Good Grandma passed away in the wee hours of Sunday morning. It was June 1st 2008, which also happened to be her 84th birthday.
I was there when she died. Other than a quick run home in the evening to tuck the gremlins in, I was at the hospital for her final 12 hours along with my mom (The Madre), my aunt, uncle and many other people. The hospital room resembled more of a frat party until shortly after dinner on Saturday. We even took the time to be highly insensitive and compare cell phone capabilities.
Look: you can't cry all the time.
Meanwhile I would cough now and then. An annoying, persistent cough that prevented me from getting any sleep by her bedside. With only three of us remaining through the night - my mom, aunt and myself - I decided I would do better resting my head by Good Grandma's shoulder and holding her hand. Maybe I could close my eyes for a bit... But between her gasps for air, the nurse's regular visits to the room and my annoying little cough, sleep was about as bad a fit for me as size 2 jeans. So I ate Swiss chocolate squares, drank a Diet Coke (must watch those calories, ladies) and read articles on spirituality in O Magazine.
I've never been with someone when they died. It's a life-changing experience, that's for sure. I realized that it's quite a bit like birth. In most cases it's long, painful and creates a lot of intense emotions. I sobbed like a baby on more than one occasion. They should have called me Wussy Wussofferton, Queen of Little Girl Panty Land.
I'll wear that crown proudly, thank you. She's my grandma and I'll cry if I want to.
She left us at 2:35AM. I cried some more, obviously. Relief, sadness. The works.
But do you know what really did it? What turned me into McCries-a-lot more than anything else that day? A few minutes after he death, my mom and aunt told me she wanted me to have her wedding ring.
Her wedding ring.
I'm crying about it right now, actually.
And now I'm kind of laughing at the same time, because what happened next was so morbid and I'm such a disturbed individual that it's definitely something blog-worthy. We had to take the rings off.
I watch a lot of Discovery and National Geographic and other channels so I can feel like I'm better than you people who only watch sitcoms and other brain-frying telelvision. It allows me to still sit dumbly in front of a box eating junk food, but I get to walk away with useless facts. In my documentary journeys I have traveled to ancient civilizations like Egypt, where they open up tombs and find treasures.
And sometimes they don't find the treasures because the tombs have been robbed. Everything is gone, right down to the jewelry on the Pharaoh's body. It's always those nasty grave robbers. Well I, my lambs, felt exactly like a grave robber.
When it was time to take the rings off, I was mortified at the thought. When they didn't slide off easily that was even worse. And when I had to use soap and some interesting wiggle techniques to remove said rings, it was... wrong. Sooooo wrong.
Then I thought of what my grandma must have been thinking and doing, released from the shackles of her sickly body and making her way into the spirit world. She was probably laughing hysterically at the sight of her eldest grandchild's face, contorted with disgust and apologizing to her now deceased grandmother as she wrenched the rings off fingers as delicately as she could (and truly it wasn't very delicate).
Good Grandma had a wonderful sense of humour. And upon her death, she wanted us to take those rings off. So I started laughing through the tears. Then we were all laughing through our tears. And suddenly things were a little lighter in the room. Soapier, but lighter.
I, The Maven, can rock the death situation like no other.
Incidentally, her ring fits me perfectly. I've realized now that I have the same size fingers as my tiny little grandmother. My belly is fat, my hands are small. Dainty, even.
Oh, and that "pesky little cough"? Pneumonia. I found out today. My friend just came by with coffee and I asked her if maybe she'd like to light my house on fire. I think I could handle a few more crises right now. We've had a boy in the hospital, a grandma pass away and now a Maven with pneumonia. What's a little fire?
I kill me. Off my take my antibiotic.
I was there when she died. Other than a quick run home in the evening to tuck the gremlins in, I was at the hospital for her final 12 hours along with my mom (The Madre), my aunt, uncle and many other people. The hospital room resembled more of a frat party until shortly after dinner on Saturday. We even took the time to be highly insensitive and compare cell phone capabilities.
Look: you can't cry all the time.
Meanwhile I would cough now and then. An annoying, persistent cough that prevented me from getting any sleep by her bedside. With only three of us remaining through the night - my mom, aunt and myself - I decided I would do better resting my head by Good Grandma's shoulder and holding her hand. Maybe I could close my eyes for a bit... But between her gasps for air, the nurse's regular visits to the room and my annoying little cough, sleep was about as bad a fit for me as size 2 jeans. So I ate Swiss chocolate squares, drank a Diet Coke (must watch those calories, ladies) and read articles on spirituality in O Magazine.
I've never been with someone when they died. It's a life-changing experience, that's for sure. I realized that it's quite a bit like birth. In most cases it's long, painful and creates a lot of intense emotions. I sobbed like a baby on more than one occasion. They should have called me Wussy Wussofferton, Queen of Little Girl Panty Land.
I'll wear that crown proudly, thank you. She's my grandma and I'll cry if I want to.
She left us at 2:35AM. I cried some more, obviously. Relief, sadness. The works.
But do you know what really did it? What turned me into McCries-a-lot more than anything else that day? A few minutes after he death, my mom and aunt told me she wanted me to have her wedding ring.
Her wedding ring.
I'm crying about it right now, actually.
And now I'm kind of laughing at the same time, because what happened next was so morbid and I'm such a disturbed individual that it's definitely something blog-worthy. We had to take the rings off.
I watch a lot of Discovery and National Geographic and other channels so I can feel like I'm better than you people who only watch sitcoms and other brain-frying telelvision. It allows me to still sit dumbly in front of a box eating junk food, but I get to walk away with useless facts. In my documentary journeys I have traveled to ancient civilizations like Egypt, where they open up tombs and find treasures.
And sometimes they don't find the treasures because the tombs have been robbed. Everything is gone, right down to the jewelry on the Pharaoh's body. It's always those nasty grave robbers. Well I, my lambs, felt exactly like a grave robber.
When it was time to take the rings off, I was mortified at the thought. When they didn't slide off easily that was even worse. And when I had to use soap and some interesting wiggle techniques to remove said rings, it was... wrong. Sooooo wrong.
Then I thought of what my grandma must have been thinking and doing, released from the shackles of her sickly body and making her way into the spirit world. She was probably laughing hysterically at the sight of her eldest grandchild's face, contorted with disgust and apologizing to her now deceased grandmother as she wrenched the rings off fingers as delicately as she could (and truly it wasn't very delicate).
Good Grandma had a wonderful sense of humour. And upon her death, she wanted us to take those rings off. So I started laughing through the tears. Then we were all laughing through our tears. And suddenly things were a little lighter in the room. Soapier, but lighter.
I, The Maven, can rock the death situation like no other.
Incidentally, her ring fits me perfectly. I've realized now that I have the same size fingers as my tiny little grandmother. My belly is fat, my hands are small. Dainty, even.
Oh, and that "pesky little cough"? Pneumonia. I found out today. My friend just came by with coffee and I asked her if maybe she'd like to light my house on fire. I think I could handle a few more crises right now. We've had a boy in the hospital, a grandma pass away and now a Maven with pneumonia. What's a little fire?
I kill me. Off my take my antibiotic.