Grandma's Winding Sheet

A Final Lesson In Life, Love, and Letting Go

I had a memory stuck in my head as I left the retirement home that night. The staff had called my mother and aunt to discuss grandma’s deteriorating condition. They in turn had called the rest of us together to deliver the news. There was no surprise…I think we all knew it was coming, but it doesn’t change the fact that it is difficult to hear, accept, and embrace. Grandma had suffered for years from Parkinson’s Disease and was once again in the throes of a very painful urinary tract infection. These developed on a regular basis because of her required use of catheters and this episode would have been like every other one except this time my dearest and headstrong grandmother refused the administration of antibiotics. She let it be known years before that she didn’t want to be resuscitated should she ever go into life threatening arrest, nor did she wish to be sustained on life support if that situation should arise. This however didn’t quite fall into those categories. This was a common infection easily treated…but she was saying “no”…and we were being asked to accept that. Why did it matter if it wasn’t life threatening? Well it did…because it was. You see, without antibiotics the infection would quickly spread and basically shut down her urinary functioning. In other words, it was only an unknown matter of time before Grandma would succumb. Any and all treatments for her illness would be discontinued and only measures of “comfort” would be administered from that point forward. My siblings, my cousins, and I were brought in just to be informed…not because we were being asked for our opinions on the matter. In fact as difficult as I imagine it was, even my mom and her sister, my Aunt Geri were not really weighing in with the decision. We were simply all there from that day on to support each other in following grandma’s wishes…all of them…no matter how difficult they were for us. And the bottom line was Grandma was ready to die. So, alone in my truck on a lengthy drive home, I conjured up a memory that would help me find the strength to do just that.

As if it were playing on a video screen directly in front of me, I could see every little detail. I was a little ball of cute, all cuddled up in a white, furry winter jacket and matching hat, black and white checkered pants, white patent leather shoes over white tights…looking quite like the doted after only child that I was back then; before my brother joined me in my childhood journey, my sisters even further down the line. I was taking my first steps…at least the first steps caught on camera. While the photo was still and black and white, I could somehow recall those moments on a deeper level, in living color. I felt the uneasiness, wanting so much to keep going but sure that each step was the last. Is it possible for a child under the age of one to already have a sense of foreboding failure? I’m not sure it was that dramatic, but, I could definitely remember the exact moment that my father had captured with the click of that camera in 1970. There was my mother in front of me, trying to coax me with her smile and the promise of a steady and warm embrace. But, what was drawing my attention in this particular recollection were the hands directly behind me…the ones that had moments before released me. They were the outstretched arms of Grandma…and she was “letting go”, tentatively I am sure, but supporting my steps into the unknown…quite literally. I think I knew that I could fall but she definitely knew, as did my mom and dad…but that didn’t negate the need to take those steps…and being a parent myself I was able to understand the requirements of the adults present to support those steps. Suddenly, the act of my first steps took a back seat to what it represented in the larger picture of my life. I sat in the quiet and re-lived all the uncountable times that Grandma must have felt that requirement, as the adult and matriarch, to just let go of each of us who came after her. She had to fight her own fears, issues, and motives and let us go on what we believed to be our right path. She had demonstrated her love in this way over and over again. And, she now sat in the dusk of her lifetime…and she needed us all to treat her with the same love and compassion. She was drawing on her faith and she wanted us to join her. And I knew there was no choice before me…this part of my journey was a one way street, and at the end of this stretch I would have one less person beside me. So, through a thick veil of tears, I arrived home that night knowing that it was as it should be. Regardless of how tentative I was as to my ability to survive beyond her final day…Grandma now needed us all to help her take those steps that she was undoubtedly both eager and afraid to take…into a different kind of steady and warm embrace.

