Little sister,
she was once an animal devouring her young
she fought the Nazis in her own way and won
she waltzed and made love and drank Merlot
Look at her closely, she is telling you something:
you are more than a stem stripped of thorns.

Remember that she is a galactic phenomenon
some splendid planet
a lopsided sun.

She was never a flower.

~From "My Grandmother the Comet"

It seems like a million years have passed in the span of the past few days. 

On Thursday morning, at about 10:30, I got a phone call from my sister. Things were looking bad, she said, Grandma's kidneys appeared to be failing. Could I come over? I told my boss that I had to leave, and headed over there.

Grandma slept through all of Thursday, snoring loudly, even when the priest came over to give her the last rites. I told the story to my notify list; the last rites ended up being unintentionally hilarious. (There's always hilarity when Grandma is involved, even when she's dying.) Anyway, she was heavily sedated and slept through the whole day. 

I spent the night at my parents house and called in to work. I wouldn't be there on Friday, either. And so we took turns sitting with her. A vigil by the bedside of the dying. 

My father's side of the family-- even the women, like Lucy-- are not demonstrative people. My father never stayed long-- he usually said "I love you" and left the room to go find something useful to do. My mother stayed. My sister stayed. I stayed.

My mother's side of the family: me, my sister, my mother, my grandmother.  Three strong, brave, loving women gathered around a deathbed. I expected we would break down, but we never did. None of us did. Adopted or not, we have my grandmother's blood-- we are daughters of the same tribe.

On Friday, my grandmother opened her eyes. We stood around her bed and told her we loved her. My mother said, You will always have a special place in my heart. You and Dad. My sister said, You're the best grandma in the world.  I said, I could have been given to a lot of families, and I'm so lucky to be in this one, and have a Grandma like you.

My mother sang to her-- she sang The Shepherd Leads His Flock and talked about her sister and husband waiting for her in heaven. She sang God Bless America and reminisced about my grandmother becoming an American citizen, and how proud we all were. She sang Happy Birthday to celebrate her life-- 82 next month. It was all a little silly, and a little happy, and a little sad. It was not what I expected.

Grandma fell back asleep. We took turns sitting with her, and she opened her eyes a few more times. We kissed her, and she kissed us back. Although she couldn't talk, when we said I love you we could see it in her eyes.  I love you, too.  She squeezed our hands.

At about 2:00, my sister left to go get her hair done.  My mother went to take a nap. My father headed to Grandma's house to run some errands. So I sat with her. The caregiver was there, too, and we talked. I told her that Grandma had always said I was a "smart cookie." Grandma raised her arm, pointing her finger as if to say, "That's right, Minikie. You are such a smar-uht cookie." I smiled and told her I loved her. We all love you, Grandma, I said. I didn't know the moment was at hand.  I didn't know it was the last chance I'd ever have to speak to her. 

I can't quite explain the moment of her passing. There were no dramatic last words, no final exhalation of breath, no "death rattle". One second she looked alive, and the next second… she didn't. Maybe it was the sudden slackness in her face. Maybe it was the way her small movements stopped. I was holding her hand, and it was still warm. But I feared, I knew, that she was gone. 

The nurse took her pulse and said, Maybe you should get your Mom.  I ran from the room, loudly calling to my mother to wake up, and my mother ran in. The nurse said Grandma's pulse was weak and fading, but when she looked at me, I knew it was gone. My mother told me to call my sister, my father, the nurse. She didn't understand. Finally she looked at the nurse and said, Is there a pulse?

No, the nurse said, with tears in her eyes.  She is gone. Grandma is gone.

Much crying, hugging, and many phone calls later…

We sat in the family room. My aunt and uncle had come over, and one of my mother's friends was there, and Lucy. We all sat, talking of all sorts of things, eating pizza. There was a lot of laughter. I think my Grandma would have liked us to laugh.

The caregiver, the same Filipino woman I mentioned before, told us we should be sitting in the room with Grandma. It's a tradition in her culture, apparently, that the dead should not be left alone. Let me tell you, not one of us wanted to get up and go sit in that room with a corpse. I hugged Abby, who was sitting on my lap, and we absolutely did not get up. We wanted to sit with our friends, celebrate her life, and laugh, and not be sitting and laughing in a circle with my grandmother's dead body in the middle of it. (And it seemed very wrong to me that this woman, a virtual stranger, would try to dictate the terms of our grief.)

I left to go give the caregiver a ride home, even though I would miss having the mortuary come and take Grandma away. The family was going to get an opportunity to "say goodbye" before they actually removed the deceased. I jumped at the opportunity to get out of that one. My sister told me later that she kissed Grandma, who was cold. And I was glad that I hadn't partaken of that tradition. 

We have spent a lot of time together in the past few days -- my sister, Ash, and Lucy and I -- but we haven't been sitting around and crying. We went to the movies, and we played pool, and we've gone out to dinner, and eaten burgers. And we've had some really good, close times. I still have a hard time sleeping at night, but I'm okay. Maybe it hasn't hit me yet, or maybe I have had time to get used to the idea. 

Either way, I'm okay.

Yesterday, I went with my mother to make the funeral arrangements. It was extremely interesting. Morbid, but also interesting.

Mom brought the outfit and wig that she wants Grandma to wear into eternity, which includes leopard spotted underwear. ("Grandma would have wanted to be sexy.") The outfit is purple and white, with a combination of spots and stripes. It's the dress she wore to my college graduation. 

Mom also brought makeup, and a photograph to show the mortuary how Grandma's makeup usually looked so they can put it on correctly. She also brought a few rings, and a stuffed tiger. My grandmother loved tigers, and a couple of years ago, Abby bought her a huge stuffed one. My mother decided she wanted the tiger to watch over Grandma. I think it will look a little funny, having a stuffed tiger head poking out of the casket, but it's what Mom wants.  Grandma had a couple of smaller tigers; one of them came home with me (it's a white tiger that is named "Monique") and Abby is taking the other one.

We went into the casket room to pick out a casket. Let me tell you, that was bizarre. It's just a room full of half open caskets, and it's as quiet as the grave (ha ha) in that room. We picked out a casket with pink lining and pink roses on it. Big enough for Grandma and the tiger.

While we were shopping for caskets, my mother mentioned that she looked at the pictures of Grandpa's viewing to see what casket he had. She also said she intended to take pictures this time, to send to the family back in Holland. (If you were the family in Holland, would you want a picture of your relative's corpse in a casket?   That still seems odd to me.) 

We also ordered prayer cards, and before we left I asked to look at them. They had the traditional Mexican imagery on them-- crucified Jesuses, and sacred bloody hearts with thorns stuck in them, and rays of light-- I think that imagery is creepy and I hated those prayer cards. I asked what our other options were, and we were able to pick out a little card with flowers on the front of it and a Psalm on the back. I'm glad I asked. 

We didn't have to buy a plot, since a double plot was already purchased when my grandfather died.  The marker is already there, with Grandma's name and year of birth already engraved on it. (It always freaked me out a little.) 

We ordered a limo for the family, but other than that, we tried to keep it simple. Still, the whole thing came to about $7,000. Man, what a rip off. 

I am surprised at how well we're all dealing with it. I guess at the funeral (sometime this week) we'll all have the opportunity to come unglued again. But everyone seems to be holding up really well so far.

I expected my mother and sister to be devastated, but I underestimated them. They have broken down, of course, but they're staying strong, because they have spines of pure steel.   

Hmm. Wonder where they get that from?

Learn from my mistakes. Learn from Charlotte’s, since she won’t. And if and when you do move in with someone, at least you can’t say I didn’t warn you.