Saturday, December 31, 2005
New Years Eve
The longer you sleep in an easy chair the less easy it comes. It's comfortable at first, but for an entire night it gets old fast.
I woke up several times, mostly from nurses coming in to check on Bamps. One time he was awake and asked me "What are doing here?" I told him I didn't want to leave. He just smiled and went back to sleep.
About 7am I woke up to a big crash. Bamps had slept though it, but apparently, while bringing up the breakfast cart, the orderly somehow had managed to overturn the cart, which isn't an easy thing to do. There were scrambled eggs, cream of wheat and coffee everywhere! When he started to clean it up, whoopsie! He ended up face down in cream of wheat. It was hilarious. Because the food and coffee was slowly spreading out over the floor, everyone was tossing towels on it so it wouldn't spread too far, and Housecleaning was finding eggs and cereal on the floor, the walls, the furniture....even tracked into the nurses station! The poor orderly was getting ribbed about his starting his New Years Eve partying a little early!
Since the Great Egg Massacre happened right outside my grandfather's room, I was awake now. I was amazed Bamps slept through it, but he had a morphine injection at around 5:30am and looked very peaceful, but he'd have had a good laugh at all that was going on.
I decide to do my morning ablutions at the handwashing sink in the room. Hank hadn't arrived with my stuff yet. When I was attempting to put on mascara (a girly skill that still eludes me) I glance over at my grandfather in the mirror and get a bit of a shock. All around him there was a dense fog. I turned around to see if it was just fog on the mirror, but it wasn't the fog was still there, all around him, and above him. The nurse came in to check on him and saw it too. She didn't act surprised she just said she she'd come back later to do his vitals. She asked how I was and I told her I was fine, but I was really curious about the fog. I'd seen it once before - the morning my grandmother died. She just shrugged her shoulders and said that things happen there that they can't explain, you just have to accept it. Her theory is that the fog is either the spirit of the one dying or the spirits or friends welcoming the dying patient, or maybe the Holy Spirit. She was Catholic and had been estranged from the church for almost 20 years. Then she job at hospice. When you see stuff like that, you know there's something on the other side, you just don't know what.
Hank arrived about 10am with three McD's pancake breakfasts; we ate two and gave one to the wife of the man in the next room.
My grandfather was breathing very slowly, and his hands were cold. Once in awhile he'd squeeze my hand just to let me know he was there. Nurses came in about every ten minutes, and we knew that my grandfather's death was imminent. Hank held his right hand, I held his left.
We didn't have much conversation between us. What do you say at a time like this? Anything you could say would seem so trivial. Since Bamps was sleeping, really he was in what's termed a morphine coma, we were quiet. We didn't want to disturb him. At one point he called out "Esther" my grandmother's name.
The doctor came in at about 11am and did a brief examination. He said my grandfather looked peaceful, how were we holding up? Well, gee, my grandfather, the person aside from my husband that I was closest too was dying, so I've been better. Apparently I looked rather stressed out, despite the fact I thought I was fairly calm. He could prescribe some Valium for me if I wanted, and I said that I had my own, but thanks anyway. Hank, as usual, was strong, but you could tell the sorrow had crept in.
After the doctor left, a few minutes later one of the nurses came in and took my grandfathers pulse. She said it wasn't going to very long now. Just as she was turning to leave, my grandfather had a massive convulsion. He had no history of seizures, although his sister did have epilepsy. The nurse said it appeared to be grand mal seizure. As suddenly as it began, it stopped. My grandfathers eyes opened, he looked at me, managed a smile, and then closed his eyes again. He took a few more breath; inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale...we waited for him to exhale. He didn't.
The nurse looked for his pulse. It was gone.
My grandfather had got his wish at 11:23 am, on New Years Eve. He didn't want to start another year, and he didn't. He left his life the way he had lived it...on his own terms.
The tears Hank and I had been holding back for months finally erupted. For the first time in my life I felt utterly lost. The person I had been closest had left the earth. I believe in an afterlife, so I know he's fine.
I think he chose to die on New Years Eve. It was his favorite holiday and I'm sure in Heaven that night he went to one helluva New Years Eve bash, with my grandmother at his side.
