Back in May of last year, I wrote a post here entitled “On Death and Dying”. In it I explained my default reaction to for dealing with death: ignoring it. It’s a tactic that has served me well up to this point. I hypothesized that that might be because I had yet to experience a “real” death, that is, the death of someone I was close to. I ended the post by teasing that I’d probably be writing about death again in about six months. Of course, at the time, I thought I’d be writing about the death of my long time family pet, my dog Tucker. Well, it’s now nearly eleven months later and Tucker is still with us. As about 8:00 tonight, my Grandmother is not.
She had had some health problems in recent years, but nothing especially life threatening. My grandparents spend most of the winter in Arizona, hiding from the harsh Edmonton weather. They returned to Edmonton two weeks ago, and since their return my Grandma has been in some of the best spirits I’ve ever seen her in. On Easter Sunday we all spent the day at her house – both her kids, their spouses, and all of the grandkids, save my brother and his wife. She was thrilled to announce that she and my Grandpa were selling their house and moving into a condo, and she was keen to give away things to all of us. Things she’d made, things she’d bought, things we used to love when we were little, we were digging out memories from all over the place. On Monday, she spent the day with my mom (her daughter), and then had my brother and his wife over for dinner. On Friday, she and my Grandpa went over to my brother’s house for dinner. All in all, a pretty great last week.
At 6:10 tonight, we had just sat down for dinner when the phone rang. I answered expecting, through the magic of Caller ID, to hear Grandma or Grandpa on the other end. Instead, it was a male voice I didn’t recognize, and he asked to speak to my mom. I handed her the phone, and then watched the color drain from her face. The only words she spoke were “Is my mom OK?” and “We’ll be right there”. She hung up the phone and was already in shock, pale, and trembling. She told us that Grandma had had an accident in the hot tub, that the fire department was there, and that she thought she could hear Grandpa screaming in the background. She and my dad left immediately to go to their house.
I stayed behind and took care of contacting everyone and making sure they all knew what was going on. I’m not sure why, but somehow I always knew that this would be my role in any kind of a family emergency. It’s not something that’s ever been discussed, but it’s exactly what happened. By the time my parents had left, I had already decided in my mind what had happened, and I knew that she was dead. I called my brother first, and that was one of only two times I showed any emotion. As I told him what was happening, my voice wavered and cracked a little. Even though the words coming from my lips were just that there had been an accident, in my mind I knew I was delivering a death announcement. I quickly got it under control, and then I was fine. I continued to keep everyone in contact, until 8:00 when I received word that she had indeed passed. She had apparently been in the hot tub in the basement at her house for up to 30 minutes before Grandpa found her. The 911 operator tried to walk him through CPR, but by the time paramedics arrived she was pulse-less. The were able to obtain a pulse eventually, but it didn’t last, and she died at the hospital.
I arrived at the hospital with the rest of the grandkids, and we all paid our last respects. It was during the final prayer that the pastor said that I showed emotion for the second time – a single tear as I could hear everyone else sobbing.
Right now, it’s my emotional reaction, or lack thereof, that I’m dwelling on the most. In my previous post I said that I was afraid of and unsure of how I would react, and now I know. More or less no reaction. It’s not that I’m unfeeling – I truly did love my Grandma. Nor is it that I feel some need to be macho and not express any emotion – anyone who has watched films or TV shows with me knows that I can be a pretty big sap. So, am I in shock? I don’t think so, none of the other symptoms are present. I did have a couple of hours by myself to come to grips with it before it had even actually occurred, perhaps something that everyone else was not fortunate enough to have had. During that time there was some sense of loss, but I was never really hit hard by it. I think the most likely answer is that, like so many other things, I’ve simply compartmentalized it. This time though, as is becoming increasingly common, I can’t even access that compartment when I want to. I’m fairly certain this isn’t going to be healthy for me later in life, but what can I do about it.
Of course, the grief may come later. I’m not sure that I really want it to, though. In my last post, on the subject of grief I wrote:
It’s not even a question of heaven or hell or just disappearing into nothingness. Where you go when you die is important for the person doing the dying, not those left behind, though you could argue that believing they went to a better place would make it easier on the survivors, I’m not sure it would really make that much of a difference. Let’s be honest, grief is an essentially selfish emotion. You’re not really feeling bad for the person who died, your feeling bad because they died - you feel bad for yourself. Your dwelling on what you’ll miss about them, what your life will be missing, how you will be negatively impacted. It sounds callous, but I think if we were really honest with ourselves, most people would agree. Believing the deceased is in a better place does nothing to make your life better, so I don’t foresee it doing much to alleviate the grief.
I still stand by that thinking. I also understand that death is a natural and important part of life. Again, from that previous post I keep referencing:
I also want it to eventually end. I have no interest in living forever (though as a bit of a tech junkie, I wouldn’t mind getting to see the technology that will be developed in the next few hundred years). In order for anything to be truly appreciated or worthwhile, it must have an end. Living forever, whether you were the only one able to do so or if everyone suddenly could, would be pointless and actually depressing. If someone offered me eternal life, I don’t think it would take much thought on my part before I turned it down. Continuous youth for a normal lifespan? I’d take it in a heartbeat, but eternal life, not so much.
So she went without having to live through a long, drawn out, painful illness. The early indications are that she didn’t drown, so it was probably a relatively peaceful death. And she had spent a lot of time during her last week with the people that were most important to her: her family. I guess that sounds like about as much as any of us could ask for.
Sleep well,
DTE
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Songs of the moment:
The Dandy Warhols – Blackbird; Mike Doughty – 27 Jennifers; Ben Folds Five – One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces
Music while I wrote:
Michael Jackson – Number Ones
