Death Becomes Her

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.

The Jesus Christ Scam

I've been rolling this proposition around in my mind about the whole Jesus thing and Christianity. Ok, so if we look at Christianity, it's worshipping a (male) god who raped a 14 year old girl. So you have a god who's a child rapist. That's just disturbing by itself. And don't give me this "God works in mysterious ways." You know what works in mysterious ways? My digestive system. So, I got to thinking about Joe and Mary. So here they are, these two vagabonds, the girl's about to pop, they have no money, no food, and are homeless. At that time, a bunch of whackjobs were running around claiming that they were the messiah, so Joe and Mary thought, "Hey! We'll say that our kid is the messiah!" And this guy, Tom, believed them, so they became famous and received a bounty of gifts. Either that or he received a percentage of the proceeds. And thus the birth of a hugely popular religion that's based on other, older religions, Greek philosophy and mythology, and blind faith. More to come later....(I always thought Jesus had Joe's eyes)

Messed Up

Today is my mother's birthday. My parents and I went out to dinner. She told us about starting a company...again...for making her wreaths. She met a woman today who markets for people and teaches them how to market themselves. I just couldn't be happy and excited for her. Neither could dad. She's talked about it for years and never even tried. She said that she has to buy more things for this season, because all the stuff she has is mainly for Christmas. We both find it impossible to believe that she doesn't have anything that she can use in her wreaths that's not Christmas. It's just spending more money and bringing more stuff into the house. There's so much that needs to be done at the house, that we both feel she needs to concentrate on that. It's not like it will happen. It's been like this for the past few years. Because we didn't show our enthusiasm for her like she hoped, she turned sour, like old milk. She said some very mean things to dad and me. I went out to have a cigarette, and when I came back in she said, "I'm sorry that you were born....." Whoa. She let me know that I hurt her feelings, but that seems extreme. Then she continued, "to this man as your father...." Ok, mom, tell us what you really think. Then she carried on, "and me as your mother." She got back into what dear Queenie told her about what I said. I could just slap right her right now. Queenie was trying to open the flow of communication. She opened a can of old, rotten, putrid worms. First Carmen said she was going to kill herself. Then she was going to California. She called her best friend to come pick her up, but she wasn't exactly in the mood to get out of bed and drive half an hour to have her spend the night at her house. Carmen said she'd probably be gone in the morning. She's going to go someplace where she's wanted. Where she's loved. She told me that she's going to tell me all the horrible things my father did and what a horrible man he is. That he's only told me lies about her. I don't care if it's your birthday or not. What kind of fucked up things are those to say to your daughter??? She told me one thing, that she told me when I was probably 13. I knew he cheated on her when I was 11. Maybe younger. She told me when I was about 13 how controlling he was and he isolated her from all of her friends. Now she's slamming the door...a few times. If she didn't act like she was 4, then maybe dad and I wouldn't treat her like she was 4. What she could use is a good whoopin'. Or maybe that's just what I'd like to do to her. Lord knows she was abused enough as a child. Dad told me that when she gets into these funks and "oh, poor me" that one time her cousin who lived with her when they were kids said, "I was abused too. I lived in the same house you did." In other words, LET IT GO! Get over it! It took me a long time, years, to get over some of the things that carmen said to me, but I think that I'm finally over it, and have let it go. It sucked, and it was hurtful, and it took a long fucking time, but I think I'm finally over it now. It happened. That's all there is to it. Dwelling on the past doesn't allow you to move forward. I know that.

Rainbows

It's been nearly three weeks since my last entry; an unprecedented length of time. A lot has been going on, and nothing has been going on. Just busy with the usual humdrum life. I also haven't felt much like writing. My blog turned into more of a diary than my original intention, not that it matters much. I think there are only two people who read this.

I thought of different topics, or theses, for an English paper on Mrs. Dalloway. I didn't realize the intricate detail that Woolf wove into this novel, which makes it not just a good read, but a work of genius. A book I want to read again, when I have the time. She involves many different kinds of relationships between a husband and wife, and a couple about to get married. I'm not sure if any of it reflects her own marriage, but it's a distinct possibility. One of her characters commits suicide because of PTSD from the war, which his wife had difficulty dealing with, and she commits suicide 16 years after the book is published because of mental problems and she didn't want to be a burden on her husband. We always think we know what's best.

