Dear Diary, I Sure Miss My Grandma

Sometimes we never know how profoundly someone has affected our life until they’re gone. This is a diary of the last days of my grandmother, Doris Young.
Thursday, October 25, 2001: Haven’t seen my 76-year-old grandma in a while. Mom said she’s going in for surgery in Kansas City tomorrow to have a cyst removed from her liver. It’s serious, but they say she has the best surgeon, and they don’t expect any problems. She’s healthy as a horse.
Friday, October 26: My sister called to tell me Grandma’s surgery went well. As she talked to me on the phone, her cell phone rang, and it was Mom. Grandma stopped breathing — no one knows why. The worst part is that the respiratory therapist assigned to her thought it was just a defective monitor. By the time he got another and hooked it up, they estimated she hadn’t been breathing for about 15 minutes. Grandma’s in a coma.
Saturday, October 27: Not much change in Grandma’s condition. Doctors are monitoring brainwaves. Parts of her brain are dead, but her heart is strong.
Monday, October 29: The hospital waiting room was filled with family. My aunt took me back to the intensive care unit to see Grandma. It was the first time I’d seen her since last Christmas, because of busy lives and living in different towns. She didn’t look like herself. She looked like a linebacker lying there, big shoulders and swollen everywhere.
After speaking with the doctors, the family made a caravan to a restaurant. We sat at different tables since all they had available were booths, but we were all still one, big “trying-to-be-happy” family. My uncle had the foresight to grab some butter and a loaf of Grandma’s homemade banana-nut bread from her freezer. After we ate, he sliced and served us all a slice of the last thing she had baked.
Tuesday, October 30: Waiting is difficult. They’re talking about starting our good-byes to Grandma. They might turn off the respirator, if her brain shows no activity.
Wednesday, October 31: The test showed a decline in brainwaves since Monday, yet she responded to her children’s voices as the doctors did the test. A good sign, right? Tonight, I stood by Grandma’s bed, stroking her arm. She was much less swollen and looked so much better. Mom talked to her and told her I was there.
Saturday, November 3: Mom called. The catheter used to take the fluid off Grandma’s brain and other organs collapsed. This meant it was only a matter of time. One by one, they took out the tubes and left her with only her respirator.
Sunday, November 4: The family discussed many things: Who would sing at the funeral, what Grandma would wear, what she’d want for her funeral; how proud she was of her grandchildren’s accomplishments. We reminisced and learned many new things about our family. We returned to the hospital to see her, maybe for the last time. All I could hear when I looked at her is her laughter, knowing I won’t hear it again. We won’t get to visit at Christmas and see how huge her hoop earrings are or her enormous, crazy watches she loved so much. She loved to have her nails done in wild shades. We won’t get to eat her famous homemade rolls this holiday season.
Wednesday, November 7: My biggest fan, my Grandma, who told my uncle I was going to be famous someday, went home to be with the Lord today. The family stood and held hands around her bed, prayed and sang “Amazing Grace” as she left us. As much as I love to sing, I found myself unable to.
Saturday, November 10: Grandma’s funeral, or celebration of life, as we prefer to call it, was today. It was amazing to see how many people attended and filed by her casket to pay their respects. She touched many peoples’ lives with her volunteer work and outgoing personality.
I sobbed as I walked by her casket and had to leave the sanctuary to compose myself. I didn’t want her to go.
At the cemetery on that unseasonably warm, sunny winter day, each of the grandkids was given a purple or white balloon. At the signal, we all let them go toward the sky, and laughed and watched until they were out of sight. It kept me from crying and made me think happy thoughts. I think I heard her laughter.
It was the most beautiful celebration I’ve ever seen.