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feeling: so tired...
listening to: nothing
"I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith."
If Grandma had had the strength to put together any words in her final moments of life this past Saturday, these may very well have been the ones.
She was in pain for years. Even decades. I think they said she first got sick around 1967, and between that and the sorely outdated treatments they gave her for it (namely pumping her full of steroids), her system just went steadily downhill from there. For as long as any of us ever knew her, there was always something giving her physical grief. I couldn't even count all the ailments and complications to be found in her medical history.
Yet despite all that, somehow she managed to be the strong and steadfast central pillar of her entire extended family. She would do anything in her power to help anyone who came to her, from close family to rare acquaintance to total stranger off the street. But most of all she absolutely lived for her family. Many of the literally hundreds of blankets and rugs and other things she crocheted/knitted/sewed in her lifetime went to her kids and grandkids; some of us grandkids even still sleep with blankets she made for us as tiny children (or did until they literally fell apart). For as long as any of us can remember, every summer she had a regular supply of fresh vegetables from her garden for all her sons' families - bags and bags at a time. And oh, the holiday dinners - you have never seen so much food in your life as you'd see at the feasts our Grandma would cook for the annual Christmas Eve party. The cookies themselves could fill a pickup truck, and believe me, not a single one ever went to waste. When we all got together for dinners and holidays and just random barbecues and had some of the best times of our lives... it was for her. When someone needed to just get away and be among company that made them feel loved and content, they went to her. If there was one person we wanted to please and to make proud of us, it was her. If any of us five grandkids has turned out to be even somewhat decent in this life, it was largely because of her. If not through her direct influence, then by the way she raised her own sons and placed so much value on all of her family.
It goes without saying that the death of a dearly loved one always brings back so many memories. That's what the entire Cottrill clan has spent the past 5 days collectively doing. My own are fewer than most of theirs since I didn't live as close to her as the younger grandkids, and more general than specific, but they all go back to when we lived in that trailer in her backyard until I turned six. My favorite activities in the world as a kid were helping Grandma collect eggs from the chicken pen, walk and feed her dogs, cook and bake, work in her gardens, can/shell/prepare various vegetables... helping Grandma with anything and everything was each grandchild's little treat every day. That and, in my case and my brother's, sneaking across the yard to her house on warm days for fudgesicles. Or just sitting quietly at the table, on the living room floor, or in her lap, playing with toys or reading books or doodling or working on little craft things, all of which she kept in endless stores for us. If we were especially lucky and she felt well enough, she would play piano or sing for us. And I could never count all the memories stored up from times spent at her house with the rest of the family, at various get-togethers and parties... exploring the abandoned gravel pit by the house, running through the rows of cornstalks in her little corn field, playing all over the property with my younger cousins, walking around the perimeter and counting the pine trees lining three of the four edges of the lot... they were all just tiny little things I could tap the tops of when I was barely out of diapers, and now they're some of the tallest pine trees I've seen.
Then, somewhere down the line, we all grew up. My family moved about a 15 minute drive away, so visits were less frequent. And then that demon spawn cousin of ours showed up on her doorstep from Arizona. I won't go into all the horror stories of what happened since her arrival... but suffice to say that the little brat was spoiled rotten beyond salvation within a year, and spent the next seven years after coming here sending Grandma to an early grave, wearing her out and taking advantage of her at every chance she got. Yet Grandma lived for that child just as she had lived for everyone else in her family, and she never gave up. She fought the hard fight. She grew discouraged at times, but she never gave in, never stopped providing for her extended family at every possible opportunity, and never stopped loving. She was a part of everything in all of our lives, and everything we did as a family still revolved around her. She was right at the center of everything, even after her condition had deteriorated to where she couldn't even migrate between rooms in her home anymore. But that didn't stop her from being a part of every activity and conversation. That woman's ears and mind were sharp as an ax - no matter how busy and crowded that house would get, no matter how many rooms away, she could pick up and join in on any conversation she pleased within her house.
The last really great memory I have of Grandma was in May of last year, when she managed to come to Erin's graduation party. No one really expected this, since it was outdoors, hot, and humid, and she could already barely breathe even in air conditioning with her oxygen hooked up... but she actually degraded herself to being carted along in a wheelchair just so she could participate. And when Erin unwrapped a gift from someone that was a colorfully painted screwdriver thing (with various other attachments and stuff but the main bit of it was a screwdriver), Grandma's whispered comment was "Now all you need is a good screw." Our eyes went wide as saucers while she sat there laughing the jolliest laugh and grinning the silliest grin that I had seen from her in years... and would never see again. The good memories didn't stop there, of course, but that was the last really great one that will always stick in my memory. It was the last time I saw her laugh and smile like that since her turn for the worse had begun.
By that time, though, we all knew that she was already in the last few years of her life. Her downhill descent had sped up drastically over the previous year or two and would continue to do so. Every time she was kept in the hospital again, it would cross all of our minds that this could very well be the time when she wouldn't come home. But we never imagined that this last weekend would be that time.
They only wanted to keep her overnight to do tests. Nobody even told me she had been taken to the hospital; I had only happened to overhear it when my mom told my brother that she had fainted as a result of one of her many illnesses flaring up, and they wanted to keep her for tests. Then out of nowhere Dad woke me up the next morning and told me she had died. We knew it was serious, of course... especially when my dad called her that evening and she was so worn out, she didn't even want to talk. That woman NEVER turned down a chance to talk with a member of her family. She lived for those moments. But that night, she just wanted to go home. The next morning... she did. But not to the same one Grandpa returned to.
