Gramma died over two weeks ago on February 17th. A nurse from Richmond Beach Rehab called on the 14th to tell us that she could hardly breathe and she sounded very frightened. She was trying to contact the doctor on call, who, of course, was unreachable. Mom told her to call the paramedics and we left to see Gramma. When we walked in the door, a fire medic had her leaning forward as she was gasping for air. Her eyes were wide and vacant. They stabilized her the best they could while we waited for an actual ambulance to take her to Northwest Hospital. After about half an hour after he saw Gramma, the doctor said flat out, "I don't expect her to make it through the night." It looked like I was going to lose another grandparent around (or in this case, on) a holiday. She had acute pneumonia. The doctor (or the nurse) said there was no reason why she should've gotten so sick, and the hospital was going to submit a complaint about Richmond Beach. I called my cousin and my mom's best friend who came down. The ER doctor admitted her into Comfort Care. We stayed with her for about 4-5 hours until 12:30 am when we decided to go home to try to get some sleep. They said they'd call if she became worse.
We were back at the hospital around 4:30 am. Luckily the 15th was a holiday so I didn't have class. We just stayed with her and watched. My cousin and mom's friend came by Monday. My mother had to decide what to do with the body when Gramma did die. Normally social workers help with that, but they don't work on holidays. I was mad at her because I thought this is something you were supposed to have planned out ahead of time - what you're going to do with the body. But, maybe most people don't know what crematory they're going to send their loved one's body to, or where you want to send it if the body will be embalmed. My mother went with Neptune. That's probably where I'll send her. I went home by myself Monday afternoon after my cousin arrived and stayed home for about 12 hours. I didn't realize I was gone so long.
I returned to the hospital around 5:30 Tuesday morning. There was a cot and a recliner in the room. The night nurse brought them in for my parents to rest on. A chaplain, or a bereavement counselor, came by later in the morning. Before, mom said that Gramma wanted to start going to church again, and that she did a few times go to this church in Richmond Beach. Maybe they take religious folk there. I was surprised. Gramma was never the religious type. But I suppose when you know you're not far from death and maybe afraid of the unknown, you want to reach out to something to comfort you. Mom told this to the chaplain who thought that we should all put a hand on Gramma and recite the lord's prayer. At this time I was writing Gramma's obituary. Is it wrong to write someone's obituary before they're dead, but you know they will be soon? Like in a matter of hours? I didn't partake in this event. It weirded me out and I wished I had my pentacle to rebel against their Christian religion. Even though much of Christianity is based on Paganism. The chaplain kept trying to get me to open up, but I denied her. I didn't want to talk to some stranger who doesn't know me or my grandmother from Adam. She was wearing a Tree of Life pendant with the branches in a Celtic knot, which I appreciated. She said it was more open to people than if she wore a cross. I can't think of any people I know who would be against the Tree of Life, or hold it in contempt. I said something about the Tree of Life being Pagan, which she stared at me blankly, and then I said something about the Celtic knot, which she immediately jumped on, "Yes! Celtic!" God forbid she wore a Pagan symbol (pun intended).
My parents would leave for a little while to have a cigarette or get something to eat, or get coffee. One of these times when I was with Gramma alone I told her to have a good trip, and to say hi to everyone for me. I started naming the people I know who have passed away, and it seemed like so many. Later, I wrote down the names of all the people who died, and I wrote down 37 names. I told G if she sees Janis Joplin, to tell her I said she rocks. I don't really believe in heaven, or hell. At least the fiery wasteland where all the bad souls are banished to for eternity to rot in torture and pain. Hell on Earth I believe. As day turned into night, I stayed up and read (not very much) and watched. My parents slept for a long time. They had only been home for barely over three hours since we arrived at the hospital about 7:30 Sunday evening. It was now Tuesday night. My dad did go home long enough to shower and change while my mom slept.
I slept for a little while. Well, rested my eyes more like. As long as I could hear Gramma breathing I let my heavy eyelids rest. As soon as I couldn't hear her breathing anymore, I'd look over at her to see if I could see her chest move up and down. I wasn't even aware I was still awake until I couldn't hear her breathe. Carmen slept heavy. She could only sleep if I was there because she knew I'd be watching. She'd be too afraid that Dad would fall into a heavy sleep. Before Gramma went into a home three years ago, I stayed the night one time and stayed up all night with her. Mom wouldn't sleep for 4-5 days at that time because Gramma kept her up all hours of the night. But that night, while Gramma was calling for me all night, my mom slept soundly where normally she'd wake with start at hearing Gramma's voice.
It's really fascinating, and haunting, to watch someone go through that dying process where they transform from their regular self into a phantom of who they were. In the wee hours of Wednesday morning I sat and watched Gramma slowly breathe. She was kept on a nice dosage of morphine the entire time to keep her comfortable; hence "comfort care." I don't know if dying is painful, or if it was her sciatica, but she was in pain. We could hear her moaning sometimes, and the nurse would give her more morphine. As she got closer to death, she started having sleep apnea. By this time I was used to her not breathing for even five minutes. I noticed that in her last few hours, she actually smelled like death. I never smelled it before. It wasn't pungent. It just sort of loomed in the room. At around 4:30 am she stopped breathing again. My parents were both asleep. I looked at her; looked for any signs of life. I waited for about ten minutes. I tried to quietly stand up, but the chair creaked a lot, which woke mom up. She looked at me with wide eyes out of her sleep. I told her I thought Gramma passed away. We looked at her for another couple minutes. I went and got Lynn, the nurse. She listened to Gramma's heart for a few minutes, then looked at us and shook her head. Mom let out a burst of grief and cradled Gramma's head. Dad and I just stood and watched. The three of us went out for a cigarette while they cleaned Gramma up. When we walked back in, mom asked if I wanted a few minutes alone with her, which I acquiesced to. I wanted to see if she smelled like death. I know it's weird. I just didn't want to forget it. They used some sort of cleanser on her so she smelled sweet and clean. I don't quite remember what death smells like anymore. There's nothing to compare it too. It's not like walking by roadkill, that smells rotten. But it is a smell of rot, and musty. A different kind of rot.
Death isn't like anything you see in the movies or on tv. She didn't look peaceful. She looked dead. There was no shudder or sound when her last breath escaped her lips, which only I saw. She just stopped. I didn't see Death lurk nearby, or see some sort of unexplainable shadow in the room. An unexplainable breeze didn't blow through the room. A glowing orb didn't leave her body. People have to concoct such things to make them feel better. Death seems so...finite. You don't want to believe it's the end. That that's all there is. I asked a friend, "Why do people always turn to religion when it comes to death?" Without missing a beat she responded, "Because they're scared shitless." When I looked at Gramma's corpse, there was nothing left. Her eyes were half open and her mouth slightly gaping. Just an empty vessel. Do I really believe that her soul went on, or anyone's soul, to a better place? To a heaven? No. I believe in ghosts though, which seems contradictory. But that's beside the point. If believing in heaven, or something of the sort, makes you feel better, then by all means believe away. I won't refute you. Doesn't hurt anyone. Just don't count on it when death becomes you.
