This might be a bit rambling, but I want to write this down to see if it makes any more sense to me.
My lovely grandma died on Friday, having declined quite rapidly in hospital over the previous week.
I am the only grandchild, and she doted on me. I have so many happy memores of her welcome when we arrived (she lived a couple of hours away from my childhood home), of spending time with her in their amazing garden, of her home made chocolate cake, the room she decorated for me specially in her house (pink, of course), of Christmas dinners and picking tomatoes on summer evenings, of her teasing my grandad and calling him a Silly Old Fool, and lots more.
She was 89 when she died and I probably saw her once a year for the past decade. I know that's not very much, but I used to travel a lot for work - I tried to send her a postcard from every country I visited. I have two young children, and I took them to see her the past two Christmasses. The last time I went we didn't know if I'd make it because of the snow and didn't want to disappoint her, so we kept it a surprise, and her face when she saw us all in my auntie's house was just brilliant.
Her husband died 15 years ago, and I believe only one of her brothers or sisters is still alive. She lived the past 15 years independently, in their old house. She suffered a couple of strokes, and no longer tended the garden (although she did have a man in until recently to keep it going). My auntie helped with shopping and whenever we visited it would be rare to sit for more than an hour uninterrupted before the door bell rang and a neighbour or friend came by for tea and biscuits.
A couple of weeks ago she started undergoing medical tests because she was anaemic, among other issues. My mum had a fairly stern conversation with her about not eating - her appetite had waned a lot, but she was now basically existing on tea and biscuits. Together with my granddad they ran a farm for 40 years, their garden won prizes for produce and flowers (she once received a letter through the post addressed to 'Mrs & Mrs F - the house with the hanging baskets' and the postman recognised it as hers!), she kept chickens and had so much veg and eggs that they lived almost entirely on a barter system with old farming friends who would drop round a brace of pheasants or leg of lamb in return for boxes of eggs, jams and beans. Her chocolate cakes were legendary. When I left home and started running my own home I used to talk to her about food and food fashions a lot during our phone conversations. To me, her deciding that she no longer wanted food was her deciding it was time to let go.
She had a bad fall (most likely down the steep stairs she refused to let anyone change), was admitted to hospital and never got out of bed. For the first few days she was lucid and relatively upbeat - when a doctor told her he'd come to 'Take her for an X-ray', she interjected with 'Execution!' before he could finish. But she was still in pain, they increased the morphine and she became less conscious, finally slipping away on Friday.
My dad is obviously upset. When it became clear that she was on a downward slide I talked about whether I should go and see her and it was agreed that as she didn't really know who was there by that point, and that if she had realised I was there it might have distressed her because she wouldn't have been able to communicate, that I shouldn't and I didn't. My last memory of her is of her eating Christmas trifle and chuckling as my son threw jelly around my aunt's pristine kitchen, and I'm very happy that's the case.
The funeral isn't for a couple of weeks, and we're going away in the interim. There was some suggestion that might be a problem - i.e. that I would be too upset to go on holiday until the funeral. I don't feel that at all. In fact we've had friends here all weekend and I've been drinking wine and talking rubbish and playing with our children, and generally having a lovely time. I intend to go on holiday and have fun. And then I intend to go to the funeral and remember a life well lived, and as good a death as my Grandmother could have hoped for. I shed a little tear last night watching my son and thinking that he would never experience the unconditional love I enjoyed from her, but I'm not mourning. Is that odd?
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My wonderful grandmother died, and I don't feel very sad
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AprilFoolishness · 15/04/2013 15:01
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