Today I will tell you the story about my grandmother and her recent passing. She was a force to be reckoned with. She had been divorced from a young age and developed a fierce sense of independence. She lived life on her very own terms without hesitation or apology. There was sometimes a downside to this fierceness, which came in the form of strained family relationships. She left a fiery trail wherever she went.
She lived in Chicago, independently, until right before her death. She had a routine that she stuck to that included libraries, movies, book clubs (she had multiple, but never ready the books- just enjoyed the banter!), and sneaking in to the assisted living facility across the street from her condo to enjoy their “residents only” cafeteria.
When the pandemic hit in 2020 we all, like the rest of the world, panicked. We decided, as a family, that she should come out to Denver for some extra support during those unknown times. My brother drove across the country and picked her up, brought her back to live with my parents. Every night they watched Jeopardy together and drank the good champagne when they could, her favorite things.
At the same time I was working frantically in the hospital, in a scary world, and trying desperately to get pregnant through IVF (my own personal darkest moments). My grandmother knew all of this, and loved me the best way she could. As time went on something in her health changed- she stopped eating, her strength declined, she just kind of stopped. We took her to my clinic, the ER once, thought about specialists, but could find nothing organically wrong. Her body was functioning, her heart was fine. Her mind was sharp, her insides were good. She insisted we stop, too. She didn’t want to go to the doctors, the hospital. She felt in her soul that her time was coming to an end, and that’s exactly what happened.
My mom and I (both health care professionals) stopped. We called hospice and made her comfortable. And my fierce, independent grandmother died in my parent’s house on her very own terms.
I truly have no idea why she died. I know, medically speaking, there are a lot of reasons, that we could have done the million dollar workup for. We could have gotten “to the bottom of it” one way or another. But that’s not what she wanted. She had lost some of her independence, her routines were different. We didn’t know if she’d ever get back to her condo (decorated in pink and gold), where she
was happiest, because of all the worldly uncertainty. There were so many reasons, and so little explanation. She had simply made the decision.
But most of all, I think she was making room. She knew my son was on the way (still not conceived for another 6 months after her passing) and my deepest darkest opinion is that she was making way for him. The second I met him I knew he had the same fierce independence and fiery path.
This is a story, mainly, about my family. But also about people’s choices over their bodies. Every family has their deepest darkest opinions, and that one relative that is going to do things their own way, no matter what that is. I hope I get the chance to hear more of these stories.
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