Saying Goodbye

As often happens in life, I feel like my Grandma's death was a slow, easing-into-things sort of affair.  So much so that it really does feel like a journey rather than a single event.  My sister Tracy has been living on Bainbridge Island these last few months, and made a point of visiting my Grandma a lot.  Sometimes when Grandma was really aware, Tracy would FaceTime with us so we could all say Hi, which was really nice.  About a month ago when she did this, I thought to myself, This might be the last time we talk.  And I was grateful to have had such a nice chat with my 101-year-old grandmother.  I was glad she got to wave at all of my children.

Shortly after that conversation, Grandma had several days where she could not be woken up or fed.  Tracy told me this while she was there visiting, and I could hear Grandma moaning in the background while we spoke.  And this was upsetting-- she sounded so forlorn.  It was nice knowing that Tracy was there for her.  I expected any day to get a phone call, but it didn't come.  Grandma woke up a little bit and ate some yogurt, but then continued to mostly sleep.  Tracy had to go out of town for a few days-- she worried about leaving my grandma, but my parents assured her that she needed to keep living her own life.  (They've had this conversation with themselves every time they've gone out of town for the last ten years, so they were used to this concern.)

A week later, my Mom called on Camille's birthday and I assumed she was calling to sing to Camille.  But as I was answering, Mom called out to my Dad, "I'm calling Alanna right now" and I immediately knew she had not called for Camille.  I knew that she was calling each of us, one by one, to tell us that Grandma had passed away.

It made us sad at first that Grandma had been alone when she died.  But then several of us realized (almost at the same time) that this was exactly how Grandma would have wanted it.  When we were little and Grandma would come to our house for the holidays, after all the celebrations were over, she always liked to get up early and leave while we were still asleep.  (My Mom actually got after her for this, explaining that we all wanted a chance to say goodbye and were upset by her sudden absence.  So she stopped doing that at the time.)  But Grandma didn't like goodbyes and now that I'm older, I understand that sentiment-- sometimes goodbyes are just a little too much; it can feel better to just slip away and skip that step entirely.

The bishop for the Bainbridge Island ward, Bishop Cook, is also a mortician and he had been visiting my grandma regularly (as a bishop-- not in his funereal capacity!).  He had seen her just the week before and held her hands and prayed with her; he said she wasn't talking much, but had squeezed his hands very tightly during their prayer and at various moments during their conversation.  She knew what was going on.  He had talked with her about how the time would be coming soon when she would be reunited with my Grandfather, who died 36 years ago when I was just one.  She squeezed his hands even tighter at this.  Bishop Cook made an appointment to see her the following Thursday afternoon, and I truly believe that Grandma was pleased that she made things simple for him by passing away that morning, so that he could still come as planned, but for a different reason. 

My Grandma was classy like that.

My parents made arrangements to leave their mission for a few days for the funeral and we were all able to fly home for it.  We were also all there for my Dad's 70th birthday, which felt like another gift from my Grandma to her son.

I'll tell you more soon-- more about Grandma and more about the trip.  But for now I wanted you to understand the length of this journey, and how even though it's very sad, everything seems to have happened exactly as it should have.  And how often can you say that in life?