mistressofmuses (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mistressofmuses) wrote2024-12-27 05:16 pm
mistressofmuses) wrote2024-12-27 05:16 pm
My grandmother died.
My grandmother passed away last night.
(At her 90th birthday in 2018.)
She was 96. She would have turned 97 in less than a month. (Her birthday was January 21, 1928.)
She died overnight, peacefully, in her sleep, at home, which is really the best any of us can hope for.
She caught covid a couple weeks ago, they're almost certain at one of her dialysis appointments. She was hospitalized for a while last week, as she'd begun to have trouble breathing. She couldn't take Paxlovid because of her kidneys, but they did give her a different antiviral course, though it didn't seem to help much. Fortunately, she returned home on Monday, though she was still fairly weak, and had to use her wheelchair for transport rather than her walker as usual.
She and my aunt had a wonderful Christmas, at home. My mom spoke to her on Wednesday.
She was my last remaining grandparent, outliving my grandfather by 12 years.
I hadn't seen her since March of 2021, when we went to visit her in New Mexico. She'd gone into heart failure back home in Oregon in February of that year, and was told that she had end-stage renal disease, and that she would never return home. The family was told she'd be moved to hospice care, and to plan for our goodbyes.
My aunt, a nurse, said no to that, and checked her out of the hospital. They packed up the things she most needed from the house and flew her down to New Mexico to live with my aunt. They started dialysis and a strict renal diet, plus my aunt was there to help her with medications and other treatments she needed. We all anticipated that this would buy her an extra six months to a year, and judged that of course that would be worth it!
And instead we got almost an extra four years with her, thanks to my aunt's constant, excellent care of her.
We'd hoped to find a way to visit her sometime in the next year, and it's heartbreaking to me that we won't, and that I won't see her again. I'd spoken to her since that last visit, of course, but I wish I'd gotten to see her again.
I stayed home from work, hoping to go see my mom in case she needed some support, but she had to work in order to ensure her company's final payroll was taken care of, then she had a doctor's appointment in the later afternoon. She *just* texted me that she's home now - apparently the payroll took all the way up until her appointment. I'll try to go over there for a short while this evening.
I fell asleep and dreamed about running into my uncle and my grandmother in a store. In the dream, I knew she shouldn't be there, but then it turned out no one else could see that she was there. She wandered away and I followed her. I gave her a hug and said goodbye. (The dream got real weird and kind of unpleasant after that, but at least that part of it was fairly nice.)
(At her 90th birthday in 2018.)
She was 96. She would have turned 97 in less than a month. (Her birthday was January 21, 1928.)
She died overnight, peacefully, in her sleep, at home, which is really the best any of us can hope for.
She caught covid a couple weeks ago, they're almost certain at one of her dialysis appointments. She was hospitalized for a while last week, as she'd begun to have trouble breathing. She couldn't take Paxlovid because of her kidneys, but they did give her a different antiviral course, though it didn't seem to help much. Fortunately, she returned home on Monday, though she was still fairly weak, and had to use her wheelchair for transport rather than her walker as usual.
She and my aunt had a wonderful Christmas, at home. My mom spoke to her on Wednesday.
She was my last remaining grandparent, outliving my grandfather by 12 years.
I hadn't seen her since March of 2021, when we went to visit her in New Mexico. She'd gone into heart failure back home in Oregon in February of that year, and was told that she had end-stage renal disease, and that she would never return home. The family was told she'd be moved to hospice care, and to plan for our goodbyes.
My aunt, a nurse, said no to that, and checked her out of the hospital. They packed up the things she most needed from the house and flew her down to New Mexico to live with my aunt. They started dialysis and a strict renal diet, plus my aunt was there to help her with medications and other treatments she needed. We all anticipated that this would buy her an extra six months to a year, and judged that of course that would be worth it!
And instead we got almost an extra four years with her, thanks to my aunt's constant, excellent care of her.
We'd hoped to find a way to visit her sometime in the next year, and it's heartbreaking to me that we won't, and that I won't see her again. I'd spoken to her since that last visit, of course, but I wish I'd gotten to see her again.
I stayed home from work, hoping to go see my mom in case she needed some support, but she had to work in order to ensure her company's final payroll was taken care of, then she had a doctor's appointment in the later afternoon. She *just* texted me that she's home now - apparently the payroll took all the way up until her appointment. I'll try to go over there for a short while this evening.
I fell asleep and dreamed about running into my uncle and my grandmother in a store. In the dream, I knew she shouldn't be there, but then it turned out no one else could see that she was there. She wandered away and I followed her. I gave her a hug and said goodbye. (The dream got real weird and kind of unpleasant after that, but at least that part of it was fairly nice.)
no subject
no subject
This is a rough time of year to have this sort of thing happen. I'm glad it was right after Christmas instead of right before, if only because it gave her a last good thing before she left. She had a really nice Christmas with my aunt, who roasted a duck for her (one of my grandmother's favorites, which she really enjoyed, even though she couldn't eat very much.) She talked to both of her other children (my mom and my uncle) later that night. The last thing she said to all of her kids was "love you, too", either saying goodbye on the phone or when my aunt helped her to bed the night before she passed.
There are a lot of things to be glad for in the way and timing of how her life ended, and it is a comfort that she had a long life that was more happy than not.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
You can always ask and I will always send, for whatever reason.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
And yes, the goodbye dream felt like that part was patently personal wish-fulfillment from my subconscious, but I still was glad for it.
no subject
no subject