On June Tenth, Twenty Twenty Two- I drove with my daughter to USC Keck Hospital to stand over my Grandma's bed watching her stare off into what looked like sheer misery. A tube down her nose to gain some sort of nutrition, two IV's (which alone made me cringe). But a look at times in her eyes that she knew we were there. She knew her daughter "Nettie" was there and she knew her daughter "Lyn" was there. She suffered a stroke.
Kali and I not sure what to say or do, just attempting to help her be more comfortable. I began to caress her forehead and hair, soon she reached up. I realized she didn't want me to mess her hair up.
Glimmers of hope would blossom, then fade again as each doctor would make their appearances with grim outlooks.
I learned many things from her. Not much in the way of nurturing or mothering, but more of beautification. She always reminded us to "make yourself look presentable" no matter what, where, how and with who. We learned to serve our men good meals. "Food is the way to a man's heart", if you will. With all due respect, it's something I cherish and feel this generation is taught different.
Her heels would match her purse. Always a handbag worth carrying, not always strapped over her shoulder. She loathed the sun. Her skin whispered that until her last days. Putting your purse on the ground was just not the place for it to be. Walking barefoot around the house would indefinitely cause us to become sick or our womanly insides would later suffer. She was Portuguese. She was beautiful. We just had a surfer dad, so barefoot and sun runnin' were these two little girls. And to this day you'll probably never find me with glitter, shimmer or fancy high heels....
Her home is the only home that never changed in my Fifty Two years on this Earth. The same right turns from the exit of Valley Blvd off the 605 fwy. Waking up as a little girl in the back seat next to my sister as we made a huge curve on the street leading closer to her house. We'd wake knowing how close we were. The scent in her home ranged from a fresh batch of beans slowly cooking, to acetone and nail polish. Or, at times, she'd just dyed her hair and the aroma of Loreal would fill that big ol' house.
Last week we all stood around her family room, living room, back patio and kitchen and all I kept thinking was....this is it. This is the last pages of this book. It was so surreal.
She was sent home on hospice and left this Earth 11 days later. To say we all experienced adrenaline, sadness, laughter, love, heartbreak, tension and frustration is an understatement. It was like we were all in a movie we'd seen a million times. Yet this movie was real and we were all witnessing and watching it end. We'd all speak to her, with hopes she'd open her eyes just a little bit more. And some times she did. I caught three different occasions of which I know for sure it was NOT a reflex as the hospice nurse said. I strongly disagreed. With 2 strokes, end stages of dementia, she knew who, and what was in front of her.
She knew when I called my sister to speak to her and I held the phone slightly to her ear. She held the phone and opened her eyes. My sister was a familiar face. A favorite first grandbaby, if you will. She knew my cousin Mike and gave him a expression I will never forget...(he was another favorite of hers) And for sure my uncle Harry whom she smirked at. We can call them "reflex's", but I call them love.
Her three daughters Lynda, Nettie and Susie there from sun up to sun down. Round' the clock. Never leaving her side. Her partner Gene for 28 years never wanting to throw the reality towel in. She was fading. Her two oldest daughters flew in and flew back out with a haze of the unknown of how to handle the last pages. Her only son handling it the best he could, with denial covering his heart. His mama.
For some reason, I held strong. I kept thinking, this isn't the way she should go. This breathing part sucks. This hand holding, ice chips, frozen cranberry juice and morphine is just out right a fucked up way to leave.
And then I thought....just slip away grandma. Just go...
We all know I've questioned religion, and at times still do. I whispered in her ear, Grandma, it's okay....you can go. Gene will be okay, the girls will be okay and her only mijo (not sure how to spell that) but her only son Alex...would be okay.
She held on.
Annette, Lynda, Susie and Alex did too.
On Wednesday, June 22, 2022- The lightening, thunder, rain and in some places hail....the skies opened up and embraced my grandma. She loved rainy days.
My aunts and sister fixed her up. The call to hospice and mortuary to come and gather the love of their life. Our love. The matriarch of the family. The top of the tier.
Gone.
So the dignity her daughters and first granddaughter gave to her. Makeup, a little lipstick and some style to her hair.
She lost a daughter (our aunt Arlene in 1983)- So I just kept thinking....If there is a Heaven. If God is there....could you imagine seeing your daughter. Could you imagine seeing grandchildren that left before you.
I learned a few things during that week of family gathering together. I learned what the look of the last pages of a book filled with 91 Chapters. I learned how heartbreak and grief can bring people together and yet I learned how it can cause friction.
I'll miss her even though I didn't go visit her as much as I should. Guess another example of my own nest, and friendships and travels selfishly stepped in front.
I'm afraid of what will happen with family. The aunts, cousins and uncle we'd all gather at times for all the times. Good, and bad.
I come from a silly family, it's where I get my inappropriate laughter at the worse times. We pull silly out of sadness.
I'll miss hearing the ice cream truck coming down her street. I'll miss the race track bobble heads in her family room. I'll miss all the kitties she'd feed. Her love for cats ran deep- Hello Kali, that's your genetics, little one.
So many people used to say, call your mom, call your grandma...and I raise my hand guilty. Before her dementia got bad I'd call her on my way home and the call lingered for so long, sadly I think she forgot what story she was telling me so I'd just answer her questions over and over.
She never forgot Kristopher and his sickness. The day he walked in bald recovering she was so happy he was doing better.
My sister sent me a cute video of her the day I was heading to the hospital and I can't tell you how many times I've watched it. For laughter. Not sadness. She didn't like celebrating her birthday.
I'm grateful for the love she gave us. For the chances to gather at her home, although I know at times (now that I'm older and see how our homes get splattered with the remnants of a good time)-
Lucky to look at her picture and know that I came from her nest. I sprung from her oldest offspring.
Whatever Heaven looks or feels like, I hope she's catching up with Arlene. Her daughter.
I hope she has clarity and the fog she complained about from Dementia is gone.
I'll forever cherish the moments with her.
Sunshine is the only thing I've rebelled against.
The rest, I owe to you beautiful Grandma.
I'll always take care of Bill.
I'll cook good food, enjoy a good cocktail and laugh at all the things I shouldn't.
Not sure about high heels I still battle that one...
But I'll always put make-up on to look "presentable".
You've exited this blurry world.
Beautiful Grandma.....Linda-
May 1st, 1933- June 22, 2022
Departed on the stormiest day of June....
The mother of 7 Children......6 Girls, and 1 Boy....
