Ten Things
Apr. 13th, 2008 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
minxyProposition:
1. There is something about families, about the nurtured sense of humor, the timing, the wit and the need for it, that lets people who haven't seen each other in twelve million years (Uncle's words) slip right back into familiarity and a sense of intimacy that should feel false, but doesn't.
2. That said, it is still incredibly obvious, if you know where to look, that these people are siblings, this is a step-sibling, but without a great deal of differentiation to the next generation, all are equally aunts and uncles. This is the eldest child, this the middle, this the baby, but the baby has been closest (along with the step-sibling) for so many years that stereotypes are bucked, and he is in the game with full responsibility.
3. No one, but no one, sees change like family. The doctors and nurses see an affable, agreeable, flirty woman in my Nana. We see a woman defaulting to her natural charm in the absence of ability to process or answer the question. Yes, she is flirting with you using funny, complicated wit and sarcasm. She is doing it because she cannot think of a way to answer your question. Also, there is no way she is going to feed herself from that tray, even if she says she can, because she's trying to give you the answer you want, but she won't be able to figure out how to make it work. She is charming and flirty and agreeable, it's in her bones; her mind is not processing complex, or even fairly simple questions and problems, though. At all.
4. When unable to converse with a formally sharp, funny woman skilled in the art of conversation, some of her children will: try to give her as many options in simple language as possible so she has as much control as possible, get a little panicky and try to feed her huge amounts of tapioca to ensure that she *eats*, dammit, step in and act as nurse, so she sees a familiar (capable, 37-years of nursing experience) face, or simply spend as much time in the room as possible, saying reassuring or happy things, to make reassuring, happy noises. Grandchildren will: bring their significant others so that the introductions are made, come as often as possible and prop up a wall if no other course of action presents itself, or (me) smile, make eye contact, read letters if requested, smile some more and bring daffodils.
5. I think a huge amount of doctoring, and particularly making the transition to palliative care, is gauging a patient's changes (see 3, above.) When a patient does not or will not or cannot express need, and the patient's family begins speaking for them, it must be a hard line to walk to understand whom to believe. That said, I really don't understand why some people become doctors. Thank God for strong women, and a myriad of experience on both caregiver and patient sides of the matter in my family. Yes, hello, we will now transfer her to a place we can leave her overnight without fear that you won't come when she calls. Also? The doctors and nurses at the hospital we like listen exceptionally well. Bye.
6. The importance of material things is fascinating. I found two inches of photographs from my childhood that I'd never seen before and have brought home. My aunt also gave me a few of Nana's knitting patterns and some formal prints of my parent's wedding. It is of preeminent import to my Mother that all my cousins and I find some way to put into words 4-5 objects or things or pieces of furniture that would be meaningful to us to inherit. This is supremely difficult. It feels like graverobbing before the ceremony is completed. I understand why Mom wants this information, though, and while Nana has a full will that makes things easier, there are a lot of non-specific areas. I'm still the only cousin who's written anything down for her. My brother can barely verbally express himself on the subject and it throws my cousin into a wide-eyed, silent, emotional panic. I really don't think any of us will fight over anything, not cousins, not aunts and uncles, not spouses of same, but it's wierd see-sawing between 'oh my God, how can I *choose* something?' and 'oh my God, how can these five *objects* possibly encompass all my memories of this woman?'
7. I never know whether I've fully or effectively expressed myself during times like this, but I have faith that smiles can say love and permission and reassurance. I'm not sure the insubstantial words themselves would have meant more to Nana. I think my Mom could stand to hear reassurance and pride and love over and over again, though. I'm still trying to find a copy of this card I saw once that had the words 'you know, even if she weren't my mother, I'd still want to be friends with her,' on it, over a neat vintage looking collage. Anyone seen those lately?