I am happy to say that this is my first entry on my new computer. I decided to splurge and buy a macbook. So far I love it, but I've had it for less than a week. It was worth it.

I still haven't spoken to my friend. Another friend suggested that I ask her out to coffee so we can talk, but I honestly don't know what to say to her. She's waiting for me to "heal," which will take a long time to happen, if it does, but I don't want to lose her friendship. When I don't hear from or lose so many friends, I wonder if it has something to do with me. One relationship obviously had to do with me. The others....I think people get busy, but if they really care, can't they afford a 5 min. call, or send a quick email? But then we get so caught up in our daily lives that we forget or think we'll do it later. I was going to see my gramma and call my aunt today, but I failed to do both of those. I was working on homework. It's not as important as them though. But it won't affect my grade if I don't see or talk to them. There's tomorrow, right?

The other day on my walk I saw a beautiful rainbow. I kept it in sight as long as possible. The end didn't look too far from my house, and I was tempted to see find it, but knew I wouldn't. It was probably 3 miles away anyway. When there's a rainbow reaching across the sky, or a beautiful sunrise or sunset, I don't understand how people don't just stop and stare - why there aren't more wrecks because people are gazing at something pure and beautiful and not paying attention to what they're doing. I didn't stop because I didn't want to be seen as weird or creepy, just standing there looking at a sunrise or the rainbow. It's one of those things that make me feel present in life. Not just my life, but life in general. I feel the here and now. How often do we get to do that?

"Watch the sun as we go by, throwin' colors off the water sky, thinkin' about the rainbows in my baby's eyes." Country Joe and The Fish

Explode

I think I'm going to explode. That picture of the mushroom cloud is me. My mother is infuriating. I think she and dad will leave to see Gramma as soon as I get home, but not so. Dad hooked up a 7" portable tv that Carmen got for "us" for Christmas and she was watching some infomercial, looking up more things to buy on the computer, and ads were spread all over. I was sitting watching Golden Girls, waiting for them to leave so I can watch old shows of Rachel and Keith, and she wants to watch QVC for Elvis crap because it's his birthday. I can't watch Rachel and Keith when they're here, because I get a bunch of whining like little spoiled children, "I don't want to watch old news! I want to watch Cold Case. I want to watch current news." I explained to them again and again that I like to watch the old news because then I know how we got to where we are. I could watch the new news, but have no idea how we got there or what's really going on. I also told them there wouldn't be so many old episodes if they would just let me watch the old ones so I can get caught up. Carmen is always watching tv, except when she's sleeping, so it's not like I get a lot of time to watch what I want; especially with school and homework. I told her she has enough crap as it is. We need an oven that works, but she buys an electric fireplace to make the living room "cozy." We need a dishwasher, but she buys a 7" tv that aint worth shit. Not that the tv cost nearly as much as a dishwasher, but that money could've, should've, gone towards a dishwasher! I told her I didn't want her to get me an iPhone because I want that money to go towards an iBook, but instead she gets me this large external hardrive that needs a cord to hook it up so I can back up my stuff on my computer when I get it. That'll be really convenient when I'm at school or a cafe. I sound like I'm on my high horse, but I want something practical and that's also essential, and good quality that hopefully I can use until I'm 35. I told her I rather she send it back and use the money for the computer, but she decides she wants to keep it for herself because she wants to do photography on the computer. Thanks for the Christmas present, mom. She also got me a shirt I don't like and a sweater that's way too big that I really do like, but I don't believe she's sent it back to LL Bean yet, and dad got me pajamas that are way too big. I know I'm fat, but come on guys. She said there's another present for me, but apparently dad hasn't wrapped it yet so they haven't given it to me. There is so much crap in this house you can barely walk through it, but she sits around all day watching QVC and Law & Order and does "paperwork." Honestly, how much time does it take to do paperwork, because I find it pretty fucking hard to believe that it takes all day every day, except when she has to run errands. She wishes I was a better daughter, but I wish to god, oh wait, i don't believe in god, well, i just wish she was a better mother. Set a fucking example! I shouldn't be the one having to tell her that she doesn't need to buy more stuff and to not drink too much and spend time with her mother! or better yet, dead. If i could sell 98% of what this house holds, then sell the house, then buy a nice little condo, that would be sweet. I don't understand daughters that are close to their mothers.

