Grandma died this morning. It seemed peaceful & quick. Her breathing became shallower, and she started missing a few breaths every now and then. Within 15 minutes she was gone.
I think that my mom and her siblings made the right decision to let her go, to not prolong a life no longer lived. She could have been suffering every day, we had no way of knowing.
I don’t actually know all that much about my grandmother, most of my memory of her was after she had already lost most of her faculties. I remember playing games with her when I was young – but we didn’t see her very often. She lived in Milwaukee and then moved to Oklahoma to be with my aunt, and didn’t really travel. I remember her apartment in Milwaukee, but only the essence of it. It was kind of dark, but sunlight filtered into a few windows in low, soft lines. It was comfortable, but boring for an 8-year-old. We only went to see her a few times in Oklahoma before she came to live with us about 15 years ago. My little sisters probably have no memory of her before she wasn’t all there. I wonder if my brother does.
So we’re making plans for the funeral. I’m not excited about taking the Pie on a plane at 3 months old during cold season, and I’m not looking forward to the below-freezing temps. But Pie will be making her first trip to the land of my birth, the place her Oma & Great Grandmother both were married, the mysterious locale of cheese, beer and hot dishes. Maybe I’ll get some tater tot casserole.