death does not come easy

I've been here with Gramma since Monday. It's now Friday. And I've actually left the house to come shower at my stepmothers and write this blog. It might just keep me sane.

Congestive heart failure and a strong diuretic is not ridding the water which means the kidneys will eventually shut down and we will all say goodbye. In the meantime it's a long, slow downhill battle and I am savoring every minute.

I've been sleeping with her in her bed, her propped up on five pillows, holding hands while she sleeps and I listen for every breath. I"m exhausted and I would stay up and will stay up for more days if I have to. We've moved to the living room now, to a lounge chair that she's propped up in with many pillows and blankets, oxygen hanging out of her nose and paper thin hands that reach for mine and I hold; fragile, delicate, silken, cold.

I've gone into her bedroom alone which likely she will never see again and I've wept. I look at the walls, the trinkets on her dresser, the old clothes hanging in her closet and I remember my whole life. I weep and I weep. But who gets to have their grandmother until they're 40? Me.

She opens her eyes and I"m right there. "What do you need? Are you okay?"
My brother has stayed with me the last two nights. We sleep on the uncomfortable couch and get her up at 2am, 4am, when she needs to use the bathroom. She can't walk anymore though so now we're just pulling away the lounge chair and replacing it with a commode in one moment's time so she can just stand up and sit back down. It exhausts her.

She's told me my whole life of her show business days in the 1920's as a young girl, dazzling Alfred E. Smith, some politician I think? It was only today that I found the bag of 1926 newspaper clippings of her and her sisters dancing on stages and rave reviews of the Dimond sisters and their grace. I'm still learning about her and she is almost gone. I will learn more, I know, when she goes.

I've been praying to my Pop; come take her, come take her. Her four sisters and brothers who have come before; come take her, come take her. She's ready although I may never be but I am but i"m not but I am.

My sister, my brother, my cousin, my stepmother, my father - we have all been there in shifts and I, for this is not my home anymore, this town, I park myself with her, next to her.

I called her every night for the past year. She's been living alone for the 25 years since my grandfather has passed. In moments I glimpse the intense loneliness she must have been feeling for so many so many years.

This has nothing to do with my school or my kids or other hard lives. Everyone's life is hard. In my readings of the past week I came across some snippet about a culture long ago that celebrated death more than life, for they knew when a baby was born that life was hard and full of trials, and peace comes only consistently in death.

She is a treasure, this woman, my grandmother. I have been blessed.

I called the teacher who works in the next pod last night. She said my class has risen, has risen to the occasion and things have been so smooth and I want to hug and kiss Ms. N, my para, who is a miracle worker in this intense time. She wants me to be here, knows how special it is, has not a shred of resentment in my absence.

I will stay as long as I am needed here. I will return to my life at my school, my work, my home, changed.

Chris is coming tonight, thank God. I've missed him and I miss my kids and I am so proud of them, who they are and how they live. I hear that M. is on medication now that has made him so much calmer, he's not running out of the room anymore. I can't wait to see him.

And A., my science boy. My neighbor teacher told me of a conversation I had of where I am, what I"m doing. He was excited, going to see his own grandmother and Ms. E told him that when she gets older, he can do the same thing for her. He nodded, he got it.

So much love. SO much love. Really, it's all that matters.