As a family, our goal became to make sure that Grandma was not alone or in pain for the duration. Mom and Aunt Geri were in charge of overseeing her care in terms of the staff as well as the hospice, which would now be brought in to the team. While she would not be physically moved, her status changed as soon as an agreement was struck as to her DNR status and refusal of treatment. Grandma herself, though her voice was all but gone, was quite lucid in the first days of this…so there was no question as to her desires. While I know I kept watching to see any sign of reluctance on her part…a possible change of heart…there just wasn’t a hint of doubt coming from her frail little body. Quite to the contrary, she seemed to find a peace of mind in her decision that I can only hope I am able to find in my final hours. Everyone took turns coming to stay with her, often several of us being there at any given time with almost everyone dropping in anytime their schedule would allow. There were days of memories being shared…lots of laughter and some tears…and just an incredible embrace of love that I will forever be proud to have been a part of. Grandma would come and go in terms of her participation. She was awake, but not always lucid, because as the toxins built up in her body she would encounter hallucinations, and sometimes seem to float in between two worlds; the one we were a part of and the world she grew up in. It provided for those of us fortunate enough to be present an incredibly beautiful view through the window of her childhood, in a way that most could never experience. I had been interviewing Grandma for a couple of years prior to that in order to record her history before she was gone. I had used the stories she shared to create a heirloom book, which I had presented to her for her last birthday. But, those stories she shared paled in comparison to what we were hearing from her time travels in that bed. Just as my memories a few nights prior brought out the sights, smells, and emotions of my first steps…it was as if we were all sitting there beside her, back on her family farm, watching what would otherwise seem to be inconsequential moments in a young girls life. She spoke of little snapshots of her day-to-day life…but not as a memory, more as though she were once again re-living it. She even went into moments of telling us what she really apparently thought of her playmates…usually her brother Orville or cousin Dorothy…who she made a point to let us know was a liar! “Don’t listen to anything Dorothy is saying”, she said to me, “she’s always lying to get me in trouble so she can get away with things and I’m gonna wop her one of these days”. Anyone who knew Grandma would find the humor in this as Grandma never had a bad thing to say about anyone and she definitely wasn’t known for getting physical. She took us on a picnic, on a ride on her loft swing, and on a shortcut through the neighbors pasture on the way to school….where she had to outrun the resident bull in order to keep from being “stuck in the britches”. It was as if Grandma had been administered a truth serum and her “truth” was a sweet and simple time, which I will forever wish I had learned more of before it was too late.

In between her visits to her childhood home, she would alternately rest and then miraculously be clear and present with the rest of us. She would lay there and listen to our stories, as we went back down our own memory lanes. She would smile, even giggle, or just drink in the emotions of the room. Every so often she’d signal for one of us to move in real close to her, so she could be heard, and she would comment on something, or say her peace. One of my most emotional experiences with her ever would happen during one of those “come closer” moments. It was just mom and I in there, late afternoon, just before the others would start trickling in after they got off work. Being the designated “disabled” in the family, my mom and I didn’t have jobs to be at during the day…so, we pretty much made Grandma the center of the universe during those hours. Sitting and watching some unmemorable soap opera together , I was just glancing over to take in both my mother and her mother, side by side, and saying so much through glances and body language…no words necessary. It was a sight to take in, but it also moved me to break up their “conversation” and force the words that so clearly needed to be said out into the room around us. I went to Grams bedside and took hold of her hand. Tears poured from my eyes for a couple minutes, easily, before I could force the breath up through my diaphragm in order to form the words that burned in my heart. Mom sat directly behind me as I asked the question that I had been preparing to ask for days. “Grannygran, are you tired?” She nodded her head “yes”. “Do you want to get some sleep?”, I asked. She nodded her head “no”. With this, my heart went directly up into my throat and I felt my mom put her hand on my shoulder. I leaned in closer and locked eyes with this woman who had been forever the rock in my life, took a deep but labored breath, and despite my best attempt to hold it inside, I cried out loud. “Grandma, just answer me two more questions…” I believe there was a lifetime before the next words found their way past my lips…but they did manage to get out. “Are you ready to go home to heaven now?” I asked her, hands trembling, chest heaving, whispering in a voice that echoed like a crashing wave inside my head. She nodded her head “yes”, and a couple of lonely tears fell from her eyes, across the bridge of her nose, and down onto her pillow. I gasped slightly, rubbed the palm of her hand and losing our eye contact for a moment, mostly out of a sense of shame at having to ask the next question, I asked “why are you holding on?” Again, Grandma said nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes. She was crying and squeezing my hand now…begging me to return to her gaze. I obliged and followed up with another question that I already knew the answer to. But, I could see that it wasn’t important that I received the answer…the important thing was the message she received. So, I mustered up a totally false bravado and made the question one that would give her some faith. “Gram…are you afraid that we aren’t going to be able to handle this?” She squeezed my hand again and whispered “yes”. “Grandma,” I promised her, “not only are we going to be okay, but we are going to thrive because you raised us ALL to do that…and just in case you are at all afraid, because I know I will be, I promise you that I am going to be with you all the way to the very end…I’m going to walk with you Gram until I can’t go any further…and then, maybe, if you are able, you can sometimes come back and check on me and give me reassurance when I need it.” Between the tears I was able to slip a smile and a wink as I said that last part. “Let go, Grandma, it’s okay…you can go now.” Grandma knew that I believed in angels and spirits and that this was my way of asking her to keep me close to her heart. In her own style too…she would have the final word here. She got a lil grin on her face…my mom would call it “shit-eatin”, but Gram would never have used such a word…and she said, practically as clear as she used to speak, “well, I’ll try and get back to you, but it may be a while because I have quite a few people to see first when I get home.” And that was the end of that conversation. The evening played on as expected and we held court again at her bedside until it was time for most of us to say goodnight. My mom stayed and the rest of us left to our homes and beds. I kissed my Grandmother goodnight and told her I loved her…unbeknownst to me, for the very last time.

