Hinting at Death

To me, my grandma has always been old. I don't ever remember her not being old, though I know she wasn't really that old when I was little. I know age is relative, like when you're seven and think anyone that can drive is an adult, but then you're 31 and think the driving age should be raised so all those kids aren't driving like maniacs. My grandma has always been old to me, because she was always a lot older than me. But it isn't until recently that she seems elderly.

My grandma was always a very active woman. She grew up on a farm and still lives on an acreage that was part of the farm she ran until her health deteriorated too much. As a kid, I got to gather eggs, feed cows, milk goats and watch lambs be born. I loved staying at Grandma's house and helping her do chores. It was such an adventure! The hard work was refreshing and fun because I didn't have to do it every day. Grandma had sheep and some chickens up until her heart gave her so much trouble.

Until then, Grandma seemed invincible. She was a woman of the land, a woman with experience. She always had stories to tell and never failed to tell them, which earned her loving jabs about her talkativeness. She could tell you stories about walking to school in the snow that were true and about watching siblings die before they reached two digits in age. She never failed to work hard and felt twitchy when she wasn't doing something.

She still does feel twitchy when she isn't doing something, but now, her body won't allow her to do the things she once did. My family feared we might lose Grandma nearly eight years ago when her heart failed her and again a couple years ago when that same heart was so weak the doctors were amazed Grandma was even alive. She came back both times, and now Grandma is coming upon her 80th birthday, though with slow, weary steps.

While I was standing at Grandma's door to leave during my Nebraska visit, Grandma did what she does best and talked. She kept me there several minutes, going on about this and that, including talking about the big birthday party that is being planned for her in the spring. I told her I would be back for that, and she told me she would try to "be good and be here for it." Without thinking, I said, "You better be!" And right after I said it, I thought who am I to demand such things?

I believe that people often know when the end is near, but I kind of doubt my grandma's sense on those things. She has thought she was going to die a few times now, but maybe she was right. Maybe it's comments like mine that keep her here when she would rather be gone. Grandma is like that. She will do whatever she can for others over doing for herself, and I think that includes living.

That makes me sad, but the thought of her gone makes me sad too. I've never had someone really close to me die. My paternal grandmother died when I was 18, and I couldn't stop crying. I cried almost the entire 20 hour drive to Virginia. I cried whenever I saw a funeral procession for at least a year after the funeral. I rarely saw my Virginia grandma, and her death left me so devastated and fragile that I truly fear what a closer death will bring.

My way of dealing with this impending doom has been to distance myself. After my grandma had the first heart trouble and surgery, I started pulling away. I didn't visit or call as often. I felt guilty for it but couldn't explain at the time why I did it. No matter how fascinating I found my grandma to be, I kept her at a distance, and then I furthered that distance by moving away. I was one of the few people left to help care for her, and I moved 1000 miles away. She wasn't the sole reason I moved, but giving myself justification for staying away from Grandma certainly factored into the matter, if even subconsciously.

I can't move back now. As much as I would like to just go back and move in with my grandma until the end of her days, I can't. But I am doing a better job of keeping in touch with her. I write her letters and send her pictures, even if she doesn't have the time or energy to write me back. I call her on the phone and always spend plenty of time with her when I'm in town. I wish I could do more, be closer to her. I have to settle with what I can do and let go of the regret I feel for not taking advantage of living closer to her when I did. I hope she will be there for her 80th birthday, and I hope I won't inherit the vanity she's leaving to me when she's "done using it," but if Grandma feels like her time here is done, I don't want to hold her back. It's time she does something for herself, even if that means letting go of this life.