April 27, 2010

Tell the Universe to Back Off

If someone could please intervene on my behalf and tell the universe to stop taking a giant crap on me, I would really appreciate it.

After spending about eight hours a day or more in the hospital for eight days in a row, my grandmother passed away yesterday morning at around 5:41 a.m. I got the call at 5:40 a.m. that we should get to the hospital because it was time. I arrived at the hospital at 5:56 a.m. after pulling on a pair of sweats, sweatshirt and sneakers in record time. Mr. BBM says I did brush my teeth but I don't recall. I'm quite certain I didn't brush my hair. The green lights were working in my favor and I thought I was going to make it in time.

I ran at full speed into the hospital, my only pause to allow the automatic glass doors at the entrance to her unit to open because I was moving entirely too fast for them. I sprinted down the hallway and threw her room door open to see the curtain pulled. A nurse sat beside her, holding her hand and I was too late.

"Is she. . . " and the nurse told me that she had passed almost immediately after they had called my Mom. The people from Hospice had told us that people choose when they die and I truly believe she left before we could get there because she didn't want to make it even harder on us. I also believe that she waited until the morning so that we would all go home and sleep. Sunday was spent counting her breaths per minute decrease throughout the day, the pauses in between them longer and longer.We were all exhausted and weary.

My knees, so steady as I ran the halls, felt weak and I grabbed at the nearest chair. I knew this was coming. Hospice had been involved for days. She was on a morphine drip. It was her time, but it didn't make it any easier. I hugged her goodbye, knowing full well she was already gone. She was still warm.

As the other members of my family arrived, I moved to a chair on the other side of the room. I felt nauseated, the emotional turbulence and exhaustion of the week reaching a peak. And then I had to help my grandfather get to her room with the use of a wheelchair because he simply could not walk. Watching 65 years of marriage end was brutal.

After some time, we made arrangements with the funeral home, took her personal things and left the room. The nurses from the stroke unit lined the halls, busy with their morning routines. They had grown invested in my Grammom's care and ours this week. I wanted to hug and thank them all but I just didn't have the energy.

We went to her house and started searching for necessary documents and pictures to use at her memorial service later this week. We found things that broke our hearts: money that she had saved up for this very occasion so as not to be a burden, bags full of cards (one for father's day for my pop-pop, a birthday card for my dad, and Halloween cards for the girls next year), and drawings and photos and mementos that she had kept all these years. Virtually everything we ever drew for her, every card we ever sent her, she kept.

And then we went to the funeral home to arrange her services. It took us hours to do so and it was a nightmare. At one point, I was pretty sure I was going to throw up in one of the caskets in the "showroom." Later, my Mom told me she felt the same way. One thing continued to echo in my head as he showed us these intricate caskets and gently broke the insane prices to us. During her last hospital stay, my Grammom told me "I don't need a Cadillac of a casket. You just throw dirt on it anyway." We ended up choosing something simple, yet pretty. My Grammom would still think it's overkill.

Then we had to drive to the cemetery to mark her pre-paid grave. Thank God she had done that because it saved us several hours and it was already after 4 p.m., all of us running on only half a muffin and some coffee. We stood in the rainy cemetery under huge umbrellas and the tears started again.

Last night, I came home and wrote her obituary because I didn't want just the standard stuff. She was so much more than that to all of us. After an 18 hour day, I finally went to sleep.

This morning, I used more under-eye concealer than usual and tried to head off to campus, but my car battery was dead. After a jump, I was on my way, but thanks to a detour I didn't make it on time.

Then I had my appointment with the plastic surgeon for my knee who gave me three options, none of which he thinks will be covered by my insurance because they will deem it "cosmetic," when in fact it's more "reconstructive" than anything else. He told me he would try his best to get it covered and I told him I'd be happy to kneel in front of the insurance people so that they could see that the looks of my knee are really secondary to the pain I feel each and every day that I live with a protruding screw and nothing but skin and bone in that area.

Later in the day, I went to my parent's house to meet with the Pastor and prepare materials for her services later this week. It was an emotionally trying day. Tonight, I wrote her eulogy that I'm going to try my best to get through without having to hand it over to Mr. BBM to finish reading.

I am just completely worn out, and the worst part of all of this is that I can't even go to my go-to gal who would always make me feel better. She is gone and I miss her so much already.