The thing about grandparents...

Let me tell you a little something I've learned about grandparents:

They always have the best treats. They always have the best stories. They never forget your birthday, and always send the best cards. They always have the right answers, and they always give the best hugs. Because the thing about grandparents.....is that they love you more than you will ever realize.

But that can't last forever; things change and time makes use grow older.

Because the thing about grandparents....is that they die.

And you don't get those cards anymore, or the treats, or the hugs. And there isn't anything that you can do about it, because that's how its supposed to happen.

My Grandmother Hennessey has been living in Utah for the past two years, and has been increasingly suffering from alzheimer's. My father moved her from her home in California so we could look after her for these past few years. As time has passed, and as the disease has carried on, she has been slowly taking her journey to the other side. Last Friday in her nursing home, while trying to get out of bed to her walker without help, she fell, and will mostly likely not recover. She has been "asleep" since Saturday morning. Just breathing. She ran a fever all day yesterday. No liquids, no solids. Just...breathing.

Death is a very surreal thing. And if you aren't prepared for it, it can pick your world up and stuff it in a jar and shake it until you can't stand it anymore. 

We got a call early yesterday afternoon from her nursing home that she was "declining". And that's how it happened. I arrived at the nursing home a few hours after my parents because my dad had called and said it was "time to come". We spent all afternoon making phone-calls, booking flights for my dad's siblings to fly in the next morning, and doing all the practical things that needed to be done so everybody could say goodbye. And then it was somehow "my turn".

We were in her room, my dad and I, just sitting. He said "I'm probably going to make some more calls, so I'm going to leave, and you can have a chance to talk to her". He leaned over her bed, put his hand on her shoulder, and lowered his head to her ear and said "Mom. It's David. Kelly is here, she's going to talk to you". And he left.

There was no sorrow; I felt no sadness. And the tears didn't come until my father said "Kelly is here". I don't know why. My heart exploded with emotion. Besides, I'm not much of a talker when it comes to things like this. But it worked out alright, because my grandma knew that about me.

I slipped my hand under her covers and found hers. "Hi Grandma. Its me, Kelly."

After a minute, her mouth moved into what I assume to be a smile, and she gurgled her usual response to me: "Hi Baby."

And that was all. 

I didn't need to say much, because I knew, and she knew, that we both knew. We knew it all. And we just sat together in silence, thinking of all the things we would say to each other if we could. And that's how we've always been. And that's how we liked it. 

I've never felt so much love for my family, especially my father. Over the past two years, my grandma has kicked and screamed to my dad, also known as  "that damn David" as she referred to him, because she didn't understand and couldn't remember why she couldn't live in California anymore and why she couldn't live by herself. But my dad never stumbled; he kept visiting her, taking care of her, and making sure she was as comfortable as possible. 

As I was standing in her room yesterday, I watched my dad hold her hand, and ask "Can I read you some Irish poems"? And he did. His voice was strong, and normal. It was his same voice he has when he's teaching lessons, or presenting business proposals, or talking to me on the phone. There was no pain, there was no sorrow, there was no quavering as you would expect from a son's voice. And that pretty much sums up my dad: strong, and loving. He stopped: "Can you see these pictures mom? Can you see the pictures in your mind?"

And the breathing continued.

He paused for a minute, and then said something that I will never, ever, forget.

"Mom. I did my best to take care of you. Do you forgive me?"

Time stood still. Everything outside of that room did not exist anymore. There was no nursing home, there was no ticking clock, there wasn't anything. All that was there was the abounding love between a mother and his son, and it was so powerful to me that time just stopped. Forgive the Grinch analogy, but my heart really did grow 3x during that moment, and I caught a small glimpse of the love that my father has for his mother, and undoubtedly for me. And the best part is that I felt the love of my Heavenly Father fill up every inch of that room and testify to each one of us that Grandma was in good hands. Death is not the end, especially for her. That sassy lady is on her way to bigger and better things.

So here we are, just waiting. Grandma is breathing. Just...breathing. And we are watching, and waiting, and loving. My grandma was the greatest lady. I would dare say she is better than your grandma. I'd even fight you on it. And when its time for her to go, she'll go. I'm excited for her. I'm excited for her to be whole and happy, I'm excited for her to be with her husband again, and I'm excited for her to watch over us, laugh with us, and cry with us as we keep journeying through this crazy thing we call life. Love you Grandma..