drive up there to be with her. The first day I was there she was still eating -- not much, but it was something. She was still talking and carrying on a conversation. The next day she wasn't eating at all and there was very, very little conversation. She seemed to doze most of the time. One of the hospice workers came in at on point during that day and I helped her bathe my Grandmother.
One of my girl cousin's, Sherry, and I got recliners and camped out on either side of her bed that night. From the moment I arrived at the facility I was showering my Grandmother with kisses -- on the cheeks and forehead. It wasn't until that night, and we turned out the overhead lights, that I realized my chapstick had glitters in it. I was leaving a lip print of glitter on my Grandmother's face! Sherry and I lay there talking to each other, taking a major trip down memory lane, and to Grandmother even though she wasn't responding. We held her hands and stroked her arms. I kept an eye on her urinary output (the cath bag was on my side of the bed) but there was nothing. I knew her body was shutting down.
Sherry and I never slept that night and early the next morning I told her to call her mom while I called my dad and my mom because this was "it". Soon there were several people gathered around her bed -- my dad was near her head on the right and I was at her left ear, my mom had ahold of her left hand when the seizures started. I was whispering in her ear that I loved her and that it was okay to go. Everything was okay and we loved her. I just kept telling her that over and over and over until the seizures stopped and I knew she was gone.
I stepped away to call my husband who had driven into town and was at a hotel nearby. I can't remember what I said but soon I was wrapped in his arms.
My husband, mom and I went to breakfast. When we got back to the facility I went alone into her room. Grandmother was still there. I snuggled up next to her and cried. I couldn't believe she was gone. I looked around the two bed room she shared with no one. All of her photographs and flowers and clothes in the closet. A short while later the funeral home came to pick her up. I placed her dentures in her mouth and helped them move her to the gurney. Every funeral on my dad's side of the family has taken place at the same funeral home. I knew the two gentlemen who came to pick up my Grandmother and I knew she was in good hands.
After they left I sat on her bed, again looking around. I was overwhelmed with grief and was thinking to myself how wrong it was that all her stuff is here but she's gone and it just should not be this way. This had been her home. Her room smelled of her but she was gone.
I wasn't sure what would happen to her stuff so I asked the nurse on duty if she had some plastic bags. I started carefully packing her clothes and personal belongings and loaded them in my car. My reasoning was that she was no longer there so her stuff shouldn't be either.
I started WWIII with my line of thinking between my dad (on my side) and his sister and her husband. When I arrived at the funeral home the next day my Uncle started screaming at me -- dropping the "f" bomb and everything. "How dare you...", "You should NEVER...", "That was NOT yours to do...". It.was.ugly. When I finally broke away from him I called my dad on his cell phone (he was on his way) and told him what happened. He was LIVID. He told my uncle that he will NEVER speak to one of his kids like that and I was only trying to help. It got uglier after that. Never once did I think of keeping anything of my Grandmother's. Even after I handed it all over to my dad, I refused.
My Aunt was in charge of distributing my Grandmother's belongings when she moved in to the long-term care facility. Originally there was supposed to be an auction and all the grandkids could bid on whatever we wanted and the funds raised would go toward her living expenses. The auction never happened. Instead, five of the seven girl cousins swooped down and split it amongst themselves. Two of their own sisters (Sherry was one of them), my two brother's and my sister received NOTHING. NADA. My dad was quite pissed -- and quite vocal -- about this.
At the funeral my cousin Sherry handed me a Ziploc bag with some of my Grandmother's costume jewelry in it. She said that was what she was given and that she kept a few pieces for herself and my sister and I could have whatever was left.
About a year later I was having a conversation with my dad about the distribution of property and told him that there was only one thing I ever wanted from Grandmother and that was the huge family Bible she kept on her coffee table. During a few visits with her I had been filling in the family tree portion of it. He had her everyday Bible and gave it to me instead. I don't know who has the family Bible.
Final thought: My Grandmother was there when I was brought into this world and I was there when she left it.
Elsewhere in this blog I have talked about how my mom and dad dated in high school and married nine days after my mom graduated. (They divorced 18 years and five kids later.) What I haven't mentioned until now is that my mom and her three sisters were raised at the Veterans of Foreign Wars Home for Children as orphans. (My maternal Grandfather was killed during WWII.)
My beautifully southern (paternal) Grandmother took my mom under her wing and taught her everything she knew about being a wife, having babies and raising a family. My
Grandmother always considered my mom one of her "daughters" even after my parents divorced and my mom always felt my Grandmother was the mother she had never had. They had a very deep emotional bond that could never be broken. (All my cousin's still thought of her as "Aunt Betty".)
My Grandmother's husband, Granddaddy, passed away in July 1985 -- 52 years and a few days after they were married. Grandmother and Granddaddy had such a bond that we feared she would soon follow him in death, but she didn't. She continued to live in her brown house looking out over the river in the little island town until she was in her 80's. Due to declining health she became a resident of a care facility that totally doted on her. She always had a stream of visitors and we posted current photos of our families on her bulletin board.
