Heart of Gold

On August 17, 2014, my sweet little grandma passed away. She passed away while I was laying in a bed in Santorini, Greece. I went outside and watched the Aegean Sea. Out of my control, halfway across the world, I could only have tears and nausea. If I was home, I would've gotten there in time to hold her hands (such soft hands), to sing to her, to touch her head, to kiss her, to comfort her. 

I wasn't home, though. So many things out of my control. Quiet on such a big, black sea, just before the sun came up. I could hear the water on the rocks and against the boats below. I felt incredibly small and outside of myself. I fear she died afraid and unnecessarily.

She was a 92 year old German woman and stubborn about getting the help that she needed. One pacemaker, but otherwise, strong for her 4'9" body. She had to have been in so much pain to have called my uncle for help. Physical pain, as well as emotional. I think her spirit broke when she finally called him, and I think she was finally allowed to call for help.

Over the years, she refused nursing homes, assisted living, and home health care because she feared abuse. She always refused to live with any of us because she was afraid to leave what she knew. 

She didn't always weigh 70 pounds, but she did when she died. When my uncle came to her, she was in pain from a fall (which happened days before), and she had been sleeping on the floor for who knows how long. She refused to be carried to my uncle's car. She somehow still walked herself to the car, somehow regaining some pride. When she got to the hospital, a bed sore on her tailbone was found, she couldn't talk much, and her hair was matted down from years of hairspray (Aqua Net - I can always smell the Aqua Net), so they had to cut it. My grandma's wild hair was a trademark. Loved that hair.

You could say she should've called for help sooner. But I don't know if she could've. No doubt, she would've been alive today if she could've and/or would've called sooner. Even at 92, I believe she'd still be alive and thriving minus some unsavory circumstances in her life. Her daughter was living with her, someone capable of calling for help for my grandma. But she didn't. She was allowing my grandma to stay on the floor, allowing the pain. And my grandma was clearly not eating. The food thing had gone on for years with food being withheld, so I'm certain it continued while my grandma was on the floor. I never want to believe someone is this terrible, and I've tried to shake it. But I haven't been able to yet.

And so I'm sad for my grandma and how she passed, an abusive situation after all. 

I couldn't be there for her last breaths and mumbled words. I know that she loved me so much, and so I know I could've helped her where possible by just being there. Sounds full of myself. It can sound that way. But I knew how she cared about her grandkids; I knew how she felt about me. I was able to know that at a young age. So I know it would've comforted her if I was there, and that's all I'm saying.

But there I was, overlooking a dark Aegean Sea with absolutely no power to help her. Like being swallowed. I felt consumed because I could do nothing for her. It taught me things.

She's out of pain now, so there's always that. And that will probably move me through this.