A Life Well Lived

It was only a mere three weeks ago that I got the call that Me-Ma was in the hospital. I guess I gave her that nickname when I was a toddler, but ever since, all the adults and other grandchildren (and great-grandchildren) have called her Me-ma and my grandfather Pe-pa. Funny how those thing stick.

My Uncle told me she hadn't been eating and they had to take her to the emergency room. We went up later that night to see her. Even though she suffers from dementia, Me-ma was able to talk and knew who I was. My Uncle was there and we visited a while about her condition. At that time, all they knew was that there was some fluid around her intestines and that it shouldn't be there. She also wasn't eating. When I got there she had a few IVs in, and was a little confused about what was happening, but she wasn't upset or angry.

Did I mention she was 88 years old?

Before I left, I walked over to her and asked her if it was OK for me to lead a prayer with her. We prayed and she seemed to really like that, she thanked me and I gave her a kiss. She has that nice smell that reminds you of your grandparents in better days (not the smell you usually associate with them when they are in retirement facilities). Then we left.

My Mom wanted to go see her. Me-ma is my Dad's mother, but even though my parents divorced when I was three, they she was always close to my Mom. The following Monday I met her up at the Hospital, but she was already in the room. My mother doesn't handle these things too well. She was quiet and sat in a chair while other visitors talked to Me-ma. My uncle came in shortly after and spoke with my Mom for a while. I felt the call to pray again with Me-ma, so I asked her if she'd like that. She did and we did. Me-ma smiled and was happy.

Mother left at that point, and so did my uncle. So, it was just me and Me-ma. I have to admit, it was nice having some time with her. She was still able to talk to me, and began to tell me stories of her childhood. Funny how dementia robs her of short-term memory, but their long-term didn't slip an inch.

I moved over to sit by her and she reached for my hand. She was soft, just the way a grandmother should be. She placed her other hand on top of mine. I think being touched gave her comfort, and I never let go. She was colder than I remembered, but her hands told a story. A story of living through the war, raising three sons and four grandchildren and a legacy of smiles and soft cookies.

Me-ma told me about her uncle who was a Baptist preacher, and how he would baptize people in a muddy lake behind the church. She told me she was baptized as a little girl when she was 8. She told me several stories and said to me she'd better tell me now, because she might not be here much longer.

That hit me hard. She knew. She knew what was happening.

She joked that she might have to finish her stories "up there" pointing to the sky, "do you think that's where I'll be?" she asked me. I knew she was a Christian so I just confirmed with her "you believe in Jesus as your Savior, right?" "Oh yes, yes" she said. "And you love Him in your heart, right?" "Oh, yes" she said again. "Then that's where you'll be" I said to her. She smiled and said "if you say so" and I smiled back and said "not because I say so, He says so." And there it was, that sparkle in her eyes I'd missed for so long.

Another week had gone by before I was able to get back up there. I felt lousy for letting so much time go by. My uncle told me the Oncologist was sure it was a form of Ovarian Cancer called Peritoneal Cancer. He felt it was aggressive and had spreak to her ovaries, and possibly her lungs. Due to her age, they wouldn't operate. But if she could get stronger, they might to some low level chemo to stop the fluid buildup. But it didn't sound hopeful. I went up the very next morning.

When I saw her again, she wasn't the same Me-ma I spoke with before. She seemed to be in pain. Her body was weaker, and she barely responded to my words. Still, I sat with her for a while and talked to her. I got to meet the Hospice Nurse. I love Hospice, and they are wonderful, but when you realize you need them, it is a hard reality to accept.

My uncle arrived as the nurse brought lunch. There is something so hard about watching a grown child feeding their parent. All I could think about was the book "Love you Forever."

We walked out to our cars together. He told me they gave her six months, but he thought that was overly optimistic. It was the first time I heard him mention the word "terminal."

Last night I got the call that Me-ma was now on morphine. When it gets to that point, there isn't much time left.

I am so thankful I had the chance to speak with her when I did. I feel the Lord revealed that moment to me for a reason, one I am sure He will show me soon. I will be leaving for the facility where she is staying in a few minutes to see her. Maybe it will be for the last time. But I will pray with her, and for her, again because I know that makes her happy.

We had her for 88 years. She leaves behind a wonderful legacy, and wouldn't be a part of it without her.

I am going to love her forever.

Forever and ever.

Amen.

file this under Soul
Posted by on October 18, 2004 @ October 18, 2004 11:18 AM    
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