On a happier note, there was no homework due in Spanish today! So I asked my teacher to show me where the audio is that accompanies the lab book. I also had a massage today. Well, back to cleaning. I just had to get that out. Next week I want to see Vagina Monologues at my school. That should be fun. I always wanted to go to a show. I hope my teacher will go so maybe we can sit together, but I can sit by myself.

3 a.m.

I woke up an hour ago and made another attempt at my Spanish homework, but didn't get any farther than I did the last time - nowhere. I'm tired, but don't feel much like sleeping. This is not a "woe is me, I can't sleep." I woke up thinking about my best friend and her wedding. She says the title doesn't mean anything, but it does to me. I decided to tell her that I was really hurt, but that it's her wedding and she can do what she wants. I didn't say it out of malice or to incite guilt. I said it to tell her how I really feel and that I'm just going to need time. I'm not trying to make it any more stressful. Again, I don't feel sorry for myself. I'm just hurt. They are two different things, right? I used to feel sorry for myself a lot when I was younger, but don't want to do that anymore, so it's important to me to not feel sorry for myself.

I saw Gramma today. When she saw me her eyes got really big and she opened her arms. This was not one of her good days. I don't know if she'll have anymore good days. She was very scared and paranoid.

In a small, scared voice she exclaimed, "They're after me!"

"Who's after you?"

"I don't know. They're from California."

"Why would they be after you?"

"They don't like me."

"Gramma, I don't know anyone on this earth who doesn't like you. No one is after you."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

"I don't believe you."

"Gramma, no one is after you."

"Thank you."

She kept calling for Tony, one of the guys who works there. They sort of adopted each other as grandson and grandmother, since his is in Central America I believe and he misses her. But then Gramma started talking about them getting married, so he stopped coming to see her. I don't know if we should ask him to see her or not. She asks for him all the time and she hasn't talked about marriage, but maybe it still wouldn't be a good idea. He may be too uncomfortable being around her, which I couldn't blame him. She had a few bites of dinner and didn't want anymore, but the nurses kept insisting that she eat. I don't want my grandmother to die from malnutrition, but I don't want to force feed her either. She'll be 91 in March for god sake, and is going down hill. I'm not saying that it doesn't matter, but it's not like they're really extending her life by force feeding her. I wouldn't eat that stuff either. They constantly give her this pea soup that I wouldn't feed to a dog, and give her things she has a hard time eating, like a sandwich. They fed her ice cream. As she protested she didn't want any, they would shove a spoonful in her mouth. I didn't like that, but I suppose it's important that she eats something. She finally gave up and obediently opened her mouth for them and me. But when she didn't want anymore, I didn't make her.

I want to switch out of my Spanish class. It's frustrating. First I had a hell of a time writing my resolutions in Spanish. Partly because I didn't have any, except to lose some weight, as I mentioned. Then I thought, "Ok. This isn't so bad. I think I can do this." Then I tried to do my homework due tomorrow, which you already know I didn't get very far. I have to listen to the audio that accompanies the lab manual, but when I listened to it and looked at the manual, it made no sense at all. I tried to find other audios on the website, but there wasn't anything else. This is what I get for waiting until the night before it's due. I had such good intentions that I would get it done on Wednesday, but that obviously didn't work out.

"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." ~Douglas Adams

First Day

So, I sit in front of my computer, procrastinating homework. It was a fairly good first day. I tried to get out of my Spanish class, but it's a requirement, which I don't agree with. It should be a choice to take a second language class. I need to write a paragraph on my "aspiraciones" for the new year. Quiero perder 50 libras - I want to lose 50 pounds. I had to look up lose and pounds.

I talked to Diego about Christina. He said to be the bigger person and not get all immature. That's kind of hard when she's 6' and I'm 5'3". I think he thinks I should let it go, but he can understand that I'm hurt. Very hurt. I don't know what to do about it. Am I making too big of a deal out of it? Should I let it go and tell her that I will still help her despite that I'm not the maid of honor, even if I really don't want to and feel betrayed? Should I feel betrayed? I know it's her wedding, and she can have whomever she wants to be her MOH. She talked about possibly having two maids of honor, even though I think that's stupid. What if she asks me to be her second MOH? I know it sounds immature, but I really don't want to be #2. I want to be #1, dammit!

I look around my room, and wonder, "How did I end up like this?"