Grandma's Hands

My Grandmother was sick for years. In fact, for the past eight years it was a given that I could expect a phone call once every three months or so, explaining that she was on the way out, and that I needed to come see her to say goodbye. Even in the year when I lived in New York, I made two trips back to Florida to pay my "final respects." You see, my Grandmother had been suffering from severe diabetes as long as I'd known her. She had to test her blood sugar and give herself shots at least twice a day for the past fifteen to twenty years, and somewhere around when I turned eighteen, she started bleeding internally and began visiting the hospital every few months to have the excess liquid drained from her stomach.

You may be thinking, it doesn't seem normal or plausible for someone to bleed internally for eight years, and in normal situations you'd be correct. Normally that sort of thing is a sure and immediate death sentence. But here's the key: my Grandmother was horribly afraid of death. She was so afraid of dying that she consciously chose not to. Instead, she opted to defy the odds, and laugh in the face of eternal darkness. She opted to visit the hospital constantly and withstand immense amounts of discomfort and pain, all for the sake of gaining a little extra time.

I have to admit, I never understood why she chose to hang on as long as she did. My Grandmother, along with being a kind, incredibly personable, southern woman, was also a devout Mormon. She raised all of her children in the temple, and never drank alcohol (save for a sip of champagne on New Year's Eve), swore, or smoked. She believed in Heaven, and she knew in her heart that she had secured a front row seat there. Now, I am not a religious person at all, and my desire to live as long as possible is due, in part, to the fact that I genuinely don't believe that there is life after death; I have to make as much out of this time as I possibly can. However, I have always thought that if someone truly loved God and believed in the Eternal Kingdom they would be anxious to get there, and would not want to waste any more time on this plane than they had to. Clearly, this was not true of my Grandmother. I don't know if it was due to religious doubt or some other factor, but, despite the constant warnings from my family that 'this time was the time," she wasn't ever going anywhere.

I hadn't seen or spoken to my Grandmother in months, prior to receiving the call from my mother this morning. Three months ago, as expected, I'd received a message saying that my Grandmother was on her way out and that I should come see her to say goodbye if I could afford to. Well, truth be told, I really couldn't afford to, and I honestly (and rightly at the time) didn't believe that she was actually going to die. I had heard it too many times before. My mother could, in these situations, be easily compared to the boy who cried wolf; she was the mother who cried "Grandma's dying." And, like always, in that situation Grandma was taken to the hospital, drained, fixed up with a spinal surgery that "she was sure not to survive" and sent home nearly right-as-rain.

This morning's call was different. Normally, when my Grandmother is ill she immediately opts to visit the doctor, willing to suffer any surgery that might keep her alive. This time she didn't. This time she decided to stay home.

This time she actually died.

I am not angry or resentful about my Grandmother's death, but I am upset about how I was trained to view her life. My Grandmother was loved by hundreds of people. I have never, in my life, known anyone who received more letters and phone calls from people she barely knew. She would stay in contact with the same acquaintances and friends for upwards of forty years. So many people were able to love her unconditionally, because they could see the good in her heart and her genuine interest in their lives. Even her children's ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends would continue to call and write her long after the breakups. She was a genuinely wonderful, caring woman... and I've spent most of my life waiting for her to die.

It is my fault that I did not know her better. There were so many opportunities to spend time with her that I didn't take, and for that I do have some regrets. However, I loved her with all my heart, as every grandchild loves their grandma, and I will never again be able to eat a toasted coconut marshmallow or watch an episode of "Yee Haw" without thinking of her.

Rest in Peace, Golda Christine Kadel - aka, Memaw. You will be forever missed.