While we knew the fainting spell had indicated another turn for the worse, nobody could've expected this. She had been hospitalized for far worse complications and far harsher tests/treatments several times over the past few years. Among them were pneumonia and a heart catheterization - and she couldn't handle anesthesia well at all. If she survived those, what could've been different this time? Grandpa is convinced that the hospital staff killed her. By not letting her take her medicine for a whole 2 days and then letting her shock her system by suddenly taking them again that morning. By wheeling her off to do tests that she was sure she didn't need, in places that weren't bothering her at all. They brought her back from those tests, moved her back into her bed... and then she took one last gasp, and was gone. They fought to bring her back, but she had already finished her race. Her fight was over. They let her go, and Grandpa walked out the door... utterly infuriated. They asked him where he was going in such a hurry, and his response was "What do you care? You already took everything I had." He has since refused to talk to the doctors to find out exactly what happened, and what was the final straw that broke her back for the last time. We may just have to accept that she had finally used the last of her strength, and just couldn't fight anymore.
The following few days were painful, but I think everyone in the family drew a lot of strength from one another. Some of our elder relatives came to spend time with her family too... ones we only ever meet with at funerals. And good old Aunt Rador, her talk-your-ear-off cousin from Nawth Carolaahna, hunny chaahld. It sort of hurt to think that, knowing how much Grandma treasured her family and wanted nothing more than to spend time with us, it took her death to get us to visit her house and spend time with each other the way we have this week.
Yesterday we went to the funeral home for calling hours, and I was one of the first to see her. I want to say she didn't even look like herself, even though she did (only because the folks who prepared her did a very nice job), but the biggest difference was that she looked... peaceful. So still, and at rest. No IV needles, no coughing, no involuntary quivering, no labored breathing... no pain. For the first time in nearly 40 of her 70 years in this life, she was at peace.
The viewing and the funeral itself were, of course, intensely depressing. I could have gone off to sit in one of the nice comfy sofas or armchairs instead of being on my feet for hours meeting people I'd never seen before and being bombarded with hugs and sympathies from the ones I did know. But instead I stayed with my parents right at the front of the room for as much of our time there as I could. I'm not normally the type to want a lot of sympathy and pity from people... but I had never experienced a loss this heavy before, either. I guess I needed the strength that these friends and relatives and strangers were constantly offering with their handshakes and hugs and reminiscent chats. But the one thing that hurt the most, especially during the viewing, was seeing all these people filling the hall, buzzing with activity and conversation... and Grandma wasn't part of it. Mom commented that the woman could've happily sat and conversed for an hour with each and every one of them; that pretty much sums it up. In any other situation she would've been drifting around talking to everyone she could find, whether she knew them personally or not... but for all those hours, and through all that activity and chatter... she just lay there, silent and still. It was hard not to just walk over and tap her on the shoulder and tell her to wake up - all these people were here to see her and she was missing the party.
The funeral itself was this morning, and it was much shorter, but of course even more emotional. Even I had to admit that the pastor gave an absolutely beautiful speech for her; he even mentioned those tons of cookies she would bake every Christmas. I had really been wanting to wear the black long-sleeved top that she had made for me a couple years ago, meant for part of a costume but quite lovely and perfectly acceptable to wear on normal occasions, but since I was expecting the usual 90-degree midday heat and pounding sun, I went with a little white sleeveless top instead. Grandma wouldn't want me to be hot and sticky. Had I known that the day would actually be so overcast and downright cool, and that I would stand around shivering most of the time, I would've worn that black top. I will forever hold a grudge against this despicable Ohio weather for depriving me of that. It would've made her so happy to see how much I adore that top and how proud I am to wear it when I can.
It's all pretty much over now. My part, anyway. Of course the task of cleaning things up and settling Grandma's affairs will very likely take a year, if not more. But just because the funeral is over doesn't mean life will go back to normal now. Nothing will ever be the same again. There will always be a vast emptiness in all of our lives where she used to be... a huge void in the room where she used to sit, in the middle of all the activity, during our family get-togethers. I'll never even get another chance to eat one of my favorite childhood snacks, butter and lettuce sandwiches made with fresh lettuce from her garden, because Grandpa is going to abandon the gardens now and I've never found anyone else who grows that kind of lettuce. I don't know what kind it was, but of course, no store-bought head can even begin to compare. Sounds like a strange thing to mourn over, but it's just another of the many simple yet beloved things that have been present in my life since I was a child, thanks to Grandma, but will never see again.
She certainly left her legacy, though. The huge turnout at the funeral home was another testament to just how many lives she touched during her brief stay in this world, and all the laughter and tears another testament to how much of herself she had left behind in so many hearts. As one of her sisters told me in the midst of tears after the service, "We just lost the best friend any of us ever had." No one was so loving and eager to do anything possible for her family as she was. But no matter where we go, no matter how different and empty our lives will be from now on... there'll always be a little bit of Grandma still alive in all of us.
Ok... I'm done. Haven't felt up to talking about stuff too much since Grandma passed away, but now that the funeral and things are over and healing can begin, I figured it was an ideal time. It was a major blow for everyone, but I'll be ok sooner or later, I imagine. And I promise I'll push this depressing stuff down out of sight with a more general standard rambly post before too much longer.
Goodnight, Grandma. Rest well.
comment! (1)
dragged from Becky's stream of consciousness at 8/30/2006 05:10:00 PM
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