It's been a very hard week around here. My grandma, who just turned 95, doesn't have much longer with us. She has stopped eating, can hardly speak, rarely opens her eyes, and struggles to breathe. She has told us she'll be going on a trip very soon and that she loves us very much. We've been driving to see her in the evenings, after work, but yesterday was the hardest day.
Nanie was very uncomfortable, anxious, struggling for breath, and clearly at the end of her life. I was so proud of my little girl and the way she handled herself. Most kids would be full of fear when they walk into a hospital and see their loved one hooked up to so many different machines and so obviously in distress. I imagined her shying away from Nanie, being a bit afraid. What she did instead made me feel so proud, hopeful, and heartbroken all at the same time.
My daughter, who tends to see the negative in things, was filled with delight at every little thing that made my grandma smile. She knows how much Nanie loves to have visitors and was absolutely gleeful to know she was the reason Nanie opened her eyes, tried to speak, reached out to grab her hand, or even tried to smile. She wasn't focused on the fact that her great-grandma is dying. Instead, she delighted in the joy she was able to bring to someone other than herself. She was selfless, loving, and stronger than I could ever imagine a child to be.
The first thing she did was pull a chair as close as she could to Nanie. When that wasn't close enough, she asked if she could sit on her bed. She held Nanie's hand and asked her if she could open two eyes for her, lighting up when Nanie opened her eyes and smiled. There were hugs and kisses, even though there were tubes and needles. She had no fear, only love.
I could hardly see through the tears, watching them smile at each other. I sobbed. I got home and sobbed some more. My kids were strong and so grateful for the time they had with Nanie. It became very obvious that I'm CLEARLY not the strong one in the family.
My mom has been with her for 10-12 hours a day, smiling and talking to her, telling her how much we all love her, and listening to her sing hymns. She's the strongest person I know. Maybe that's where my little girl gets it.
Since being strong wasn't going to happen for me, I did what I do best. I baked.
You see, my grandma has been trying to get something for everyone who walks into the room. She asks, with a very soft breath, if she can get you anything and looks around the room to see what she might have. She's a hostess and she wants to make sure her friends and family are comfortable and well fed.. It's what she's always done.
I woke up at about 4:30 and couldn't sleep anymore. Nanie's cinnamon rolls were calling me. I got down the same bread basket we've used to hold her cinnamon rolls for the past 30 years, and I found her recipe for the rolls. I used her recipe, not my own, because this was a gift from her. I brought the rolls to hospital with me today and we were able to share them with visitors and hospital staff. My grandma knew I was there and spoke my name, but nothing more. She was peaceful today. People came back to thank us for the rolls and I knew my grandma was happy.
It was her basket, her recipe, her thought, and her heart. She just needed my hands.