8. I love that my last memories of my grandmother are going to be her rallying and spending a few hours upright and outside for her 83rd birthday party. We brought her chocolate and springtime flowers and a new watch and she was engaged and responsive the whole time. "Oh, you threw away my last watch," she said when Aunt presented her with a new one (it was so, so broken for so, so long) or who, when Aunt loudly insisted on singing the 'how o-old are you? How O-Old Are You? HOW O-OLD ARE YO-OU? HOW OLD ARE YOU!!!!' section and then stage whisper the answer, stage whispered back "O-KAY!" to general laughter and appreciation. She'll probably sleep through the next two days to recover from sitting for so long, but it was an incredibly gracious moment, when we all were there and the weather was so fine. Nana loves gardens and springtime. Also she tells everyone that my aunt threw away her watch; fortunately everyone, including Aunt, finds this hilarious.
9. A week ago, two weeks ago, something like that, my Mother says this happened: Nana's things (deeply important to her) were arriving on the moving truck and they were going to organize them in her assisted living apartment. Nana, despite usually sleeping at least until 11, with a routine of staying up about three hours at a stretch between naps at that time, got up at 7 to get ready to meet the movers.
And then promptly fell down in her room, safely and without injury, but she couldn't get up, and my Mom, the disabled cancer survivor, couldn't lift her either. After a while of trying to get my dad on the phone (in a meeting) and various other futile attempts to get up, Nana quit telling *stories* about the other times she's fallen and said 'You know, Debbie threw away my watch, but I'm pretty sure the movers will be here soon, and you should go meet them."
So Mom, at a complete loss, leaves her on the floor of her room and goes to meet the movers and get them started. She arrives back home to find that my Dad has gotten her messages and is there to help get Nana on her feet, so is feeling a little better about the general abandonment. Going in to get Nana, they have to wake her up (blood disease, no energy, sleeps a lot) and she says (I am not kidding), "Oh, I've had such a nice rest! Shall we go make sure the movers are putting things in the right place?" And merrily they do exactly that, having a long day but ending with Nana being so excited about her new place. She never moved into it properly, of course, because she found the bed suddenly inaccessible, and two days after that couldn't figure out how to put one foot in front of the other to walk, but it just exemplifies her adaptability and geniality. Even in the face of all this.
So I understand why my Mom and Aunts and Uncle are so carefully considering what hospice care is available and whether they can get her back with her things, but really, I believe that she is dying just as gracefully and graciously as she could have hoped.
So. And things.
10. Death at old age is really a different kind of beast, isn't it? I remember such shock and anger and fight in us when my Mom got cancer at 49, or my Dad had a heart attack at 59. There is this innate sense that THIS IS NOT THE TIME. But not in this case, not with Nana and her painless sleeping disease at 83. And the absence of anger, of fight or of shock at any of it is almost palpable, but I think it is a gift to let you explore just the plethora of ways you love the person you are inevitably losing. And loss most certainly is a thing to be feared, whether rightly or not.
It's still a great and terrible, common and extraordinary, process and event.
1. There is something about families, about the nurtured sense of humor, the timing, the wit and the need for it, that lets people who haven't seen each other in twelve million years (Uncle's words) slip right back into familiarity and a sense of intimacy that should feel false, but doesn't.
2. That said, it is still incredibly obvious, if you know where to look, that these people are siblings, this is a step-sibling, but without a great deal of differentiation to the next generation, all are equally aunts and uncles. This is the eldest child, this the middle, this the baby, but the baby has been closest (along with the step-sibling) for so many years that stereotypes are bucked, and he is in the game with full responsibility.
3. No one, but no one, sees change like family. The doctors and nurses see an affable, agreeable, flirty woman in my Nana. We see a woman defaulting to her natural charm in the absence of ability to process or answer the question. Yes, she is flirting with you using funny, complicated wit and sarcasm. She is doing it because she cannot think of a way to answer your question. Also, there is no way she is going to feed herself from that tray, even if she says she can, because she's trying to give you the answer you want, but she won't be able to figure out how to make it work. She is charming and flirty and agreeable, it's in her bones; her mind is not processing complex, or even fairly simple questions and problems, though. At all.
