The Final Journey Part 8 (The Passing)

Monday October 10

“Michael? This is Sandy from ManorCare….Gram passed.” Her voice was sympathetic but professional. For all these years, I dreaded getting this call. In fact, every time I got a call from ManorCare during the night, I thought it was this call. But this morning – this time- I knew what it was. There was no dread; I expected it. It was why I had placed the phone right next to my head when I went to bed. I was oddly calm but I’m sure I sounded as deflated as I felt. “Sigh. OK. I’ll be right there.”

I don’t remember if I even showered before I left the house. I don’t remember being in a hurry. There was no point now, except I wanted to get there before anyone else. I wanted some quiet time with Gram before the commotion with hospice, family, and funeral began.  I longed for a few quiet moments as I knew my life was going to get very busy coordinating things and very emotional dealing with it all.

I walked down that long hall to Gram’s room like a zombie. I was completely oblivious to what was going around me. It was as if I was walking through a dark tunnel with no visibility, but somehow knew where I was going. I heard nothing; I saw nothing. It was as if the place was completely empty and everything was still. I only heard my own heart beating intensely in my ears. My breathing was short and quick with anticipatory anxiety.

The door to room 141 was closed, of course. I walked in slowly, turned, and closed it behind me. Gram’s body was still slightly warm. Her mouth was so wide open that it looked like someone pried it that way. The first thing I did was try to close it, but it was too stiff. I couldn’t budge it.

The bright sun was shining in the window and it draped across Gram’s lifeless body, which now was grayish in color. I touched her arm and hand. I instinctively felt for a pulse. I kissed her cheek and forehead. I pushed her hair back behind her ears as I spoke softly to her. I expressed my disappointment that she wouldn’t let me be there when she left. “I understand, though," I said. “You’ve always protected me.” I said good-by, I reassured her that I’d be OK. I thanked her for teaching me how to be OK. I thanked her for everything she had done for me. “I’ll be sad; I’ll be lost for a while,” I said. “But you’ll always be with me – in my heart…I’ll take good care of Teddy, too. You’ll be with Chubbs now. Send him my love... and Bobo... I love you.”

I sat quietly like this with Gram for about an hour before I called the hospice liaison to send the nurse. I had contacted Michelle earlier and she, too, was on her way. As I waited, I realized that this would be my last time in room 141 – or it should be anyway. So I began cleaning things out. I gathered the few things that I wanted and decided to leave most other things – Gram’s clothes and TV – at the facility as donations to other patients who might need them.

I went about removing clothes from the closet and drawers in the same matter-of-fact way I always put them away if Gram was in her bed when I brought her clean laundry. I organized and folded them by placing them all over her body and bed. During the course of Gram’s illness, it was always important to me that I be matter-of-fact and go about business as usual. I believe this put her at ease. I had to do it now, too.

I was grateful to have this last quiet alone time with Gram. Even though she was dead, her room seemed full of life. Perhaps it was because of the flood of wonderful memories that passed through me while I was there with her.

When the hospice nurse arrived, she asked me for the name of the funeral home to contact. Gram had pre-paid with Ogrodnik’s back in 2008. She had asked me to take her to do it. She was wary back then to pre-pay, though. “What happens to my money if you go out of business?” I remember her asking the funeral director.
“The money is put in a separate investment fund and is technically independent of any funeral home. It can be used anywhere. But you don’t have to worry. We’re not going out of business. People are always going to die, right?”

Ogrodnik’s went out of business just the week before Gram died. “We’ve been in the process of sending letters to all of our pre-need clients,” The guy on the other end of the phone said to me after the nurse handed it over.
“You are kidding me,” I said, almost chuckling as I remembered that conversation back then.  Gram was right for being wary, I thought. They were able to suggest another funeral home in the Dignity network – H.P. Brandt. It was actually a better location with ample parking. Michelle and I planned to meet there at 1 p.m. to discuss the arrangements.

By the time the funeral home representatives arrived to take Gram’s body, I had packed up all of her clothes and belongings. Although I know would come back to the facility in the future to visit, I didn’t want to come back to room 141. At the very least, I didn’t want to have to come back and pack up her things. This way, when they arrived to take her body, Michelle and I were able to leave, knowing that part was done. I took pictures of Gram’s room as we walked out. I wanted to remember it.

I went home after leaving ManorCare. I felt empty. Never before had I felt like such a huge part of me was gone. I knew now what people mean when they say that upon losing someone. I immediately got busy. I had a couple loads of Gram’s laundry that needed done. I would finish that and donate it to ManorCare at some future date. I pressed the new blouse I bought for Gram to be buried in. I wanted it to be perfect. While pressing it, I remembered how Gram taught me to press my own shirts. “Here Mikey, let me do it,” was usually how that ended up. It was a sweet memory and I got so lost in it that I grabbed the hot iron and burned the hell out of my finger.

In the meantime, Michelle went shopping for a red sweater. Gram had told Tara that she wanted buried in the red blazer that her son, Chubby bought her many years ago. We had no idea where the blazer ended up and we knew it wouldn’t fit her anyway, so we decided a red sweater was appropriate, especially since she wore sweaters a lot over the last several years. She could always be seen in one, since she was always cold. We had grabbed a couple purple sweaters from Gram’s room to take to the funeral home just in case Michelle couldn’t find a red one. Gram always looked good in purple.

At the funeral home, I was amazed how technology had infiltrated even funeral planning. Peter, the funeral director sat across from us at the table in what I would call the “showroom.” There were caskets on display and urns on shelves and marketing materials for the many things you could purchase to memorialize your loved one, including a pendant with a fingerprint imprinted upon it. On the wall was a large flat screen TV. Peter walked us through the “wizard” of funeral planning on the screen as he reviewed Gram’s pre-need - now at-need - selections. “Most everything is still good,” Peter explained, “But I want to review things with you.” He did. The casket Gram originally chose was no longer available, but they were able to find a comparable replacement. And there was the question of flowers. “How do you want to handle flowers?” We didn’t know. I did know that Gram always felt cut flowers were a waste. I sent her roses for Mother’s Day once and she said, “These are nice Mikey, but why did you waste your money? They’re only going to die.” Peter suggested live plants that could be given to family members at the end of the viewing. Michelle and I agreed upon Mums. They were perfect because they were fall flowers and abundant right now. Plus, for many years, Gram was known to everyone as “Mum.” It was a perfect choice.

I handed Peter the white blouse I had bought and pressed. “Please touch this up,” I asked. “It must be perfect. Gram was a presser. She wouldn’t tolerate any wrinkles.” Peter graciously and gently obliged with a nod. Michelle also brought a couple different red sweaters she bought. We chose the one we thought would be perfect.

I can’t say that I was fully present during all of the discussions regarding the arrangements. For that reason, I was so grateful that Gram had asked me to take her to pre-plan and pre-pay everything all those years ago. Back then she even bought her headstone. All we had to do was commission the scroll that would contain her date of death. It was already paid for; it just had to be placed. The funeral home would handle this, too. Gram really took good care of me.
Michelle had talked with Tara and they were on their way up from Virginia. They would arrive Monday night. We would all plan to meet at the funeral home Tuesday at 1:30 p.m. for a private family viewing before opening to the public.

When I arrived back home, I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

I posted the following on Gram’s Facebook page: At approximately 4:45 this morning, Gram peacefully succumbed to her disease. We are so grateful for the love and kindness Gram experienced in her last years.

I slept well that night.