Monday October 10
“Michael? This is Sandy from ManorCare….Gram
passed.” Her voice was sympathetic but professional. For all these years, I dreaded
getting this call. In fact, every time I got a call from ManorCare during the
night, I thought it was this call.
But this morning – this time- I knew what it was. There was no dread; I
expected it. It was why I had placed the phone right next to my head when I went to bed. I was oddly calm but I’m sure I sounded as deflated as I felt. Sigh. “Ok. I’ll be right there.”
I don’t remember if I even showered
before I left the house. I don’t remember being in a hurry. There was no point
now, except I wanted to get there before anyone else. I wanted some quiet time
with Gram before the commotion with hospice, family, and funeral began. I longed for a few quiet moments as I knew my
life was going to get very busy coordinating things and very emotional dealing
with it all.
I walked down that long hall to
Gram’s room like a zombie. I was completely oblivious to what was going around
me. It was as if I was walking through a dark tunnel with no visibility, but
somehow knew where I was going. I heard nothing; I saw nothing. It was as if
the place was completely empty and everything was still. I only heard my own heart
beating intensely in my ears. My breathing was short and quick with
anticipatory anxiety.
The door to room 141 was closed, of
course. I walked in slowly, turned, and closed it behind me. Gram’s body was
still slightly warm. Her mouth was so wide open that it looked like someone
pried it that way. The first thing I did was try to close it, but it was too
stiff. I couldn’t budge it.
The bright sun was shining in the
window and it draped across Gram’s lifeless body, which now was grayish in color.
I touched her arm and hand. I instinctively felt for a pulse. I kissed her
cheek and forehead. I pushed her hair back behind her ears as I spoke softly to
her. I expressed my disappointment that she wouldn’t let me be there when she
left. “I understand, though," I said. “You’ve always protected me.” I said
good-by, I reassured her that I’d be ok. I thanked her for teaching me how to be ok. I thanked her for
everything she had done for me. “I’ll be sad; I’ll be lost for a while,” I
said. “But you’ll always be with me – in my heart…I’ll take good care of Teddy,
too. You’ll be with Chubbs now. Send him my love... and Bobo... I love you.”
I sat quietly like this with Gram
for about an hour before I called the hospice liaison to send the nurse. I had
contacted Michelle earlier and she, too, was on her way. As I waited, I
realized that this would be my last time in room 141 – or it should be anyway.
So I began cleaning things out. I gathered the few things that I wanted and
decided to leave most other things – Gram’s clothes and TV – at the facility as
donations to other patients who might need them.
I went about removing clothes from
the closet and drawers in the matter-of-fact way I always put them away if Gram
was in her bed when I brought her clean laundry. I organized and folded them by
placing them all over her body and bed. During the course of Gram’s illness, it
was always important to me that I be matter-of-fact and go about business as
usual. I believe this put her at ease. I had to do it now, too.
I was grateful to have this last
quiet alone time with Gram. Even though she was dead, her room seemed full of
life. Perhaps it was because of the flood of wonderful memories that passed through
me while I was there with her.
When the hospice nurse arrived, she
asked me for the name of the funeral home to contact. Gram had pre-paid with
Ogrodnik’s back in 2008. She had asked
me to take her to do it. She was wary back then to pre-pay, though. “What
happens to my money if you go out of business?” I remember her asking the
funeral director. “The money is put in a separate investment fund and is
technically independent of any funeral home. It can be used anywhere. But you
don’t have to worry. We’re not going out of business. People are always going
to die, right?”
Ogrodnik’s went out of business
just the week before Gram died. “We’ve been in the process of sending letters
to all of our pre-need clients,” The guy on the other end of the phone said to
me after the nurse handed it over. “You are kidding me,” I said, almost
chuckling as I remembered that conversation back then. Gram was
right for being wary, I thought. They were able to suggest another funeral
home in the Dignity network – H.P. Brandt. It was actually a better location
with ample parking. Michelle and I planned to meet there at 1:00pm to discuss
the arrangements.
