I have lost 2 grandparents in a month. I always had a hunch that my grandparents were going to go around the same time. It's kind of hard to talk about them collectively because they both meant very different things to me.
My grandpa died around 2 am on the night after Christmas. When I came downstairs that morning and my mom told me that he had passed I had this immense sense of relieve because he had so many health problems and I felt like now he was finally at peace. I don't remember much of my grandfather, he was a very private man and honestly he scared me sometimes. He was 9o when he passed so he was already quite old when I was born and I don't have many memories of him playing with us or anything. I remember he did tickle us all the time when we were little and call us "whipper-snappers" "cuckoo-birds" and "scally-wags". I think that in many ways I get my desire for solitude sometimes from him, my private nature. My distance. When I cried for him at his service I think it was mourning the man the I felt like I never got to know. It's hard to realize that there may have been a chance for me to talk with him, learn about him, and I just didn't. He never made it easy and he sure didn't seem approachable but it's still just sad to think of the connections that I didn't make. He died with my uncle by his side- my uncle said he seemed restless at first but towards the end he seemed peaceful. My favorite memory of Poppi, my grandfather, was how he listened to me practice. He always had a radio on at all times, but after their house burned down a few years ago I was practicing in the house that they temporarily moved into while the other house was being reconstructed. I wasn't playing anything special, just keeping my lip in shape over break. I just remember walking out and my dad coming up to me in the living room and saying, "Poppi was listening to you. He turned his radio off to listen." I don't know why that meant so much to me. Maybe it's because I felt like he was interested, and he was listening to my voice, my vulnerability. Maybe it was because I felt like he was proud of me. Whatever it was, that was a beautiful moment of connection between me and my grandfather. I won't forget that. And I won't forget how he used to change his radio to the classical station when we visited.
My Grandma Joan passed away this morning at 7 am. She suffered a massive stroke this past weekend and was taken to the hospital. They gave her some medication that was supposed to unclot the clot that had caused her stroke. Instead of helping, it made her brain bleed, which in turn put pressure on it to the point where she stopped breathing. They put her on a respirator. Her pupils were fixed in different dilations....she wasn't going to get better. There was no coming back from this. They waited for all of her children to get there, and then they pulled the plug. She died with her 4 children and husband by her side. My Grandma Joan meant a lot to me. My mom got very sick when I was born and it was my Grandma Joan and Poppop that really took care of me during that time because my dad had to work. She would always do nice things for me, slip me money or presents. I was just looking at a book called "42 Gifts I'd Like to Give to You"...she taught me about the rosary and about FAITH. The rosary she gave me for my first holy communion is one of my most treasured possessions. She sang to me. She played with me. She loved me. Her death is hard for me because now I know there is going to be a hole where she was. When she started getting really sick while I was in high school she wrote me a note saying how sorry she was she couldn't make it to my orchestra concerts. I remember crying about it and hugging her. She always said she wanted to outlive her mother, and sure enough she did. Her birthday was on December 2oth, and she went into the hospital about a week later. Then this happened.
Over the break, I went and visited her in the hospital. We talked in a way that we really never talked before. I think to some extent we both had a feeling that this was the last time we would see each other. There was a sweetness and a sincerity in our interaction...I don't know. She was sleeping when I walked in and when she woke up the look in her eyes....I just remember feeling like I was totally and completely loved. I was safe. We talked about my grandpa's funeral, and how Irish Catholics deal with things more emotionally. We talked about Midwest and how I remembered her singing in Lithuanian to me when I was little. She told me a few stories about when she was younger. There was this peace about her.... I don't know how to explain it. It was almost like this gold light I felt around her. I asked her if she was scared at all...she said no. She said she had lived a good life and that she trusted God with whatever was on the other side. After about 45 minutes she was having trouble following conversation and was getting tired so I told her I loved her, kissed her, and said I'll see you in March over spring break.
I still don't know how I'm dealing, right now I think I'm repressing a lot until I get home. You know, people say they're sorry and it helps, but they don't know her. And not to be a douche, but I don't really want to hear other people's stories about how they can relate right now. Normally I am all ears for how they are hurting and looking to help them, but that doesn't help me right now. I want to be with my family more than anything, to talk about Grandma Joan and cry hysterically and laugh about her grouchy moments. I want a hug from my mom and my sister. I want to be able to just mourn. My grandma meant so much to me....as much as I knew this day was coming I was really hoping it wouldn't. I know she is at peace now, but there is this hole now where she used to live. That's hard. That's really freaking hard. I just hope I made it clear how much I loved her. How much I STILL love her and will ALWAYS love her.
I have no grand interpretation of what life means. I have no conclusive thought to bring this all together except that as depressing as death is, it is also very beautiful. It seems to bring out the memories of what you really want to remember and say, "here, take this. Hold onto these moments." I think there is a certain grace in death, a certain otherworldliness at least when the person is old and it is "their time". I just can't believe she's gone.
There will be rest, and sure stars shining
Over the roof-tops crowned with snow,
A reign of rest, serene forgetting,
The music of stillness holy and low.I will make this world of my devising
Out of a dream in my lonely mind.
I shall find the crystal of peace, – above me
Stars I shall find.
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