The Call of Death

     On January 1, 2019 my Grandmother ceased living here on earth and entered her eternal life.  On January 5, 2019 we had a celebration of her life and she was buried alongside my Grandfather.  This was written for her funeral and shared with my family during this time.

     If I were to say I wasn't sad, that would be untrue.  I am sad and mourn the loss of my feisty and funny Grandma Em and I am grieving how different the world, my world, will be without her in it.  Grief is selfish, and I don't say that in a negative sense, although that word brings negative feelings with it.  You see my grief is MINE, not hers.  She feels no grief, only peace from now on.  It is because of this, that I also, beside my grief, can feel a peace within the loss of her.  She spent her final years in the throes of Lewey Body Dementia.  Which is one of the most unexplained and weirdest flipping types of dementia I have ever heard of or witnessed with my own eyes.  Damn, she handled it like a champion.  You'd think she was the first woman to deliver mail to her hometown or something! (She was, btw).

     There were days when she was herself, making jokes about how, "Tim wouldn't go out of the house like that if he knew how stupid that haircut looked", (Tim is my Dad, her son).  She would laugh and talk in her "funny" voice that she did for all the grand-kids.  There were days when she would see call the "dog" that was in her house and see rats running in her front yard that none of the rest of us could see.  There were times when she could be convinced to eat the strawberry pudding all the while telling you that strawberry yogurt was just disgusting and she couldn't see how people could choke it down (without knowing they were one and the same).  I was with my Dad when we called home hospice the first time, that's right I said the FIRST time, because that is the nature of Lewey Body Dementia.  We prepped her house to have all of the necessary medical equipment for her to spend her final days at home and then she bounced back from that and we had to "call off" the hospice dogs because she had improved and began eating, walking around and swearing at my Aunt Pam again, all signs that she was doing too good for hospice care and that we still had more time with her.

     As she got worse and there were freaky moments of possible strokes and bizarre behaviors and hallucinations, my Aunt had to put on her visor and her alter ego as Peg more often.  Peg was the hired housekeeper that gave my Aunt Pam a break here and there.  Again, Pam was Peg and Peg was Pam, but not to Grandma.  Grandma was much more patient and friendly with Peg, hence her visits becoming more frequent as her disease progressed.

     I can still remember the final visit I had with her, at my parent's house, when in a couple hours time she went from being a sweet lady who was happy and laughing and accepting of love and care, to a woman who looked at me like she should be wary of who I was and why I was touching her.  That day was difficult to say the least, but nothing as difficult as seeing her eyes change and realizing that the challenge of the situation was not mine, but hers, as she was trapped in her own mind and it was out of her control.

     I can only imagine what it must be like to see things that are very real to you, yet no one else sees them with you and for that to make you feel like you are going crazy.  I can only imagine what it is like to know what you are wanting to say, but being unable to form the words because you just can't remember how to speak them.  I can only imagine how tired one must feel when they fight hard to stay awake for 10 minutes out of 24 hours and in those 10 minutes work themselves to the point of exhaustion just to send a Christmas message to everyone in their family,  "I love you kids with all my heart, with all my soul.  Merry Christmas you guys."  Am I surprised that she used her last bits of energy to say her goodbyes and leave us with a comforting message? Nope.  Am I surprised that she used those last bursts of energy to sing with her children surrounding her bed or even simply tap her hand to the music while they sang to her? Nope.  Am I grateful that my Aunt dedicated the last couple of years of her life to caring for my Grandmother so that she could pass in her own home with the dignity and respect someone who lives to be almost 90 deserves?  Damn right I am!  Am I grateful that Grandma is no longer exhausted simply by speaking, confused and scared of the unknown, and growing weaker and that she can now rest, be with Grandpa Frank and has left the earth and my life to enter her eternal life as an angel?  Why yes, I can honestly and selfishly say that I am.

"The call of death is a call of love.  Death can be sweet if we answer it in the affirmative, if we accept it as one of the great eternal forms of life and transformation.

Hermann Hesse