Grandma’s Given Up?

A little over a week ago, one of my cousins sent out a mass email calling us adult grandchildren to reach out with messages in an attempt to lift Grandma’s spirits. 6 months of Covid isolation and a recent fall had caused quite the emotional toll (zero visitors, but also zero Covid cases in her facility). I loved this idea and felt pretty guilty that my last reach out was Mother’s Day. I love photos and albums, so I offered to make Grandma an album of current family photos, catching her up with where we are so far in 2020 and include birthday wishes because her birthday is mid-October. Getting good photos of all of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren was quite the chore. It took some mild nagging, emailing a few aunts behind the cousins’ backs, Facebook messaging, and some outright snooping on Facebook. I wish I nagged harder… several pictures were quite old, and some of my cousins were only represented once with a cropped Facebook photo. The good ones I got though were GREAT, and I was pretty proud of the album.

Following up with my sister after finishing the book and sending it off, I learn Grandma’s not just sad… I was avoiding homework chatting with her online while Deedee’s in the recliner with me watching Frozen. Paraphrasing my sister: Word is she’s given up. She only gets out of bed to use the bathroom. After 6 months, they’re finally allowing patio visits, but Grandma wouldn’t even get out of bed for 2 different attempts. She even cut a phone call with our dad short recently. Reading this, of course I start crying. Trying not to alarm Deedee, I hold my breath and choke down any sobs, but tears are streaming…

“Boo-boo?” she asks when she notices. She’s super concerned, grabs my head and sort of moves it around looking for a boo-boo on my head. “No, honey, I’m sad.” She (thankfully) stops wiggling my head, pats it, “Mommy sad.” We’re reclining, and she’s perched high enough to snuggle into the crook of my neck. Her arms circle my head, and she settles in to finish her movie in this position. Honestly, it got rather difficult to keep crying, it was so sweet.  

So I’m super sad, and adding to that is an insecure feeling that the photo album may come across as some kind of permission to go/goodbye, not the “we love you, we miss you, happy birthday” it’s meant to be. I also can’t help feeling sorry for myself thinking that if she dies relatively soon, I wouldn’t be able to go to the funeral. Between Covid precautions and giving birth early November, I might not be fit to travel – let alone uncertain finances after a ton of recent car trouble and I lose my monthly GI Bill stipend after graduating this month. I missed my 3 other grandparents’ funerals when deployed in the Army! I’m like this crappy absent family member that doesn’t want to be absent (I have cousins that did eagerly move away and rarely, reluctantly visit, and that’s NOT me) but life gets in just the right kind of way that I’m forgiven. Still sucks…

I feel like I’m already mourning but shouldn’t be. And yet, when someone goes to hospice or is on life support with a bad prognosis, it’s socially acceptable to start grieving before they’re actually gone. Does this count, too? But I’m also mad, because Grandma could totally be at peace with death but still take visitors and talk on the phone. It’s clearly depression. Is it selfish to wish the docs would give her a bunch of antidepressants and pot brownies? Will the docs even try to help her at this age? I dunno…  So, so sad. My photo album is predicted to be delivered in a few days, so we’ll see what kind of reception it gets. Here’s hoping she even looks at it, but unlike a visitor that as to wait for her to come out and will eventually need to go away, the album can sit in her room tempting her until she’s ready to look at it. According to the family that actively contributed to the album, it was a great idea and they’re glad I did it. I mean, I am too… I just… I’m not ready to say goodbye. I want her to meet her 28th great-grandchild and leave us in good spirits proud of her incredibly full life.