4. When unable to converse with a formally sharp, funny woman skilled in the art of conversation, some of her children will: try to give her as many options in simple language as possible so she has as much control as possible, get a little panicky and try to feed her huge amounts of tapioca to ensure that she *eats*, dammit, step in and act as nurse, so she sees a familiar (capable, 37-years of nursing experience) face, or simply spend as much time in the room as possible, saying reassuring or happy things, to make reassuring, happy noises. Grandchildren will: bring their significant others so that the introductions are made, come as often as possible and prop up a wall if no other course of action presents itself, or (me) smile, make eye contact, read letters if requested, smile some more and bring daffodils.
5. I think a huge amount of doctoring, and particularly making the transition to palliative care, is gauging a patient's changes (see 3, above.) When a patient does not or will not or cannot express need, and the patient's family begins speaking for them, it must be a hard line to walk to understand whom to believe. That said, I really don't understand why some people become doctors. Thank God for strong women, and a myriad of experience on both caregiver and patient sides of the matter in my family. Yes, hello, we will now transfer her to a place we can leave her overnight without fear that you won't come when she calls. Also? The doctors and nurses at the hospital we like listen exceptionally well. Bye.
6. The importance of material things is fascinating. I found two inches of photographs from my childhood that I'd never seen before and have brought home. My aunt also gave me a few of Nana's knitting patterns and some formal prints of my parent's wedding. It is of preeminent import to my Mother that all my cousins and I find some way to put into words 4-5 objects or things or pieces of furniture that would be meaningful to us to inherit. This is supremely difficult. It feels like graverobbing before the ceremony is completed. I understand why Mom wants this information, though, and while Nana has a full will that makes things easier, there are a lot of non-specific areas. I'm still the only cousin who's written anything down for her. My brother can barely verbally express himself on the subject and it throws my cousin into a wide-eyed, silent, emotional panic. I really don't think any of us will fight over anything, not cousins, not aunts and uncles, not spouses of same, but it's wierd see-sawing between 'oh my God, how can I *choose* something?' and 'oh my God, how can these five *objects* possibly encompass all my memories of this woman?'
7. I never know whether I've fully or effectively expressed myself during times like this, but I have faith that smiles can say love and permission and reassurance. I'm not sure the insubstantial words themselves would have meant more to Nana. I think my Mom could stand to hear reassurance and pride and love over and over again, though. I'm still trying to find a copy of this card I saw once that had the words 'you know, even if she weren't my mother, I'd still want to be friends with her,' on it, over a neat vintage looking collage. Anyone seen those lately?
8. I love that my last memories of my grandmother are going to be her rallying and spending a few hours upright and outside for her 83rd birthday party. We brought her chocolate and springtime flowers and a new watch and she was engaged and responsive the whole time. "Oh, you threw away my last watch," she said when Aunt presented her with a new one (it was so, so broken for so, so long) or who, when Aunt loudly insisted on singing the 'how o-old are you? How O-Old Are You? HOW O-OLD ARE YO-OU? HOW OLD ARE YOU!!!!' section and then stage whisper the answer, stage whispered back "O-KAY!" to general laughter and appreciation. She'll probably sleep through the next two days to recover from sitting for so long, but it was an incredibly gracious moment, when we all were there and the weather was so fine. Nana loves gardens and springtime. Also she tells everyone that my aunt threw away her watch; fortunately everyone, including Aunt, finds this hilarious.
9. A week ago, two weeks ago, something like that, my Mother says this happened: Nana's things (deeply important to her) were arriving on the moving truck and they were going to organize them in her assisted living apartment. Nana, despite usually sleeping at least until 11, with a routine of staying up about three hours at a stretch between naps at that time, got up at 7 to get ready to meet the movers.
