by Stephanie
Lennon
Once
Grandpa’s heart gave out, there was no point in Nana continuing her treatments.
“Stop
the dialysis and she’ll be gone within a week,” the doctors had said.
Five
years prior, at their fiftieth wedding anniversary, Grandpa had joked that the
next fifty would be much easier. We were all hesitant to laugh, knowing even
then that neither of them were in great shape.
A
family meeting was called. Nana wasn’t “fully there” anymore, so she didn’t
have much of a say in her own damn demise.
She
just knew that she wanted to be with Grandpa.
~
~ ~
The
nursing home moved her into a private room. Hospice workers from a nearby
center were assigned to check on her. A nurse. A priest. A social worker. To
help Nana transition. And to help us
watch her go.
Apparently
it takes a village when we die, too.
The
first few days felt like a giant family reunion. Without the stress of
dialysis, Nana was almost herself again.
She
even flirted with the priest from the hospice center. Said he looked cute in
his collared shirt.
Nana
had never been afraid to speak her mind. Hell, at Grandpa’s funeral she looked
straight-faced at the attractive EMT volunteering his time to escort her and
said “I’m single now, you know.”
For
days, family members rotated in and out of that tiny room, taking shifts as if
Nana were a dangerous criminal plotting her escape.
Every
now and then, she’d open her eyes and look around the room. Each time, it
brought me back to dinner at her kitchen table.
She
would always ask “How many are we?” when deciding the seating chart for the
evening.
Surrounded
by her favorite people in the world, Nana radiated happiness. She was the
reason we were all together. She was the sun, and we were the planets in her
orbit, unsure of where we would go once her light went out.
~
~ ~
Every
two hours a nurse would come to kick us out and pull the curtains closed. Turns
out when you spend all day every day in bed, your skin slowly eats itself if
left unchecked.
My
uncle would take this opportunity to sneak out for a cigarette. One time he
came back with a Snickers bar for Nana, who had been diabetic for as long as I
could remember.
Whenever
we visited my grandparents’ old house, my mom would give Nana a hard time about
the ice cream in her freezer or the Ring Dings in her cupboard.
“You
cheating again, Mom?” she’d say.
“I’m
old. I can do what I want,” was her readied response.
She’s
right, of course. After a while, what’s the point? Especially once you find
yourself staring up at the last ceiling tiles you’ll ever see.
~
~ ~
She
didn’t have the strength to tear open that Snickers wrapper, but she sure
wouldn’t let it go once she had it.
One
bite. Two bites. A quick nap to regain some strength for the third. A solid
grip, even with her eyes closed and her stomach struggling to remember how to
digest it. She never did finish it.
We
sat in a circle around her hospital bed. Made horrible jokes about the death
grip she had on such a long-lost comfort food. Her rosary was nestled in her
palm beneath it. It seems comfort comes in many forms.
My cousin slid a goofy-looking pair of wireless headphones over Nana’s ears, deflated gray curls settling underneath.
My cousin slid a goofy-looking pair of wireless headphones over Nana’s ears, deflated gray curls settling underneath.
Through
the Bluetooth on his phone, he cued up Nana’s favorite: Elvis Presley. We
watched as her shoulders shifted up and down and her lips moved along with the
words, a star in her own silent movie. Joy in its purest form.
~
~ ~
Her
most lucid day came toward the end of the week. I sat next to her bed, holding
her wrinkly hand in mine.
I
knew this was going to be my last chance to ask the world’s wisest lady the
world’s most important questions. With fifty-five years of marriage under her
belt, I knew exactly what to ask.
“Nana,
how did you know Grandpa was the one?”
A
smile spread across her face like a pat of melting butter on Grandpa’s hot
potato pancakes.
“Argyle socks,” was all she could muster before getting lost in her black-and-white-photograph past.
“Argyle socks,” was all she could muster before getting lost in her black-and-white-photograph past.
I
couldn’t help but laugh. I squeezed her hand to bring her back from those early
days.
“Special boy in your life?” she asked, each word a struggle.
“Special boy in your life?” she asked, each word a struggle.
“Not
yet, Nana.”
“You’ll
just know, Stephie-doo. Trust me.”
I
trust you, Nana.
~
~ ~
As
the week came to a close, the hospice nurse told us that we should leave the
windows open. This would make it easier for her soul to pass through once she
was ready.
Once
everyone had had their chance to say goodbye.
She
was stubborn and selfless until the very end, refusing to let go until everyone
around her was asleep. Waiting for that perfect moment, as if she didn’t want
to leave anyone with the burden of seeing it happen.
Nana
had been without Grandpa for exactly fourteen days. She was ready to be back
with him, where she belonged. To finish up those next fifty years of marriage.
Stephanie
Lennon lives, teaches, and writes in Brooklyn, NY. Her work has been featured
on UbiquitousBooks.com. She is currently writing a middle grades fantasy novel
titled Miss White's School for Vivacious Voices.
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