Good-bye, Grandma

A remarkable woman died this morning.

That woman was Ruth, my maternal grandmother. She was in her 90s, and had been in declining health since a broken hip took her off her feet several years ago. Instead of recovering, she got progressively weaker, and her death this morning was neither a surprise, nor really a tragedy. She was ready, and we - her family - were ready.

She was preceded in death (as obituary writers put it) by her husband and her son. For her to outlive her husband is not the least bit unusual... except for the fact that she did so by more than 45 years. He died of cancer in the late 1950s, leaving her a widow, with three children. The oldest of her children (my mother) was already grown and about to get married and start her own family, but she also had a 14-year-old son and a 5-year-old daughter. Ruth managed to raise those children by herself, never remarrying, working in a department store to supplement whatever meager assistance she received from her husband's former employer, the government, and his life insurance. Ever spare dollar, she invested, for the day when she wouldn't be able to work. Think about that: a single, working woman with children, in her 50s. In the 1960s. And not only did her children turn out very well, she kept an immaculate home. It wasn't showy, but it wasn't spartan or plain, either. And she eventually paid it all off.

As you might guess, she was a rather resourceful and strong-willed person. She wouldn't be pushed around by anyone. This was both a good thing and at times a bad thing.

It was a very good thing as it relates to her son. He grew into a man any mother would be proud of: a good student, a pilot and war hero in the Air Force, a state legislator, etc. But then there was the backlash when he co-sponsored a gay rights bill and the local very-conservative voters turned on him. Especially when he refused to deny that he was gay. She didn't flinch in her love or support of him. Meanwhile, her grandson came out as gay - less high profile, but more on-the-record than her son's unspoken homosexuality - and she never wavered for a second in her love for him... that is, for me. And when, years later, her son died of AIDS complications (about the same age as her husband), she withstood all the "shame" from the community, not moving a single inch.

That not-moving was also a bad aspect of her stubbornness. As she became more frail, she refused to move out of her house. She struggled to keep it up as well as she once had. It took a broken hip - which meant that she could barely get around the ground floor, with the upstairs completely inaccessible - and then a stroke, to get her to give in and move into an "assisted living" facility. But since she'd refused to even consider it before, she wasn't on any waiting lists, and had to settle for what limited options were available. And her stubborn refusal to let physical therapists push her around meant that she didn't get any stronger.

She was even a bit stubborn about dying. Not that she wasn't ready; she'd talked from time to time for months about being ready to die. But for whatever reason, she hung on and on and on. She slipped below consciousness yesterday, and the hospice staff called us mid-afternoon saying she probably only had a matter of hours... maybe less... left. We came running, but she continued breathing regularly late into the evening, and we went home. Then around midnight the staff renewed their warning, and we all dragged ourselves (minus her great-grandchildren) out of bed to be with her. But although her breathing became shallower and raspier, she made it through the night, and the mothers ended up leaving to get their sleeping children out of bed and to school, a son-in-law and I both left for work. At about 9:30, she breathed her last.

Although our vigils proved "unnecessary", they were still worth the effort. It was good that the kids (ages 6-15) got to see her in her waning hours. That will help the youngest to connect the dots between her illness and her disappearance from family gatherings, and help them all to see death as a natural part of life, not to be feared per se, but accepted when it comes. And it was good for my sisters, my aunt and uncle, and me to be together like that.

The one "tragedy" of how this happened was the fact that my mother and father weren't there. My father's parents died over 20 years ago, so he's grown closer to his mother-in-law than you might think. My mother has been her primary caregiver in the family, and is also now the matriarch of it. But they're on a well-deserved vacation and won't be back until tomorrow. She stressed out over whether to go, knowing that her mother was in such bad shape, but (sensibly, I think) went. And now her fear has been realised. I hope she can let that go, though. But knowing how much she takes after her mother... I wouldn't count on it.