By the time the funeral home representatives
arrived to take Gram’s body, I had packed up all of her clothes and belongings.
Although I know would come back to the facility in the future to visit, I
didn’t want to come back to room 141. At the very least, I didn’t want to have
to come back and pack up her things. This way, when they arrived to take her
body, Michelle and I were able to leave, knowing that part was done. I took
pictures of Gram’s room as we walked out. I wanted to remember it.
I went home after leaving
ManorCare. I felt empty. Never before had I felt like such a huge part of me
was gone. I knew now what people mean when they say that upon losing someone. I
immediately got busy. I had a couple loads of Gram’s laundry
that needed done. I would finish that and donate it to ManorCare at some future
date. I pressed the new blouse I bought for Gram to be buried in. I wanted it
to be perfect. While pressing it, I remembered how
Gram taught me to press my own shirts. “Here Mikey, let me do it,” was usually
how that ended up. It was a sweet memory and I got so lost in it that I grabbed
the hot iron and burned the hell out of my finger.
In the
meantime, Michelle went shopping for a red sweater. Gram had told Tara that she
wanted buried in the red blazer that her son, Chubby bought her many years ago.
We had no idea where the blazer ended up and we knew it wouldn’t fit her
anyway, so we decided a red sweater was appropriate, especially since she wore
sweaters a lot over the last several years. She could always be seen in one,
since she was always cold. We had grabbed a couple purple sweaters
from Gram’s room to take to the funeral home just in case Michelle couldn’t
find a red one. Gram always looked good in purple.
At the funeral home, I was amazed how
technology had infiltrated even funeral planning. Peter, the funeral director
sat across from us at the table in what I would call the “showroom.” There were
caskets on display and urns on shelves and marketing materials for the many
things you could purchase to memorialize your loved one, including a pendant
with a fingerprint imprinted upon it. On the wall was a large flat screen TV.
Peter walked us through the “wizard” of funeral planning on the screen as he
reviewed Gram’s pre-need - now at-need - selections. “Most everything is still
good,” Peter explained, “But I want to review things with you.” He did. The
casket Gram originally chose was no longer available, but they were able to
find a comparable replacement. And there was the question of flowers. “How do
you want to handle flowers?” We didn’t know. I did know that Gram always felt
cut flowers were a waste. I sent her roses for Mother’s Day once and she said,
“These are nice Mikey, but why did you waste your money? They’re only going to
die.” Peter suggested live plants that could be given to family members at the
end of the viewing. Michelle and I agreed upon Mums. They were perfect because
they were fall flowers and abundant right now. Plus, for many years, Gram was
known to everyone as “Mum.” It was a perfect choice.
I handed Peter the white blouse I
had bought and pressed. “Please touch this up,” I asked. “It must be perfect.
Gram was a presser. She wouldn’t tolerate any wrinkles.” Peter graciously and
gently obliged with a nod. Michelle also brought a couple different red
sweaters she bought. We chose the one we thought would be perfect.
I can’t say that I was fully
present during all of the discussions regarding the arrangements. For that
reason, I was so grateful that Gram had asked me to take her to pre-plan and
pre-pay everything all those years ago. Back then she even bought her
headstone. All we had to do was commission the scroll that would contain her
date of death. It was already paid for; it just had to be placed. The funeral
home would handle this, too. Gram really took good care of me.
Michelle had talked with Tara and
they were on their way up from Virginia. They would arrive Monday night. We
would all plan to meet at the funeral home Tuesday at 1:45 for a family viewing
before opening to the public.
When I arrived back home, I wanted
to be alone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
I posted the following on Gram’s
Facebook page: At approximately 4:45 this
morning, Gram peacefully succumbed to her disease. We are so grateful for the
love and kindness Gram experienced in her last years.
I slept well that night.
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