You’ve been here for over a week. You’ve barely had anything to drink, and nothing to eat. I don’t know how you are still breathing. Today, Maureen Daily came in and sang hymns for you that you love. She has such a beautiful voice. I was laying in the pull-out bed, and couldn’t sit up. But I was listening the whole time, while mom sang along with her and you seemed to sing along too.
Brad also came by to see you. He’s been such a good friend of yours. It’s hard for him to go to a hospice, because his wife died in one. He is still depressed about that. But you gave Brad the joy and comfort he needed after his wife passed. You were a blessing to him, and I know he appreciates that more than you can know.
Leigh brought your friend, Trudy today as well. I’m not sure how close you guys were, but she said some very kind things to you, and about you. You’ve had so many visitors and phone calls and people that don’t want to see you go.
Grandma, you’ve always been so strong. Relentless even. The doctors said you were going to die six months ago because of liver failure, even though you’re not a drinker. But you came back from that, a miraculous recovery. You were doing so well, walking around, with and without your walker. You even bought a new car! A Subaru of course. I know you’re strong, but grandma, it’s time to let go. Mom and I have been spending the night ever since you entered the hospice. I came home to sleep one night after work. And I had to come home tonight.
I feel bad for leaving mom alone. But I think tonight is the night. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay there. I had to do this for me. I said my goodbyes, and you heard them, I know. But if you go tomorrow, that’s okay too. Easter Sunday. The 31st. Just like G.G. who died on January 31st a year ago. If you’re still there tomorrow, I’ll come. But if you’re not, I know where you’ll be.
I’m so tired. Exhausted. Mom, your only child, has been there with you this whole time. I can only imagine how she’s feeling. I had to call work and let them know I couldn’t come in this morning. I thought you’d be gone by then. But you’re still breathing. We’re thinking the funeral’s going to be on Friday.
Let go Grandma, Please, let go. Go gently into that goodnight. Don’t rage against the dying of the light. You don’t need to suffer anymore. You don’t need to sustain these worldly problems on your shoulders anymore. Just think of the relief.
I love you, grandma. I’ll be singing for you tomorrow.