a birthday and death

Today would have been my grandmother's 77th birthday. She died on August 4th of last year.

Her death is on my mind a lot lately. Not so much her dying, but her actual death.

Did she get the death she wanted? Do any of us?

I know it is often something we have no power over at all. An airplane could crash into the building I am sitting in right now and we could all be toast. Just like that.

However, sometimes we know when we are close to death and choices are made about what our death is going to be like. Where will we die? Who will be with us? How much are we going to fight?

Once my grandmother was diagnosed with stage IV cancer, she tried chemo, hoping to eek out a few more months. She only got a few weeks. Her body rapidly started to shut-down. She moved into hospice care, a decision she had made prior to getting so sick. She was completely no code (requisite for hospice care). She was in a nursing home and was on oxygen to help make her comfortable. She was also on morphine to try to make the excrutiating pain somewhat less so. My mom and aunt did their best to make the nursing home room as friendly and "home-like" as possible. My mom made a nice bulletin board of pictures of the family and cards family and friends had sent. She had a TV which mostly sat on FoodTV for distraction. There were flowers and plants. My mom stayed there all day and only left for a few hours overnight. When it was very close to the end my aunt and I did the same. My grandmother was too sick to tell us if that is what she wanted. I hope it was.

The day before her death she rapidly declined and was in an incredible amount of pain. We did our best to make her comfortable. I wish I had had the words to ask her or talk to her about how she felt about dying. I didn't know what or how to say it and I regret that. She knew she was dying. We did talk about that some, but she was mostly stoic and silent. That night we, my aunt, my mom, and I, stayed in her room with her all night. I sat in a chair next to her bed, listening to her labored and slow breathing terrified she was going to die while I was watching her. I didn't know what was going to happen, or how, or how I would react or what to do. She continued to breath through the night, slowly slipping further and further from us.

I went back to my parents' house (about a half mile from the nursing home) with my aunt very early in the morning to sleep some. My mom stayed in the room with my grandmother. I walked back to the nursing home sometime around 10am. My mom, uncle, and grandfather were there. My mom said my grandmother's breathing was becoming more slow and erratic. I told my grandmother I loved her and she should try to rest. A CNA came in to take my grandmother's vitals. Everyone left the room but me. The CNA put the blood pressure cuff on my grandmother's arm and she screamed a deep, painful scream. I told her it was OK. Then she stopped breathing. The CNA and I looked at each other and waited a moment and decided that yes, she had really died. She said she would go get a nurse to declare it. I looked out the room into the hallway and indicated to my mom that it was over. Bammie, my grandmother, had died.

Was it the death she wanted?

I'll never know.

All I know is that today, on her birthday, it is on my mind. What is also on my mind is that there will be no birthday phone calls to make, no dread carrot cake to eat with her (her favorite), and no family lunch. Death is like that. It is marked by an instant, but its presence is palpable for years.

the bigots are at it again

Too pissed off to comment reasonably.

AUSTIN, Texas - The state House tentatively approved legislation that would prohibit homosexuals and bisexuals from becoming foster parents.

Legislators voted 81-58 Tuesday to approve the ban in an amendment tacked on to a bill that would revamp the state's Child Protective Services agency. The full bill was tentatively approved 126-16. Final approval was expected Wednesday.

"It is our responsibility to make sure that we protect our most vulnerable children and I don't think we are doing that if we allow a foster parent that is homosexual or bisexual," said Rep. Robert Talton, a Republican, who introduced the amendment.

More at the link, of course.

I guess I should be glad that they see bisexuality as real enough to fear and loathe as much as they fear and loathe homosexuality.

cool fuel price site

Often in the course of my job I find things that may be interesting to others. Today it is a great fuel-price tracking site. That it is drillable by market is quite interesting.

Even more interesting is this related site: a fuel cost calculator

of birthdays and death, part II

[Warning: If you wish to avoid reading about death and dying read no further]

The silence of death is what we are most ill prepared for. For me, it was turning off Bammie's oxygen tank and television and hearing how silent the room became. It was having to take down all the family photos and cards from the room's bulletin board. It was having to empty her closet and drawers at the nursing home. It was boxing everything up and walking it down the halls of the facility to our cars with the other residents and staff watching. There are only a few reasons why anyone leaves a nursing home, and this was the one most other residents and families were not looking forward to.

The stark silence of that room after she died, after her body had been removed stays with me. I kept walking in expecting to see her in the bed, then remembered, belatedly, that she was no longer there. The silence of tears and saddness is a difficult silence to bear.

Right after Bammie died I left the room and called ptor and catzen. I also called my grandparents' assisted living facility to let them know the news. Other family members went into the room to be with her body. I didn't want to. I felt done. I watched from the hallway as my family went in and out of the room, saw my mom sobbing against my dad, my aunt crying my the bed, my uncle silent and stoic, my grandfather slightly confused and uncomfortable, and me in the hallway distracting myself with phone calls and the necessary business of death.

When it was time, we all waited in the hallway as the mortician came to pick up her body. The nursing home staff closed all the other resident doors so as not to upset them with the sight of a fellow resident being wheeled out. It felt like an unwelcome but necessary ritual was about to take place. I guess it was. The mortician wheeled her out and it was silent, save for the painfully everyday sounds of phones ringing and birds chirping. He wore a navy suit and covered her body with a purple velvet cloth and I thought about what an odd job he job he had. As he was wheeling her body out, I noticed the velvet cloth was wrinkled and it bothered me in some deep and painful way. And then I realized that it hardly mattered.