Pecked by Ducks

My grandma Terry died last Thursday in her son’s arms, with one daughter 10 minutes away in the car on her way from San Diego, the other stuck on a tarmac in Hartford CT.

Our family and extended family gathered from all over the country to bury our Matriarch. She was the youngest of 6 brothers and sisters, the last one left of her generation and the one stable, loving constant I had had for my entire life. My Grandma was glamour, style and the life of the party incarnate.

She could make anything fun, was the first to come help set up, and the last to leave. I love her so much and I have spent the last 6 days, crying, driving, packing her apartment, sitting Shiva and reeling. So I hope you understand and can cut me some slack when I tell you that I am glad she is gone.

She had deteriorated all the way in the last 6 months. The woman my grandmother was had already gone. She had advanced dementia and didn’t remember things anymore, couldn’t take care of herself, and at the very end was scared because she felt like she couldn’t breath and had been managing pain for a long time.

My grandma Terry was a strong, independent woman and she didn’t like being dependant or what was happening to her which she viewed as the loss of her dignity. My cousin saw her a month or so back and she told him, “don’t you dare cry when I am gone. I have had a full, wonderful life and I did everything I wanted to do. Enough already!” If you knew my grandma, you would be able to hear that “enough already!” so clearly in your head. And when my dear cousin related this moment to us at her graveside, we were able to laugh for a moment through our tears.

So, our family gathered as it always does for big life events. We cried, we laughed, we ate and we cried some more. As we were packing I found the scrapbook I had compiled for Grandma’s 90th birthday party about 2 and a half years ago, when much of our family came to celebrate. This is the page I personally made for her and this is what it said.

When I was born you came

On a tiny plane that terrified you.

When Jonah was born you came

And took me to Disneyland.

When we moved to Portland you came

And played with me while Mom painted the apartment.

When Alia was born you came

And Papa Mel taught me how to swim.

When we moved to Grass Valley you came

And let me drive back, cross-country with you and Papa Mel.

When Maria was born you came

And bought me purple pleather pants.

When I graduated from Putney you came

And smiled, even when I wore combat boots.

When I graduated from Skidmore you came

And let me know how proud you were of me.

When I married the man of my dreams you came

And proclaimed me gorgeous. “Five gorgeouses” in fact.

When my son was born you came

And told me he was the most beautiful baby ever.

Even though he is your ninth great-grandchild.

With big, warm, Shalimar scented hugs, lots of love,

encouragement and support, you have always been there for me.

So today, as our family gathers from all over the country to honor you,

our matriarch, with lots of love and appreciation,

I came.

I love you Grandma, I am going to miss you so much I’m not sure how to wrap my head around it right now. I am glad you are no longer sick, scared, or in pain. Tell Papa Mel we miss him too, I know he has been waiting for you, and ask him to save a dance for me.