The next day…well it’s kinda funny…the next day is mostly a blur. I don’t remember for the life of me what I was doing or what the reason was, but, I didn’t go to see her that morning. I know at some point that afternoon my girlfriend and I were shopping at a resale store and I mentioned that we needed to move things along so I could get over to see my Gram. We wrapped it up and headed home, with my intention to grab a bite to eat and head back out to see her. I don’t recall why we didn’t just go straight over for a visit as the shop we were in was just a few miles from where she lived, while our house was a whole city away. The only reasonable explanation I can think of was that maybe my girlfriend wasn’t up for a lengthy visit and I most certainly would have been expecting to spend a good chunk of time there. Anyway, whatever the reason, I didn’t go directly. While we were in the kitchen making dinner I got a phone call from my father’s sister, who lived across the street from my mom. She had just received a call from Grandma’s nurse, because mom didn’t have a phone so she was the message contact. “Angie, mejita”, she stuttered, “your Grandma…she just died…your dad is going over right now to tell your mom but I think she might want you…and the nurse wants to know if you have a mortuary picked out?” I was stunned, literally off my feet. Somehow I ended up on the floor in a heap. I remember it, but, was kind of watching from a distance somewhere above as I heard myself thank my Tia and assure her I would be on my way in a few moments to my Grandma’s bedside. I asked if anyone else had been called and was told Aunt Geri had and my dad was going to take mom. I then pulled myself up and gathered my nerves and began my journey. I was angry, because I figured that if both mom and Aunt Geri had to be called…then who had been there with Grandma? I had promised her she wouldn’t be alone…and I had already failed. Believing in my deepest soul that Grandma was already in a place where she could hear and see everything from a new perspective…I immediately began apologizing and begging forgiveness. I am not even sure how I got there or how I managed to not hurt myself or anyone else along the way…but I did make it, and felt my heavy heart beating like a drum as I took that long walk up the hallway toward her room.

Making that final right turn is another photo burned forever into my memory. The first thing I noticed was her roommate, who was this side of a drawn curtain. She looked at me with a sadness and questioning that I imagine only someone who is in that situation can understand. I looked at her and blew her a kiss in place of my usual hello and how are you today…we both knew how her day had went…and how mine was going. Words were unnecessary. I then passed beside that dividing linen and saw my Aunt, caressing my Grandmothers face…and a few other family members around, sobbing quietly and holding themselves and each other like we do when we don’t quite know what else to do. “She’s so peaceful now”, my Aunt said…trying to convince us all that things were as they should be. It was deeply engrained in all of us at this point. “Was she alone?” It was all I could think of to say. I hadn’t even really glanced down at her yet, I just wanted to know what the circumstances were at the end. Mom was there, but, wasn’t really saying anything yet. Dad had been waiting out in the lobby. Somehow I missed him…had looked right past him. Later, I would hear that I actually greeted him…just had no recollection of it. Anyway…I still don’t know if it was mom or auntie who answered me…it was a soothing female voice is all I know. “The nurse said she waited for her to step into the restroom, to wash her hands, and she just closed her eyes and went to sleep.” That was it. It was decided that maybe that was the one thing Grandma wanted to change about our family “plan”. She didn’t want any of us to be here alone when she passed, so she made sure we were all gone first, even her nurse. The staff had somehow convinced my mom to leave and go home for a break…and she had only just gotten home and laid down when dad came to tell her what had happened. The nurse had just finished examining her, and said she was well for the circumstances. But, in the few moments she was actually left alone…she departed. And now, she lay in her stillness and peace, before us to hold for the final time.