And then promptly fell down in her room, safely and without injury, but she couldn't get up, and my Mom, the disabled cancer survivor, couldn't lift her either. After a while of trying to get my dad on the phone (in a meeting) and various other futile attempts to get up, Nana quit telling *stories* about the other times she's fallen and said 'You know, Debbie threw away my watch, but I'm pretty sure the movers will be here soon, and you should go meet them."
So Mom, at a complete loss, leaves her on the floor of her room and goes to meet the movers and get them started. She arrives back home to find that my Dad has gotten her messages and is there to help get Nana on her feet, so is feeling a little better about the general abandonment. Going in to get Nana, they have to wake her up (blood disease, no energy, sleeps a lot) and she says (I am not kidding), "Oh, I've had such a nice rest! Shall we go make sure the movers are putting things in the right place?" And merrily they do exactly that, having a long day but ending with Nana being so excited about her new place. She never moved into it properly, of course, because she found the bed suddenly inaccessible, and two days after that couldn't figure out how to put one foot in front of the other to walk, but it just exemplifies her adaptability and geniality. Even in the face of all this.
So I understand why my Mom and Aunts and Uncle are so carefully considering what hospice care is available and whether they can get her back with her things, but really, I believe that she is dying just as gracefully and graciously as she could have hoped.
So. And things.
10. Death at old age is really a different kind of beast, isn't it? I remember such shock and anger and fight in us when my Mom got cancer at 49, or my Dad had a heart attack at 59. There is this innate sense that THIS IS NOT THE TIME. But not in this case, not with Nana and her painless sleeping disease at 83. And the absence of anger, of fight or of shock at any of it is almost palpable, but I think it is a gift to let you explore just the plethora of ways you love the person you are inevitably losing. And loss most certainly is a thing to be feared, whether rightly or not.
It's still a great and terrible, common and extraordinary, process and event.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 03:42 am (UTC)I'm very glad you and your family were able to gather together to celebrate her birthday and support each other through all this.
*sends good, peaceful, loving thoughts to you and yours*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 05:19 am (UTC)It's a wonderful last memory, and I'm thrilled I was there.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 05:18 am (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 03:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 05:17 am (UTC)*hugs*
Thanks.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 03:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 05:16 am (UTC)I stared at the blank post for the longest time, and then all of a sudden there were all these words. I hope they're true; they feel right.
I hope you're doing alright.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:25 am (UTC)My paternal grandmother broke her leg at about age 93, which devastated and depressed her. Her memory had been failing for a couple of years before that, too. I was in town, by coincidence I think, and was able to entertain her greatly by the odd chance of having something interesting to talk about! I'd recently served on a sequestered jury on a double homicide case, and her eyes were SO big while she and my aunt listened to my stories. It was only 2 or 3 weeks later that I was back in town for her funeral, and my aunt told me how much Grandma had enjoyed my visits, and talked about them after I'd left.
Okay, I'm really not just wallowing on your lj, am I? No. Certainly not. Memories created at sad times are still memories to cherish. And your presence and your smiles have contributed to your grandmother's happiness. But I think you've already grasped those concepts. :-) {{{hugs}}}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 05:15 am (UTC)I love that Nana absolutely knows who each of us are. My (step) Aunt walked into the room and she threw up her hands (AMAZING) and sang 'Oooooohhhhh!!!!' So happy to see her.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 06:08 am (UTC)I'm happy for you that you got those beautiful last memories made. *hugs!*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:27 pm (UTC)Little tragedies, little blessings. It's all connected.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 09:25 am (UTC)When my grandma died, suddenly and unexpectedly, my mom took most of the things that had been in grandma's home, including furniture (the siblings - she has two older sisters - never fought for anything, just took a few things dear to them and left all the furniture to mom). She took those things, put some of them in storage, because they didn't fit anywhere, and proceeded to distribute the rest - various little and medium-sized items, like pictures, calendars, decorations, vases, etc. - all over our house.
All over.
The house became a museum of items that had belonged to my grandma.