Every year at New Years Eve, we drink a toast to my grandparents. We still feel them with us.
I woke up several times, mostly from nurses coming in to check on Bamps. One time he was awake and asked me "What are doing here?" I told him I didn't want to leave. He just smiled and went back to sleep.
About 7am I woke up to a big crash. Bamps had slept though it, but apparently, while bringing up the breakfast cart, the orderly somehow had managed to overturn the cart, which isn't an easy thing to do. There were scrambled eggs, cream of wheat and coffee everywhere! When he started to clean it up, whoopsie! He ended up face down in cream of wheat. It was hilarious. Because the food and coffee was slowly spreading out over the floor, everyone was tossing towels on it so it wouldn't spread too far, and Housecleaning was finding eggs and cereal on the floor, the walls, the furniture....even tracked into the nurses station! The poor orderly was getting ribbed about his starting his New Years Eve partying a little early!
Since the Great Egg Massacre happened right outside my grandfather's room, I was awake now. I was amazed Bamps slept through it, but he had a morphine injection at around 5:30am and looked very peaceful, but he'd have had a good laugh at all that was going on.
I decide to do my morning ablutions at the handwashing sink in the room. Hank hadn't arrived with my stuff yet. When I was attempting to put on mascara (a girly skill that still eludes me) I glance over at my grandfather in the mirror and get a bit of a shock. All around him there was a dense fog. I turned around to see if it was just fog on the mirror, but it wasn't the fog was still there, all around him, and above him. The nurse came in to check on him and saw it too. She didn't act surprised she just said she she'd come back later to do his vitals. She asked how I was and I told her I was fine, but I was really curious about the fog. I'd seen it once before - the morning my grandmother died. She just shrugged her shoulders and said that things happen there that they can't explain, you just have to accept it. Her theory is that the fog is either the spirit of the one dying or the spirits or friends welcoming the dying patient, or maybe the Holy Spirit. She was Catholic and had been estranged from the church for almost 20 years. Then she job at hospice. When you see stuff like that, you know there's something on the other side, you just don't know what.
Hank arrived about 10am with three McD's pancake breakfasts; we ate two and gave one to the wife of the man in the next room.
My grandfather was breathing very slowly, and his hands were cold. Once in awhile he'd squeeze my hand just to let me know he was there. Nurses came in about every ten minutes, and we knew that my grandfather's death was imminent. Hank held his right hand, I held his left.
We didn't have much conversation between us. What do you say at a time like this? Anything you could say would seem so trivial. Since Bamps was sleeping, really he was in what's termed a morphine coma, we were quiet. We didn't want to disturb him. At one point he called out "Esther" my grandmother's name.
The doctor came in at about 11am and did a brief examination. He said my grandfather looked peaceful, how were we holding up? Well, gee, my grandfather, the person aside from my husband that I was closest too was dying, so I've been better. Apparently I looked rather stressed out, despite the fact I thought I was fairly calm. He could prescribe some Valium for me if I wanted, and I said that I had my own, but thanks anyway. Hank, as usual, was strong, but you could tell the sorrow had crept in.
After the doctor left, a few minutes later one of the nurses came in and took my grandfathers pulse. She said it wasn't going to very long now. Just as she was turning to leave, my grandfather had a massive convulsion. He had no history of seizures, although his sister did have epilepsy. The nurse said it appeared to be grand mal seizure. As suddenly as it began, it stopped. My grandfathers eyes opened, he looked at me, managed a smile, and then closed his eyes again. He took a few more breath; inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale...we waited for him to exhale. He didn't.
The nurse looked for his pulse. It was gone.
My grandfather had got his wish at 11:23 am, on New Years Eve. He didn't want to start another year, and he didn't. He left his life the way he had lived it...on his own terms.
The tears Hank and I had been holding back for months finally erupted. For the first time in my life I felt utterly lost. The person I had been closest had left the earth. I believe in an afterlife, so I know he's fine.
I think he chose to die on New Years Eve. It was his favorite holiday and I'm sure in Heaven that night he went to one helluva New Years Eve bash, with my grandmother at his side.
Every year at New Years Eve, we drink a toast to my grandparents. We still feel them with us.