When I finally brought my sight down upon her body, I was drawn to the central point of her face. Her nose…it was so different…in life it was kind of plump and full, but as her facial muscles relaxed, her true shape came through. She had the exact nose I had seen for years in the pictures we had uncovered….that of her mother’s; my Great Grandmother Louise. It had a delicate curve, and I had never before noticed. I was amazed, and strangely somewhat obsessed by this fact. I stared, touched, and appreciated that Grandma had always held this secret. I imagined her at that very moment again in the arms of both her mother and father…embracing her beloved only sister, who had died years earlier from the same disease…and holding my baby sister. Her legs, sight, memory, speech, and energy were restored…she was indeed on her way home.

In the next hour it fell upon those of us present to continue notifying family members of her passing. The mortuary had let us know it would be awhile before they would arrive to remove her…so we let everyone know that if they desired to come sit with her they had time to do so. We discussed what our next steps were, sometimes breaking from our conversations and looking toward our silent matriarch as though to get her reaction. It had almost become “normal” to sit with her like this…comfortable even…and then the two men with the stretcher walked into the room…and once again…the dark veil fell.

They announced their purpose and recommended that we all leave them alone to “take care of her” at that time. Everyone formed a line and began approaching Gram and giving her a final kiss before they passed out into the hallway to join some of her favorite staff who had gathered to also say their goodbyes. I, however, did not move. I remained right beside her pillow, holding a frame in my hand. I don’t remember how it found it’s way into my grasp, but, I know it held a significance for me that was remarkable. In that frame was a poem my oldest son had given her a few years before after she had revealed to him that she sometimes was afraid of the dark. He had been battling those fears and she had reassured him everyone felt like that at times, even she. I had given him a bedtime storybook with a poem to encourage someone to find ways to face the fear of the dark. He had decided he wanted to give her that book…but had a hard time actually parting ways. So, we compromised and I printed it up on the computer and framed it…and he proudly gave it to her. Now, I held it in my hand and placed her head into my other arm…as close to holding her as I could get. While the men went about their business of readying her for transport, I whispered that poem into her ear. My niece Reina stood beside me, helping me keep my emotions in check…and then she said her goodbyes. As the men began their final task…wrapping my grandmother in a sheet…they warned me that they would need to place her in a body bag in a few moments and they strongly suggested I leave the room before this. “You don’t understand,” I said, “I promised her I was walking with her until I no longer could…and I am not leaving this room until she does.” I then took one corner of the sheet, and I helped these two strangers enshroud her, first in the linen, and then in a cold, black bag. I would forever after take great comfort in knowing that the fabric that actually touched her skin was a soft, white, clean garment…placed upon her in part by someone whom she loved in life. She was lifted onto her stretcher and I was told the bag must be sealed. I put my hands on both sides of her cooled face and placed my final kiss on her…as they zipped her in I whispered, “it’s okay Grandma…I know I have let you go now…and I’ll be okay…we all will be.” Probably to the astonishment to these two men, who I will never be able to describe because they were such blurs…I placed my hands on that stretcher and began pushing her into the hallway. As I turned that corner, my siblings and cousins fell into step beside me and behind me…and together we actually took my Grandmother through the halls of her final home and out to the wagon awaiting her in the rear. The staff and other residents…even the stretcher guys…they just respectfully melted away as we passed. It seemed a very proper way for us to send her on to the next place where she was supposed to be.

In the next few days we did what was expected of us…we arranged and attended her funeral. I even found the strength, and with the assistance of a very talented friend of mine and her beautiful fiddle, I sang for my Grandmother at her graveside service.

It wouldn’t be until several weeks later when I came across the term “winding sheet” while I was reading a collection of short stories. It is an ancient term, which is rarely used in modern times, to describe the shroud that is wrapped around a corpse. In some cultures, it is also the only thing between a body and the tomb. To me, it is a final embrace. It struck me that the cloth that I helped wrap Grandma in was indeed her “winding sheet”. It represented for me the very final way that I could demonstrate to her the love I held and will continue to hold in my heart.

In her final days, my grandma had managed to again teach me lessons in living. She had lived her life on her own terms, and let go in the same way. While she accomplished this, she helped me find the strength inside myself to love someone in the most ultimate way…the love of letting go. 9/31/2009