Some time later, perhaps days, maybe a week, my dad came in (he works away from home 90% of the time). He looked at the house, looked at mom, sitting there in the midst of all those things, and then he calmly proceeded to take all the stuff down. He left just a few items: a picture here, a Chinese drawing there, a decorated plate on the shelf.
I wasn't home for this, and it was painful to even hear about it, when my mom described it later. She was still a little muted down, but I could see that my dad had broken whatever trance she'd put herself into. I'm not sure what would have happened, and how long it would have lasted, if he hadn't taken those things down.
I took my grandma's bathrobe. In the beginning, it still smelled like her soap.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:44 pm (UTC)My Mom says that when this happened in her childhood (the loss of a grandparent), Nana chose things for her children to inherit that were meaningful to Nana (someone had to have the portraits of dead relatives, because they were *important*,) but turned out to have been deeply not meaningful to my Mom. I think this is what is prompting this need of hers to have us articulate what things speak to us.
My cousin, for example, an artist, finds those portraits really fascinating, I think my Mom is going to pass them to her with this great exchange of memory-laden things in a cathartic gesture.
Nana wants me to have a few things that we've bonded over in the last few years. Her charm bracelet where every bit of silver has a story; I don't know all the stories, but I'll keep it for her. Her wedding china, which is stunning and I will cherish. I have asked for the family silver, which the Uncles and Aunts have all expressed deep ambivalence about (the women have their own silver, I do not intend to place high priority on getting my own set or design or whatever.) I asked for my Grandmother's knitting needle and pattern collection--they'd already earmarked it for me. And something that my grandfather made--a desk, an apothacary set of drawers, a wall-hanging box.
I don't know. I think it's enough to ask for useful things with a story, I think my brother will ask for prints of the area in New York, maps and such, maybe some furniture. So I guess it's enough that we're starting to articulate the meaning we see in things, and I suspect the distribution by my Mom and aunts and uncles will keep us from drowning in another person's possessions. She has a prodigious collection of stuff, really.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 10:31 am (UTC)You are wonderful and eloquent. *more hugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:44 pm (UTC)*hugs back*
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Date: 2008-04-14 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 12:42 pm (UTC)*hugs*
(what really resonated was her defaulting to charm.... my widowed 87 year old grandfather did the same thing. that's a story for another day....sigh. but thank you for sparking those memories.)
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:50 pm (UTC)My instinct is to curl up in a ball by myself and, I don't know, hug a teddy bear or something. I'm glad the attempt to explain is enough and good and, you know, resonant or something. I'm glad.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 05:11 pm (UTC)I need that Daniel with a Teddy Bear icon.....
He did the same thing; he was living alone, depressed, for about a year and a half after my grandmother passed away. And I'd take him to the bank or to the store, and he'd get dressed and put on a tie and speak to the people in the bank who knew him, and make jokes and smile and be all charming.
And then he'd get home and just practically veg out. Not make an effort at all for the family that came around; and he was often downright rude to the housekeeper/cook person... It was so weird to see the contrast.
You're in my thoughts at this difficult time.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 01:30 pm (UTC)I am very glad that you were able to see your Nana and say goodbye. *hugs you*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:54 pm (UTC)*hugs back*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:56 pm (UTC)I've heard these horror stories of family relationships falling apart over things like this, or over things. I'm glad we're not that kind of family.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 04:36 pm (UTC)So, yes: although that may not be true of everybody, it was certainly true of my grandmother.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 05:03 pm (UTC)But she will hold on as long as that's what she thinks people want. And to me, it was becoming clear that the family would need to switch to palliative care, and in that way subtly give permission to fade on her own terms.
I think that's what we were all struggling with this visit, this notion of how hard she was working to stay with us, and be there for us, and how we could make it be okay, could make that choice for her, actually.
Hard thing to do, but important.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-14 06:53 pm (UTC)i think that it's great that you guys are just there for her. it's scarry, but it's also kind of beautiful.