Day 54

This morning began with awful news: my grandmother passed away at the age of 88. I knew something was wrong when my wife brought my phone up to me in bed and said I had a message from my dad. Generally he calls about dinner plans or family emergencies, and it was 8 in the morning. I called him back and immediately knew what the news was from sound of his voice.  "My mom went home," he said.

Her husband, my grandfather, died earlier this year, and she was unable to take care of herself at home. She was moved to a nearby "senior living community" and almost instantly responded to medication and therapy. Recent years hadn't been kind to my grandmother, and I knew she wasn't thrilled about having to leave her house. I was unsure of what to expect the first time I went to go visit her at her new home. I was shocked by her transformation! She was more "with it" than she had been in a long time, and I was able to carry on lengthy conversations with her for the first time in years. Not only that, but my son was with me every time I would visit her, and she was certainly a big fan of his.

Each time we would visit was exactly the same. She would repeat over and over, "You don't know what you did for me today!" She would cry tears of joy and marvel at how big/ agile/ tough/ inquisitive/ fearless he was. She would laugh as he would tease her by putting Cheerios near her mouth, only to pull them away as she would attempt to bite down. She moved around like someone thirty years her junior as she would attempt to keep up with him running circles around her bedroom.

They got to celebrate their shared birthday together only once, and it was so important to more than just the two of them. For me, it helped ease the pain of not seeing my grandfather on our final shared birthday. For my dad, it brought together his all three remaining generations of his family for a few moments of pure joy. Balloons were held, smiles were shared, and cupcakes were devoured.

I wrote about the last time I saw my grandmother just last week. She was asleep and was completely peaceful. Though she lay in a hospital bed, she was still in her room and surrounded by her belongings and pictures and momentos of her family. I tried to wake her up a few times so she could see her great-grandson in his Halloween costume, but she needed her rest. I think my son knew that, too, as he just stood there completely silent. It was difficult to leave, but I knew I'd see her again soon. Today was going to be that day, too. Isn't that how it always goes?

The first thing we were going to do after breakfast was visit my grandmother. Before I got off the phone with my dad, I told him we would come over. My son seems to have tremendous healing power. I think his visit was just what my dad needed. He and I deal with loss in somewhat similar ways, and distraction is one of them. We played, we laughed, and one of us didn't eat scrambled eggs. For a couple of hours, my son filled the house with adorableness and helped ease the pain. Timing is everything, and I have to think that the past several months could have been a lot tougher on some of us if not for my son.

I'm glad we all had one last summer of good memories with my grandmother. It reminded me of how much fun we used to have before nature began to take its toll. Most of my other memories of her stick with me from when I was much younger. I remember playing gin rummy with her. I remember sitting on the back porch and watching the cows. I remember the drawer where the coloring books and crayons were kept. I remember her spot on the couch. I remember the many transistor radios that she wore out from listening to her son every morning and her Phillies every night. I remember goulash. I remember her penpal in Australia. I remember Lincoln Logs. I remember "Chucky" and the Taco Bell dog. I remember wanting to find out how much it would hurt to touch the cactuses she used to keep. I remember the sound of her lighter. I remember her sitting on my wife's grandfather's lap at our wedding reception. I remember her wearing pajamas any and all times of day. I remember having to keep quiet when she took her daily phone call from Evelyn. I remember how proud she would be of her haircuts. I remember getting to talk to her- and only her- for a short while before Grandpop would get home from OTW. I remember playing my very first drum set in her living room.

I remember you, Grandmom.