And life goes on....

"She's in there. In her box. Go say bye to her." There was a momentary pause before she concluded, "She's dead." She led her cousins into the room...

Its taken quite a bit of explaining (and more I'm sure) to get my daughter to comprehend that her great-grandmother is dead. Since she was born, every other week, she's gone to the nursing home to see her. Those trips will be no more. Well, there's one scheduled for Thursday to take the nurses a nice basket of crap and to show the kid that her great-grandmother isn't in her bed anymore. That she, in fact, didn't go back to the nursing home from the cemetery like the kid thinks she may have.

I didn't know what to do when she wanted to touch her. Finally I decided that it wasn't the end of the world. I let her touch the deceased's hand. In order for her to do it, she wanted me to do it first. Now I will look at a dead person all day long...but touch one?? Its a thought that's always frightened me. I stretched out my arm and paused a moment just over her hands, which were neatly placed on top of each other on her stomach. Then I did it. Just for a second at first, but then I grabbed her hands. It wasn't horrible at all. Just really cold. And sort of stiff. I looked at her emaciated, frail, old arms. How sad. She hadn't eaten in nearly 2 weeks. She stood nearly 6 feet tall but weighed only 116 lbs. at the time of her death. She always went on eating strikes when something didn't go her way, but eventually she'd eat again. This time it never happened.

We knew it was coming, but no one expected it to be this soon. Perhaps in a few months; maybe next year. When my husband came in from work and told me that she had died, I couldn't move. I just stood in the hallway with my jaw agape. I did mutter a "what??" but that was all. I waited for emotion to overcome me because I loved the old woman dearly, but nothing happened. I didn't know why yet.

When I saw her in her "box" I knew why I never cried before. There she lay, in a pristine coral colored floral dress (complete with belt and all - totally her style)...as dignified and beautiful as she was until the day she had a stroke. Even though I loved visiting her in the nursing home (the stories...ohhhhh the stories) I hated seeing her the way she was. Her hair was always a mess, her fingernails were always dirty and unkempt, and to top it off, they made her wear pants. Until her stroke, the woman never wore a pair of pants a day in her life. Her nails were always neatly manicured and her hair was immaculate. She lost her dignity the day she had the stroke and she never enjoyed life after that. The only thing she looked forward to was seeing our little girl. That was the only thing that brought her joy.

The last time I saw her (last month), she looked worse than she ever had. I told my husband on the way home, "I hope its sooner rather than later." speaking of her death. He agreed. After all, it was his grandmother, and he hated seeing her like that more than anybody.

When I saw her lying in her casket that was covered in beautiful red roses, I cried at first, but when I stepped back and looked at how beautiful she was again, I began to smile. I smiled all evening long. Her dignity was back, and even though she had to die to get it, I was glad she had it again.

She almost made it to her 89th birthday. But we all know that almost only counts in horse-shoes and hand-grenades. Oh well. We buried her yesterday. I'm glad its over.

Now life will go on; minus one extraordinary lady.