Almost every summer, growing up, there were camping trips that included all the locals of our family tree. My dad's brother had five kids, my dad's sister had seven daughters, then there was my three brother's and sister -- just this group alone was a family reunion!
From the time I was 10 I was able to walk or ride my bike to my Grandparent's house and their door was always open. After my parents split and I moved back with my dad I would stay with them if my dad had to be out of town.
My grandparents were from the south -- Tennessee -- and moved to Michigan when my dad was a young boy. I can still hear their southern drawl in my head.
After my grandfather passed away I found myself spending a lot more time with my Grandmother. We used to have amazing conversations. She knew how abusive my father was to my brothers and my mother and she and I would try to psychoanalyze him. My grandparents did not raise my father to be such a monster. I also told my Grandmother about the abuse I suffered at the hands of my brother's. We talked about everything.
When she was became the resident of the long-term care facility I was living on the other side of the state. I called her frequently, sent her cards and drove the kids to see her whenever I could. We referred to her as Grandma-Great.
In early June 2002 I received a call from a family member telling me that Grandmother wasn't doing very good. As had been in the past, she would do poorly health-wise for a short time then things would return to normal. I had no reason to think this time would be any different but I took time off work to drive up there to be with her. The first day I was there she was still eating -- not much, but it was something. She was still talking and carrying on a conversation. The next day she wasn't eating at all and there was very, very little conversation. She seemed to doze most of the time. One of the hospice workers came in at on point during that day and I helped her bathe my Grandmother.
One of my girl cousin's, Sherry, and I got recliners and camped out on either side of her bed that night. From the moment I arrived at the facility I was showering my Grandmother with kisses -- on the cheeks and forehead. It wasn't until that night, and we turned out the overhead lights, that I realized my chapstick had glitters in it. I was leaving a lip print of glitter on my Grandmother's face! Sherry and I lay there talking to each other, taking a major trip down memory lane, and to Grandmother even though she wasn't responding. We held her hands and stroked her arms. I kept an eye on her urinary output (the cath bag was on my side of the bed) but there was nothing. I knew her body was shutting down.
Sherry and I never slept that night and early the next morning I told her to call her mom while I called my dad and my mom because this was "it". Soon there were several people gathered around her bed -- my dad was near her head on the right and I was at her left ear, my mom had ahold of her left hand when the seizures started. I was whispering in her ear that I loved her and that it was okay to go. Everything was okay and we loved her. I just kept telling her that over and over and over until the seizures stopped and I knew she was gone.
I stepped away to call my husband who had driven into town and was at a hotel nearby. I can't remember what I said but soon I was wrapped in his arms.
My husband, mom and I went to breakfast. When we got back to the facility I went alone into her room. Grandmother was still there. I snuggled up next to her and cried. I couldn't believe she was gone. I looked around the two bed room she shared with no one. All of her photographs and flowers and clothes in the closet. A short while later the funeral home came to pick her up. I placed her dentures in her mouth and helped them move her to the gurney. Every funeral on my dad's side of the family has taken place at the same funeral home. I knew the two gentlemen who came to pick up my Grandmother and I knew she was in good hands.
After they left I sat on her bed, again looking around. I was overwhelmed with grief and was thinking to myself how wrong it was that all her stuff is here but she's gone and it just should not be this way. This had been her home. Her room smelled of her but she was gone.
I wasn't sure what would happen to her stuff so I asked the nurse on duty if she had some plastic bags. I started carefully packing her clothes and personal belongings and loaded them in my car. My reasoning was that she was no longer there so her stuff shouldn't be either.
I started WWIII with my line of thinking between my dad (on my side) and his sister and her husband. When I arrived at the funeral home the next day my Uncle started screaming at me -- dropping the "f" bomb and everything. "How dare you...", "You should NEVER...", "That was NOT yours to do...". It.was.ugly. When I finally broke away from him I called my dad on his cell phone (he was on his way) and told him what happened. He was LIVID. He told my uncle that he will NEVER speak to one of his kids like that and I was only trying to help. It got uglier after that. Never once did I think of keeping anything of my Grandmother's. Even after I handed it all over to my dad, I refused.
My Aunt was in charge of distributing my Grandmother's belongings when she moved in to the long-term care facility. Originally there was supposed to be an auction and all the grandkids could bid on whatever we wanted and the funds raised would go toward her living expenses. The auction never happened. Instead, five of the seven girl cousins swooped down and split it amongst themselves. Two of their own sisters (Sherry was one of them), my two brother's and my sister received NOTHING. NADA. My dad was quite pissed -- and quite vocal -- about this.
At the funeral my cousin Sherry handed me a Ziploc bag with some of my Grandmother's costume jewelry in it. She said that was what she was given and that she kept a few pieces for herself and my sister and I could have whatever was left.
About a year later I was having a conversation with my dad about the distribution of property and told him that there was only one thing I ever wanted from Grandmother and that was the huge family Bible she kept on her coffee table. During a few visits with her I had been filling in the family tree portion of it. He had her everyday Bible and gave it to me instead. I don't know who has the family Bible.
Final thought: My Grandmother was there when I was brought into this world and I was there when she left it.
