08 Apr 20210228 Grams died
Grams died this morning at 6:55am. She took her last breath with her son holding her left hand, her youngest daughter holding her right hand and me holding her feet.
I anointed her body with a rose perfume oil, cleaned her, dressed her, and helped lift her onto the gurney to take her into refrigeration for her graveside burial on Thursday.
By 1pm today, her apartment was emptied.
A beer, heater blanket, the quiet of my bedroom, and the softness of my baby pink sheets comfort me.
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Mom called at 6am. I stayed up til at least 2am reading… waiting. I didn’t turn my phone off or airplane mode because I knew… I knew I’d get a call. I thought it might be the full moon energy, but I was waiting… I did get a few good hours of dream filled sleep.
I told her I’d be there in 30 minutes. And I was. I took enough time to think about what earrings to wear, mountain circles, honoring our Sawtooth roots and covering the haircut she hated so much with a hat she gave me that was her sisters and to bring Ala, the wing of the Idaho Owl Goddess who helps people pass into the next life.
In my van on the way over I keep seeing this picture of her, that an unknown man pencil drew of her. She’s beautiful. It’s the most beautiful picture of her I’ve ever seen. Wind is blowing her hair. Om Tare’ the beginning of the Green Tara Tibetan Buddhist chant comes to me. I sing it. I hold on to it. Praying that I could Be Present.
At the facility, no one answered, so Mom let me thru the side door. When I got there, Grams was breathing like a fish out of water, not taxed, but not naturally. My right hand is cold and I ask if Grams will warm it up for me. I take it and indeed, she warms me, but her hand gets colder. I cried. I prayed. For me, for her, for her children. When I felt like it was time, I unwrapped Ala. And asked Grams, Remember Ala? The softest feathers of the bird kingdom? I stroked her face with her, stroked her hands, and blessed her passing. Doing what Ala told me to do, filling myself with love for her and using the wing as an extension of that love gently flapping that love to all parts of her. We see Jeff. Grams only takes a breath every now and then. Mom leaves the room to go open the side door for him. I tell Grams that Jeff is almost here if she wants to wait for him. I stroke her a few more times with the soft feathers. Jeff comes in and I ask him if he wants to feel the feathers. He says he knows what they feel like. He shakes Grams’ shoulder, mom, I’m here. Grams takes her last breath. I place Ala’s feathers over her womb. Mom holds her hand and instructs Jeff to hold her other hand. I hold Grams feet, my knees on the carpet. She is finished. I sing a tune. Feeling her warm feet in my hands. Not lifting my head, mom takes the tune and turns it to Amazing grace. I hum, and mom sings three verses of it. Mom prays to the ancestors to come, we mention names, aunt Aften, aunt anne, grandma feley, grandma brown, grandpa brown, aunt dudu, her husband max. Jeff prays something too. Grandpa max loved singing hymns too? I look at Jeff. With tears in his eyes, he nods. Eventually Jeff and Mom move to the next room. I stay. I hold her hand, cry some more, make an outline of her hands on paper, I take a picture of her hands. I kiss her. Then I anoint as much of her body as I feel comfortable with with Rose and Flower perfume. I massage her body amazed at how warm it still is. I want to massage her pelvis, but I feel that is too private. And indeed, when the hospice nurse arrives, she cleans her up and it’s a foul smell. We dress her. We can’t find the purple suit she had picked out. So we go with the practical and ever so every day casual we put on her Ireland sweater, a white turtle neck, a jean blue skirt, beige speckled socks, and her favorite blue sandals. Before she leaves, I remember to put on her glasses. Just like she wanted. We put on turquoise earrings, and I put in her left pocket two coral and turquoise bird Indian earrings. Because she liked em, but never wore em.
When the funeral home comes to take her away, I ask if I can help move her body. I make sure to help use the sheet to gently tuck around her back so when we turn her the sheet easily comes around her side. When we move her to the gurney, I can’t help but think, no, not yet. I’m not ready for this beautiful, strong, sturdy, healthy, warm body to be taken away. No one else seems to want to say goodbye. But mom comes and kisses her forehead. I drape the white sheet over her skull and the funeral on call guy takes her away.
Jeff wants to clean out the apartment now. I have to decide what I want from the remains now. I have two things picked out and they agree I can have them. I go thru all of her clothes and put a few things on top of her body before the funeral home comes. When she is gone, I keep looking at the bed. Thinking she’ll still be there. She’s not. She’s gone.
I take out her pink and sequined robe and tell Jeff that he’s a robe guy he should take it. He laughs and says he’s already got one. No one wants it. I think I’ll end up keeping it.
By 1pm everything’s gone. The apartment is empty.
My van is full of clothes to give away and clothes that I will end up wearing until they are tethered.
I come home and sleep. I don’t open the curtains. I don’t empty the van, I don’t put away my clean clothes, I don’t pick up the stuff that fell out of my purse. I lay in my bed with my heater blanket and let the feather comforter in the pink eucalyptus duvet hug me. My hat is still on. I’m in my blue dress. And I wait until the darkness of night welcomes me into consciousness.
