I arrived early in the morning
again on Sunday. Gram was resting peacefully now; her breathing was still heavy
and deep, but that was characteristic of her when she slept. She always slept
with her mouth wide open, too, but today there was a stiffness about it – as if
it was stuck that way – like she couldn’t close it if she tried. The end was
drawing near; I knew this. And at this moment, more than ever, I found myself drawn
to her just as I was as a child – longing to be close to her for comfort and
strength. It was ironic that someone who was now in such a vulnerable state
could still provide me that comfort and strength. But it was her true essence –
her soul or spirit, more so, that provided me with what I needed now, not her
physical presence. Her essence was still very much here and that bond - that ever
so amazing bond we shared - drew me to her. It did now as it did all those
years ago being a troubled child growing up in a crazy household. Whether it
was fear of a nightmare, a monster under my bed, or thunder, she was always
there to comfort and reassure me. It’s an untouchable but real force.
I can’t remember exactly who worked
what shifts that day at ManorCare, but I know at some point, Tracy was Gram’s
nurse. I didn’t know Tracy well, but she knew Gram of course - everyone did. I
had talked to her on the phone a few times over the years when Gram fell,
injured herself, or got mixed up in some type of trouble. What I do remember is
that day was filled with lots of kindness and compassion, much of which came
from Tracy. She was very kind and attentive.
Throughout the day, too, just like
the day before, there were visitors – other staff members and residents, paying
respects, saying good-bye. There was even one young lady, Resa, who no longer
worked at ManorCare, but wanted to come and say good-bye. “I took care of her
for two years. Of course I wanted to say good-bye,” Resa said.
I sat with Gram all morning. It was
peaceful and calm and quiet in room 141. Nurses and aides came in throughout the
morning to check on Gram and me. They asked if I needed anything and once again,
wheeled in a cart full of drinks and snacks.
I found solace in the quiet of the
room and the perfect rhythm of Gram’s breathing. It relaxed me and allowed my
mind to wander. Memories flooded my mind and images of my life with Gram flashed
before me as I took an emotional journey backward. Some memories made me smile
and others made me cry, but they all made
me thankful – thankful to have known Gram and thankful to have been a part of
her life.
I recalled Friday night at the
hospital and remembered how making the decision to not proceed with the transfusion
made me oddly calm and at peace with things. I still was. I knew now that I was
losing Gram and I was ok with that for her
sake. I knew I had done right by always her by putting her first, considering
what was best for her, and doing my best to represent and advocate for her when
she couldn’t. I had no guilt; no regrets. I did, however, have deep sadness.
What I wasn’t at peace with, however,
was what would happen to me after. I had never been able to imagine my life
without Gram and soon I would be living that
life. What would become of me? What will
I spend my time doing? I thought. I hadn’t allowed myself much time on
these thoughts because it hurt to do so. Furthermore, I needed to be present
for Gram. I wanted to experience every moment of this process with her and not
miss a thing. I knew I’d be ok, though; Gram taught me how. I’d be sad and lost
for a while; I’d have to take things one day at time. But notwithstanding my
need to focus now, I couldn’t deny that the strong, brave, front I was putting
up for Gram was being challenged constantly by underlying emotions regarding my
future. They pinged at me and despite my best efforts to fight them, would
surface at times and I’d find myself sobbing. I cried a lot that week.
I left ManorCare around lunch time.
Gram was despondent and appeared unconscious as she had been since Saturday. I needed
to buy her a new long-sleeved, white, button-down blouse for her viewing and I
became driven to do so. I wanted her to be in white and it had to be crisply
pressed. Being a presser, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Even at home, she
always pressed her blouses and looked neat. In my search, I went to Kmart,
Target, Kohl’s, and Walmart before finally finding what I wanted – the perfect
blouse. I took it home and washed it (Gram always
said you should wash new clothes before wearing them.) I would press it tomorrow.
When I returned around 3:00pm,
Tracy stopped me and called me to the nurse’s station. “We were trying to get
a hold of you. If there are other family members you want to have here, you may
want to call them.” I already knew what was happening, but hearing this made it,
again, very real.
Gram’s blood pressure had been
dropping and her pulse increasing. Throughout the afternoon, her breathing had
slowed and become shallow and erratic. Between each breath, there was a 15-20
second pause. For some odd reason, I
recorded Gram’s vitals throughout the morning.
10:15 am: Blood pressure 80/40,
pulse 116
11:30 am: Blood pressure 103/50,
pulse 99
I contacted the family. Michelle
came over and Paul and Aubrey and Andrew came later. I suggested that Heather
and Mom not come because they had a long drive and at that point, I didn’t think they’d make it before
Gram died.
We all sat together and we waited.
At 9:00pm, Gram’s blood pressure
had dropped to 60/30 and her pulse was 114. And at 10:00pm, her blood pressure
was around the same. Her blood oxygen
had dropped to 86%, despite the concentrator. The nurse turned up the oxygen,
knowing that it would make us feel better.
Sandy, the night shift nurse came
into the room, introduced herself, and immediately asked if we needed anything.
We didn’t. “We’re going to take good care of Gramma,” she said. “Thank you,” I
replied, welling up with tears. (The expression of love and compassion that I
experienced from the staff at ManorCare touched me in a way that I was often brought
to tears. “You do God’s work,” I’ve often said to them.)
Michelle and her family left after 11:00pm.
“You should go, too, Mike,” Michelle suggested. “I’m not going yet. I’ve been
with her for this whole journey and I want to see her through to the end.”
After Michelle left, I sat next to
Gram’s bed, which was slightly raised at the head. In that position, I was able
to somewhat comfortably rest my head on the bed next to hers, while sitting in
the chair next to her. Gram’s breathing was very slow now. Every inhale was
long and slow and after each, there was a long delay. I anticipated every corresponding
exhale and wondered if it would be the last. I tried to sleep a little, but
couldn’t. I dozed off, but quickly awakened. I didn’t want to miss the end. This
went on for the next few hours. Periodically, I’d check Gram’s fingers and toes
and they had become cold, and bluish in color. Sandy was in and out
administering the meds and checking on her, too. Around 2:00am, as Sandy was giving
Gram her meds, I raised my head from the bed to hear her say, “Her breathing
has stabilized.” I looked at Sandy in a confused and surprised way. I had been
told by hospice nurses before that often the dying don’t want to die in
front of their loved ones. I know this was the case with Chubb’s when he waited
for Michelle to leave and within minutes took his last breath. I didn’t
expect it with Gram. But then again, she always protected me. I looked at Sandy
and back at Gram, who, just as Sandy said, was breathing normally – as if she
were sleeping in her normal way. “I think I’m going to go,” I said immediately as I realized what was happening. “I don’t
think she wants me here.” I believed even now, Gram was protecting me. I gathered up my
things, dimmed the light in Gram’s room, and left.
When I got home, I logged into my
computer and there on Gram’s Facebook page, was a lovely, touching tribute:
Tracy had posted a photo of several of the ManorCare staff members conducting a
toast using a caffeine drink – the same drinks that Gram loved to steal from
them. The caption said, “Cheers to Gram Berberich. We love you!”
I wept.
No comments:
Post a Comment