My grandmother passed away Monday night.
I will be writing a longer tribute to her later, but for now this is about my family's reaction.
I heard the news when my mom woke me up in the middle of the night to let me know she had died in her sleep. At that moment I grunted a "I'll call my brothers in the morning" and hugged my husband and tried desperately to fall back to sleep to no avail. My Fitbit later berated me for only sleeping for two hours that night.
My brother's calls were okay. I had been talking to them about what had been going on via a group Facebook message for a while. You see, last week was the week of hospital hell. My grandmother fell the week before that and was recovering (we thought) after a trip to the emergency room. Monday I took my mom to her doctor appointment I think because I needed to get Micah out of the house or something, because I remember he was melting down over something when she came back to the car. She told me that her doctor told her to go to the emergency room right away for a possible heart attack. Micah was in a full rage by the time we got there, so I took him home to try to get him calm. Blah, blah, blah, a bunch more stuff, my grandmother got sicker suddenly and I had to call 911 for her. My mom was admitted to the hospital at that point, so I called then followed the ambulance there. My mom was upstairs, I didn't know everything having to do with her health, but told them everything I remembered and then said they should look at the ER visit from the previous week for more info because my mom was unavailable upstairs. Grandma faded while she was in the hospital little by little. My mom got out, then had to go back in, then I had a visit with my neurologist for other fairly life changing news, and all this made me feel like I was drowning. Oh, and my husband wasn't around because softball. My in-laws took my kids for a good part of the time, though. Saturday we went to visit with my grandmother and found that she had been transferred to the rehab facility, but when we got there, she was barely speaking. Sunday she mom got little response from her, Monday she barely opened her eyes for anyone, then that evening she passed.
My mom is okay, by the way. She had pancreatitis and gallstones, not a heart attack, but it took them all week to figure that out. She had to change her diet pretty severely.
Okay, so that is my short explanation of the week plus of hospital hell.
Now we are dealing with the aftermath. Changing Mom's diet is really the least of my worries. Funeral arrangements, calming my mom down when her sister drives her crazy (her sister grieves and plans differently, so there are bound to be issues), telling my kids, working out the budget without my grandmother's monthly portion of the rent, and figuring out all the little details is really draining.
My twins were pretty easy. It was a short cry when we told them and a bit of apprehension on Zoe's part because she had been the one helping my grandmother from the bathroom when she fell one time, but not the last time. They knew she was fading. They could see it as they helped her up until she had to go to the hospital. It wasn't unexpected for them.
Micah is different. He processes everything differently. I tell him in a matter of fact way that his Great-grandmother has died. He thinks for a minute. He says, "She lives with Jesus now." He goes back to his game. It's weird, but not everyone is a cryer, right? I'm not. My mom isn't. I don't know why I would expect him to do anything different. Tony is totally a crying kind of person, and that's cool. I make fun of him, but I think my kids would have a harder time if someone around here didn't look like they feel stuff.
Since that conversation we have talked about the funeral. I am giving my kids the choice, for really the first time ever, to go to a funeral. More than anything it's because they lived with this woman. They helped with her care. If a funeral helps them process everything, then they can go. I really don't like funerals and I never go to them. I always feel bad that I don't cry much and when I look around me and see people grieving I feel like I'm doing it wrong. I know intellectually that everyone grieves differently and it's not wrong to do it my way, but social situations like that are hard for me. I never know what others expect and I feel like I should do something different but I don't like to be fake. Anyway, the whole thing is awkward for me.
Micah asked me what a funeral is, and I explained it a bit. I asked him if he wanted to go and he said he did. That could get awkward. You see, Micah is very blunt with every observation. The feelings of of others are never really considered when he opens his mouth. I'm afraid he will have a rough time. I asked our very good friend to help him out during the funeral and take him out if he needs to go, not to hide him, but if he gets uncomfortable to let him have space.
Today was filled with observations from him in the form of statements like "Great-grandma is dead. She doesn't need her chair anymore." They are matter-of-fact and simple ways he is processing the changes that are happening. He told my mom "Don't call it Great-grandma's room. She doesn't need it, she isn't alive. She lives with Jesus." My mom, thankfully not the weepy type just said, "You're right."
The kids are excited to see extended family. It's not for the reasons that anyone would want, but they will like having them around anyway. My brother, Paul will be with them this weekend while Tony and I are in Florida to pick up Becca. She will be told when we get her. I just didn't want to let her hear the news without us around. You see, Becca was the one who over the past year before her summer in Panama got up every morning to feed her great-grandmother breakfast, give her pills, and just calm her. If my grandmother was irritated that I was the one caring for her after school, Becca would jump up and calm her down. She was the favored child. When my grandmother listed her children, she often counted Becca among them. Becca, my grandmother told me, was her favorite.
My other kids were good to her, and she definitely enjoyed them, but Becca stood out for her. Now, I'm sure that any of my cousin's or brother's kids being around would have been favored as well, but Becca was there. Becca gave her hugs without hesitation. Becca loved her even when that meant doing gross stuff for her. Becca is so very special.
Anyway, I don't know how that is going to go over with her. I wanted so desperately for her to not have to come home to this, but it is what it is.
My little bro, Steven will be doing the service for my grandma. He was grandma's favorite during my childhood. I was often told this. My little bro didn't know, but she told me often that I should be more like him. He was the good child. Honestly, he was. The other three of us were horrible. Still, it didn't help that we were constantly told how great he was and how terrible we were.
Steven was definitely the kid that took care of my grandmother before she needed constant care, though. She poured into him so much. He loved her right back. He should do a pretty good service for her.
I still don't know how to feel. I do have a weird hole in my gut since her passing. It's not something that can be fixed by crying. My grandma was a constant presence in my life. She affected me the way no one else can. I know she is with Jesus and Grandpa right now, so feeling sad actually feels wrong. I can't say I wish she was still here because she was in so much pain and honestly, she hasn't been mentally there in quite a long time. She wasn't the same person I grew up with and I really had to separate that long ago when she started yelling at me and telling me that she was going to "get the hospital to fire [me]." She really had no idea who I was, but I rubbed her wrong constantly in the last few years. I knew it wasn't really her, though. While it was rough to hear, I still separated it in my head pretty well most of the time because I knew she wasn't the Grandma that I knew anymore.
It's a strange place to be. It's where I am, though. I'm often strange.
