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As I was becoming more accustomed to the idea of writing in this blog again and finding more time in which to pursue the venture, someone in my family died. My grandmother passed away.

At the age of 77, she had battled breast and ovarian cancer for 15 years. Then, what seems like a short while ago but was most definitely longer, she developed Alzheimer’s Disease. She managed to live on for a very long time despite the fact that her husband had died; despite the fact that she was plagued by frequent pains and discomfort caused by these various ailments (including the pain of treatment); despite the fact that certain members of her family had disowned her for what I can only ascertain are the stupidest, most puzzling reasons; despite the fact that she no longer recognized anyone or even realized how sick she was much of the time, causing her to do things like jump out of bed, pull out her IVs, and break her hip. And she continued to be a nice person through most of the process; someone people wanted to have around. She rarely complained about any of this and didn’t feel sorry for herself.

I went to see her not this previous weekend but the one before it in the hospital. The Tuesday before that, she had collapsed in a supermarket and had to be rushed to the ER. For 24 hours, my mother and my sister stayed with her in the ER, where her condition worsened over time. By the time I came to see her, when she had been admitted to the hospital, she was in a sleep-like state. Her mouth was agape and she was breathing deeply but laboriously, every outward breath marked by a gurgling sound which was due to the fluid accumulating in her lungs. Her mouth was sore and dry from the lack of moisture. Every once in a while, one of my relatives or my mother would wet it with a sponge as they were instructed to do by the nurses. Her body would shake and convulse periodically; the medical staff weren’t sure if it was voluntary or involuntary movement. Sometimes tears would fall down her face. People were unsure of whether she was crying or whether this was another ungoverned reaction.

I loved and respected my grandmother a lot, even though our relationship was strained and I never thought we were extremely close. She was incredibly strong-willed and resilient. She was kind and gave away many of her things if she thought it would make other people happy. She loved animals. She was patient and encouraged people to learn by doing. Alternately she was stubborn and disconcerting in some ways. As a kid, she admonished me for being too much of a baby about physical pain but as I got older she would say kind things about me to other people which surprised me.

My mother has lost both her parents. She loved them both, even though she’s convinced that both her parents liked her less than their other children. My mother moved close to my grandmother to help take care of her as she became sicker. My mother was alone with my grandmother in the hospital room when my grandmother died. My aunt and uncle didn’t make it in time. I know this will upset her more down the road and I’m sorry she had to deal with it alone.

I’m not certain why I’m choosing to share so much here. Some of it, yes, I know, and there are other things I remember. It saddens me that there is no one else to hear it, I guess.