I’m Glad My Gram Has Passed

I know you must think what a strange morbid blog title. What is this gal thinking? But what I have been listening too and reading about everyday in the news about what is happening in our nursing homes and residential homes, I just feel grateful for my own Gram’s journey. If we go back to the beginning, my Grampie died when I was one and I have zero recollection of him. I know the pair of them must have had a conversation before his last heart attack that went something like, Barbara, you will be enough for the both of us and she was exactly that. The most hilarious, independent, spunky and caring woman I have ever met. As her health began to decline she went to an assisted living facility which was so fabulous for her because she is one of the most social people ever to grace this planet. When I would go to visit her she would say “Taryn, I’m basically the event planner in here. I am holding this place up”, and she was. This was not a glorified remark by her. She was the epicenter of laughs and happiness. I remember getting a phone call in the middle of the night by a dear friend and nurse that my Gram was in the emergency room and scared to be alone. I threw on some clothes and headed up there and I could see when I got there, it was not the same spry woman who came to my gymnastic meets or even held my babies when they were born. I could see the time was coming. Soon, I was joined by other family members, all gathering in her hospital room, while our wonderful nurse Jane Lynn found her some seafood stew. I saw her breathing immediately regulate as soon as more and more people entered the room. She loved her people there, she loved us all beside her. This is one of the hardest parts to read about through all this Covid madness, is that families can not have their people there to stand in that room like she did. I can still see her face, I can see her mouth relax and shoulders sag. Like oh there you are.

Following this, she had a brief stay in the hospital, where we were free to come in and out, completely at our leisure. I brought my kids in , my sisters and cousins had a night with her. It was undeniably special because she was so present during this time. At one point, after bringing my kids in, she said “I am not afraid to die, I am afraid that is my last hug I will ever give to your kids” and as I write that I still feel GRATEFUL, because she got that hug, she wanted, and they got that hug from one of the best beings on the planet. At the same time, she told me that she was so proud of me going back to school and to please do more writing and the fact that I could do anything I wanted. Coming from her, it meant more and sparked more. Co-workers have said to me, college professors have said that to me, but when your Gram, who has changed your diapers, watched you unwrap countless Christmas presents, cheered you on from the sidelines, your no-nonsense, no bull shit Gram tells you they believe in you, it fixates you on a goal like no other.

As her health continued to decline, she was placed in a facility that supports patients with dementia and patients who are nearing the end of their life. She was given a large room, with a ton of love and medical care. When I listen to Dr. Shah give his briefings, besides having a crush on him, I am constantly in awe of how much attention he gives to these facilities. Readers I cannot tell you how much this means to me, that he gives this kind of daily attention to these facilities. The nurses that worked with my Gram, the custodians that cleaned her room, the massage therapists that came in to do legs massages on her. They are unspoken heroes. I read comments where people write all those dying are over 80, or why don’t people get different jobs than working in these residential homes. It drives me mad, because that woman, over 80, was my Gram. That nurse leaning in, with no mask, no gown, was her savior. She had those who would sing to her, those who would sit with her and hold her hand, those who would call one of us when she was paranoid, or scared or even towards the end mean to them. We have to protect these workers , who care for our dying with such dignity and strength. In what is possibly the most selfless job on the planet, they are then being asked to hold themselves more accountable, be more vulnerable to their families and themselves because of this virus and they still do. They still go and sit with my Gram and your Gram, with fewer resources and more risk.

In this particular facility, in order to get to my Grams room, you needed to come in the secret entrance (which I wasn’t aware of at the time) or you had to walk through the entire dementia unit. As I walked my kids through, it can be a little alarming. Some patients are swearing, defecating, crying, moaning etc. Two nurses walked beside us, shielding the kids as much as possible from different noises and shutting the doors to different bedrooms. Again, not apart of their job necessarily, but patient/visitor care is a huge service.

As a funny aside, in what is my most serious blog post to date, I walked in with my sister and when it was time to leave, I noticed a patient following me pretty closely. It is quite a long walk to the exit door and by God, Margaret was keeping up with me step for step! I think she could have run a 5K and beat me. I was becoming increasingly worried as we reached the exit door to leave. I didn’t know if Margaret would run screaming into the parking lot, or if she would trip me and take my purse. A nurse walked right over to us as I was opening the door and she said, “Margaret, you can’t leave with them today.” “Well, why the hell not?” Margaret replied back. “You don’t have your shoes on” the nurse told her. “God damnit” Margaret said and began her trek back to the kitchen. My sister and I laughed the whole way home because if you don’t laugh you will cry right?

The other blessing during this whole time, was that my Aunt Wendy was allowed to stay and sometimes sleep in the room with my Gram during her final time. I think now of patients who don’t have this privilege and it breaks my heart. Wendy would sit with her, read to her, paint her nails, throw dried prunes at Donald Trump on the tv with her and most of all be her advocate. My Aunt Wendy is a nurse herself, but this experience, let her slip away from her nurse role and just be a daughter and just have that time. I look at videos of people waving from outside residential homes because they can’t go in with their families and I literally feel physical pain about it. How lucky was my Gram to have her Wendy, when these people who may be experiencing memory loss, paranoia, anger etc, can’t have their Wendy? What a hard time to be alive or to be close to the end of you life.

As many of my readers know, my parents divorced when I was younger and parents didn’t co-parent in the wonderful new age way that they do now. When they separated it was kept very separate, not that there is anything wrong with that, but we did not all get together for Easter anymore. My mom who had been very close to my Gram when my parents were married and when she was declining in health she would ask me daily how she was doing and keep tabs even though they hadn’t been married for years. One day, unannounced my Mom went to the this facility and paid my Gram a visit. This was on one of the days when my Gram was very lucid and peaceful. My mom held her hand and said that My gram was the absolute best person to be watching her kids as they were growing up and she trusted her implicitly with the care of us. She said there were memories that the two of them would always share and always hold onto. She told her it was okay to let go and that my Mom would look after all her grandkids and great grands and to not be frightened. Right then and there, the two of them were able to forgive and let go in that setting and in that time. My Aunt Wendy told me the whole room was crying from the emotionality and the forgiveness of it all. How blessed is my Gram to be allowed that time to forgive and let go the grudge she had held on to for years? How lucky is my Mom to have the opportunity to thank her for all the love she had given us? Cue onions in the kitchen.

When my Gram did take her last breath, she was surrounded by family on family, pouring in and out of the room, just like she had always wanted. The nurses and techs stood in the background, giving us the privilege of taking our time and honoring her. I see now what a privilege it was and how I took it for granted. I know it seems like it is just small percentage of the state getting this virus, but we need to protect this small portion and the workers who support them. They need more resources, more man power, more knowledge. I think and pray on them everyday and I hope you do too.