Saying “Goodbye”
How would I have known that I would already have to write about such difficult subject matter as I am about to write about tonight when I started this little ol’ blog?
My dear, sweet Grandma, Madelyne Irene Pilgrim, passed away late this afternoon at the nursing home where she has been living for the past year. She was diagnosed with severe dementia last August and has been staying there undergoing treatment ever since. She died suddenly and unexpectedly this afternoon while sitting at a table. The nurses there said she went peacefully and quickly, which I guess is more than we could have asked for. We knew her diagnosis was not good, and we all feared the worst back then. However, she progressed and was receptive to physical therapy and medication, so we were all pleased and led to think she may outlive some of us after all.
Where do I begin? I don’t even know how to start writing about this. I’ve been grieving for a long period of time now. Initially, the grieving process began when my sister walked in my Grandma’s house to find her lying face down on the floor after she’d fallen off the couch the night before. From there, things just got progressively worse when she was admitted to a psychiatric ward and then eventually moved on to John Knox Village where she was able to stay until she passed away. My grieving had to happen mostly from afar since I live approximately 700 miles away, and I have a young, very needy clan of my own to attend to every day. At first, I felt the lack of her presence and understanding in our phone conversations. She would drift or not hear me or misunderstand what I was saying. Many times, she would call me by my mother’s name or refer to something that was completely irrelevant to the conversation. Then, I felt the sadness that came with not being able to pick up the phone and call her whenever I wanted to once she was living at the nursing home. Then, I missed not hearing from her or getting a card from her on our birthdays or at Christmas. To me, it has been as if she was already gone in many ways for some months now. Today just finalized things and made everything more concrete. She’s gone. I won’t be able to talk to her or see her at all anymore. She hasn’t been herself for some time, but at least she was still here. The thing is, I feel both sadness…utter sadness and such loss, but I also feel relief that she is finally up there in heaven, free of the pain she was going through physically and mentally. She hated being in that nursing home because it wasn’t her home. She referred to those people as “nuts” and wanted to go home every chance she could. In fact, she was very angry that she couldn’t go home. I don’t blame her. I would have hated being in that environment too. But, there wasn’t a choice. No one could have taken care of her the way they could there.
Anyway, now we can all rest in knowing that she is probably up there looking down on us while reuniting with Papaw and having a good ol’ time! But I don’t think I’ll ever get over the lonely feeling I feel down here without her presence on this earth. And boy, did she ever have a presence!! She was a hoot in more ways than one. She was flirtatious, witty, outgoing, loud and the life of the party when she wanted to be! She could also be extremely stubborn, withdrawn, anti-social, moody, self-centered and a downright pain in the ass when she wanted to be too. Of course, I rarely saw the negative side of her. After all, she said I was her “favorite” and I could do no wrong in her eyes. I was her firstborn grandchild. She had five more after me, but she and I shared a special bond. I’m not even trying to be facetious when I say that (although I’m sure I’ll catch grief from my sisters if they ever read this), but we were really close in a lot of ways that I don’t think the others shared. Before she entered the nursing home, I talked to her almost weekly and before I had kids, I talked to her sometimes even more than that. We shared recipes, stories and talked a lot about all kinds of different things I wish I could remember now. I remember her consoling me over break ups with boyfriends or difficulties with girlfriends and the joy of having my first child. Her advice was intentional, usually quite simple and wise.
I’m sure I will think of a lot more to write about her as things come to me. Right now, I feel exhausted and overtaken with emotion.
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