The Death of a Grandmother

My paternal grandparents were Papo and Nano to me.  We lived just down the road from them and many times during the summer I would ride my bike over (with hopes that Dad would load it up and bring me back....) to see them and my dad. 
She was a very good housekeeper and you knew better than to come in the house filthy dirty; you left your shoes at the back door and made sure you gave yourself a good pat down if you knew you had dirt or grass on you.  I don't think I ever remember being scolded for coming in dirty, but it was an unspoken rule I guess.  You also knew better than to touch the white hallways with dirty hands, but once again I'm not sure how we knew... we just did. 
She had a cabinet that had the "snacks" in them.  There were always crackers of various types and cheese in a can.  OH MY!  I think it is a fair assumption that EVERY grandkid loved the cheese in the can.  I think I remember Greg just squirting it right into his mouth. =)
She had a way of making you feel at home though.  When you came in the back door you always knocked and came in as they would holler " Come on in" after you said "Hi, it's me!".  They always knew who "me" was I guess.  Usually when you came over, you sat the dining room table with them and chit-chat.
When I was in school and in Kindergarten, I would get off the bus there on the rare occasion that the babysitter couldn't watch me.  I wish I could remember but she taught me my phone number by making it into a song.  She always told me that she knew that if she could put it into a song I would remember it.  And to this day when I say my parents phone number in my head I do put a musical note to it.  When I commit another phone number to memory it has a musical note too it.  I never realized why I do it, until she told me that story.  I've tried to remember, so hard, but come up empty handed. I can make a memory in my hand, but its not the real one.  I see us sitting on the white benches and her teaching me it, but its not the real memory because I can see us both sitting there.  It's just the picture I've put together in my head from the story she told.

Before her "routine" surgery, JM, Samatha, and I visited Papo and Nano at their house.  It was a normal visit and I was lucky enough to take my camera with me.  I took some good pictures of them together. 

I won't go through all the surgeries and such.  Too long of a tale, and too late at night. Either way, complications occured and landed her in too much infection that soon took over her lungs.  Seven days before she passed, we visited her in the ICU like we had pretty much done every weekend that she was there.  She didn't keep her eyes open very long and couldn't have a conversation because she was on a bi-pap machine that helped her breathe.  She would squeeze your hand for yes's and she would shake her head yes and no. 
On the Wednesday before her death, I took the afternoon off to visit her. I had wanted to give her daughters the chance to relax a little and Papo too.  I did it to help and I did it for me.  Papo escorted me back to see her and talked to her a few minutes and so on.  They he left us be.  When you would first walk in the room, it was a little hard to take.  Tubes everywhere, a machine breathing for her.  This wasn't the life she wanted.  She hated hospitals, hated enough that a lot of it gave her anxiety and such.  But once you were in the room for awhile and sucked back your emotions it wasn't too awfully bad.  You kind of became numb to it all, but emotions would come back to you in waves.  I refused to cry infront of her.  Here is this woman, fighting for her life, with infection that has taken over her system.  I wanted to be strong for her and maybe she could use some of my strength.  She needed a reason to fight and I felt that if we acted sad in her room she would pick up on that vibe and maybe think the worst.  A scene that I will NEVER, EVER be able to unsee is this:

I was holding her right hand and I was telling her about Samee Jo.  I said, you won't believe it Nano, but she took thost first steps and away she went.  She doesn't even crawl anymore, at all."  Nano opened her eyes, looked at me, and shook her head and gave me that look of disbelief.  She even rolled her eyes.  And then she just stared at me and I smiled at her, and she soon shut her eyes.  And now, the reality of it hits me that that was the last time I saw her brown eyes, and ..........that hurts.
Later on during that visit, I told her I had brought my Bible and asked if she wanted me to read to her.  Nano liked to listen to books.  Before her nap in the afternoon she would lay down and listen to her books on tape. I always wanted to ask someone if they had asked her if she wanted us to bring that in. But I was afraid to ask.  These situations create tense relations and such.  I didn't want to suggest it and for some reason offend someone for not thinking of it, or offend them for any other reason.  She shook her head yes, and squeezed my hands.  Well, Nano is Catholic and I have heard that Catholics don't really read the Bible much on their own.  I really had no where to start and I don't know the Bible well myself.  I have committed myself to reading it front to back starting earlier this year, but am no where near the middle, let alone the end.  I just asked for guidance on where to start and I opened the Bible to the Psalms.  I asked her if it was o.k. if I read Psalms to her and she shook her head yes....so I did. 
When I left, I told her "See you later".  I was very adament on not telling her good bye.

That weekend we came home and in that short amount of time her status had deteriorated very quickly.  There was talk of taking off the breathing machine and soon the siblings and husband came to the conclusion that that was the right thing to do.  Her CO2 levels were climbing and the infection was worse.  The woman had given it her all, but unfortunately God was calling her home.  It was touching that they had talked about not doing this on the 13th because it was my birthday.  However, that previous day we had been there and I knew when I walked out of that room, it would be the last time I saw her and I might have even taken comfort in that because I knew she was weak and weary and soon she would not be.  At some time, earlier in that week, I woke up one morning with the clarity that it would be soon.  That Sunday morning when I woke up, I woke with a very heavy heart.  So heavy that I cried before I even got out of bed.  At church, I knew and I prayed for quickness.  Then that afternoon the phone call had came.  My response was that I was o.k. with the breathing machine being turned off my birthday.  It was far better of a gift to know that she was no longer weak and weary, than to extend her discomfort for even an hour longer. 
When all the kids were there, the nurse came in to administer some morphine as a 'just in case' measure.  The process would be over in minutes.  Papo spoke to her and told her what was happening.  Then something that I consider a miracle occured.  The machine pushed air in, and the she stopped.  She didn't give anybody the chance to make the decision for her.  She knew, and that is God's Grace.

I now share my birthday with a very special day for her.  The day she went Home, is the day I was born,  25 years ago.