My grandfather died in 2019. He was walking down the stairs out of his house and just dropped dead. Just like that. Lights out. My grandmother, she lived another 7 years, and died last week. Her death was long and agonizing. Particularly for the people who cared for her, like my mother and my uncle who watched over her for the last 3 months as she's slowly drowned in her own fluids until death finally took her. It was slow and bitter and helpless and there was nothing they could do but stand by her bedside and watch. Try to make her comfortable but she was stubborn, uncomfortable, and, honestly, mean.
The few times I was there, all I could hear was the gurgling in her chest. The sound echoed through the room in painful waves, one breath after the other, hitting me in the face each time. She was sort of coherent. She asked me to do things for her that I cannot do so I got my brother to do them. She would look at you but she was a ghost. Her sunken face and waxy skin made her look more like a map of a fading life. She gave away the game. Life is fleeting and in the end, we all give up the ghost we cling to. No matter how hard we try. I didn't understand why she was fighting so hard to stay. Then she asked for my grandfather. Maybe she wasn't fighting, I don't know. So, before I left, after her room had cleared of people and it was just her and I, I summoned all the spiritual energy I possess, which if I'm being honest, is nil, and whispered in her ear:
You can stop fighting, you can go, no one here will mind, and I'm sure grandpa is waiting.
That was the last thing I said to my grandmother before she took her last breath 4 days later. She wasn't one to take advice.
Her service was this past Saturday. Seeing my siblings and cousins in one room is always a trip because, for whatever reason, it happens so infrequently. But we are old and gray now. My cousins have lived their own lives rather than just following their parents around from place to place like when I knew them. And even though we rarely see other, when we do, we aren't strangers. It's like we see each other everyday and the time in between ceases to exist. We are irreverent and respectfully disrespectful with each other, nothing off limits, even at a funeral. It feels like home, it feels like it should happen more often but when we depart someone makes the joke, see you at the next one, yet we know it's not a joke.
My brother wrote the eulogy and I was asked to write a poem. I could not recite it on the day however so I asked my sister but she was busy with a toddler. It would have gone unread if not for my brother who ended up reading it. I'm not sure why but I just sat there through the service. Usually, I'll say a few words about something but I just watched everyone else. I wondered why this person was getting emotional and why this person wasn't, I wondered who would be next we'd gather to mourn. I wondered about the couple and who was still single and who would mourn for them. And as I sat there thinking about these dumb things, I missed most of what was being said. My grandmothers life is over and I'll probably never go back to visit where she's interned. Her ashes just sit on a shelf.
And, I suppose it is what it is...it's just, well, it's just fucking weird, ya know?
Anyway, after the service we all went out for dinner. I don't drink...but I drank that night.
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