A room with a view

I lay back on the lazy boy chair next to Gram, with my hand on hers and close my eyes. The chair leans  all the way back and I position it to the same height as Gram's bed, right next to me. I can hear the creek outside of her window, it is peaceful and reassuring. I imagine that it flows beyond where I or anyone on this earth can see, perhaps a path for Gram and others.  Up until a few days ago, Gram would look outside and say, "it's so still, nothing is moving, it's so still". Often there was a breeze and I could see the tall grass in the fields outside swaying gently and the daisies and potentilla would quietly dance with the breeze; to her it was still.  On a clear day if I look west I can see the mountains. It is breathtakingly beautiful. I cannot imagine a more lovely place to transition from this world to beyond. 

It has been a week since Gram was moved here. When we arrived at the hospice the nurse got us all settled and smiled at Gram and said, "welcome home".  For a few days Gram had enough energy to drink a small smoothie in a day and to stay awake long enough to have a conversation. She would smile at the little kids when we brought them in for a visit and then drift back to sleep. With the help of the nurses we could move her into a wheel chair and take her for a walk outside making our way around the creek and through the garden,  we could even sneak a raspberry or saskatoon berry for her. The past two days have left her still, like the stillness she sees outside. She cannot drink anymore and has no energy to open her eyes. She knows we are here, I know that she knows. 

Her breathing has changed, it is heavy and slow. Her color is gone, I have not seen anyone so pale. I notice that her eyes are unable to close completely now. For the past week we have managed to have her off all drugs, she needed nothing but our company, some water and a few sips of smoothie. Over  the past few days we have watched as she grimaces when she is moved, her slight body no longer able to handle this without a little pain relief. The nurses here are tender and caring. They brush her hair, hold her hand and treat her with such kindness. She has said many times this week, "I am fortunate". Today it is I who feels fortunate. The past few weeks, sitting with her has brought my family closer than I could have imagined. We have held each other while the other cries and then switched over, allowing the other to be strong while we each take our turn to feel and to let go. I have had conversations with my mother that I don't know if we would ever have had if not for this time together. I have laughed and cried with my sister as we remember our funny Gram stories. I have watched, first hand, a little frail 87 year old woman fight to stay alive. Her will has amazed even the medical staff. 

I have wondered over the past two days, why are you holding on Gram? Your body is shutting down but still you hang on. Today however I see her surrender. I know that we don't have long before she follows the creeks path beyond. I look out her window today and smile at her room with a view. One of Gram's favourite movies was, A room with a view. My mother and Aunt watched it years ago at Gram's recommendation and said they could hardly stay awake! Now it's my turn.

It is difficult for us to surrender and realize that we cannot control everything. We cannot set a time or predict how the story will end. It seems to go against all that this busy non stop world we live in has taught us. This journey is one that only she can control and maybe not even her? So tonight I have the movie ready to go on my laptop and I will snuggle up beside her and imagine us in Italy and England, along side Lucy Honeychurch. I let go of all expectations, worries and sadness and just be and enjoy our room with a view. 

my hand for your journey...

I don’t know that we can ever really prepare for watching and being with a loved one as they die. I have lost loved ones in my life; my Dad died when I was six, three months later his mother, my Grandma, died. There have been many to go since then but with each passing it brings a different experience; and it seems the older we get the harder it us for us to watch. Perhaps that is only our own mortality and selfishness coming in to play? 

My Gram is leaving this world now in no pain and is at home, surrounded by family and friends and wrapped in love. She is 87 years old and has lead a full and fascinating life. She is one of the strongest women I know. I have never heard the word regret leave her mouth. She has lived with intention, meaning, kindness and joy. She was a life long learner. Gram was an RN and up until a month ago or so she would tell you she still was a nurse (that was before she'd tell you to bugger off and stop tending to her); and, I love this one, she became a fitness instructor in her fifties! She used to drag us to her classes and we couldn't keep up! She is a mother, a wife, a sister, a friend and our Gram. 

I remember all of the joy and know she is in no pain, yet tonight,  I feel such sadness and helplessness as I sit at her bedside. 

My Mom called four days ago and with a shaky voice said, “I think her time is coming Eryn, things are changing”. I arrived at Gram’s care home the next day to find her curled up in her bed, looking more pale than I had ever seen and so very fragile; I was hesitant when I bent down to hug her afraid I may literally break her but so wanting to just touch her. She weighs about 90lbs now and her skin is changing by the day. Her cheeks have begun to cave in and her eyes droop when they are open. 

Doctors and staff have been preparing us for this for many months. Gram is in stage five kidney failure and we knew this day would come. Her body is shutting down. Her blood pressure is down to 75/30 at times, she drinks very little, eats nothing and has not been out of bed in four days other than to go to the bathroom. Now, that is a wonder to watch. She can barley move in bed and is asleep most of the time but still has this will and determination to get up and go to the bathroom on her own. My Mom and I tried to get her to use her walker yesterday to help with the short distance to the bathroom (about 6 feet from her room) and she pushed it away saying “oh fiddleydee to that”! Why would I think that her independence and stubbornness would change now?

We had hoped to have a palliative caregiver here with us for these last days but alas, there are no staff to be found due to ‘cuts’ and this being a long weekend. Strangely, I am grateful for that right now as our family takes shifts and I am here with her, maybe the way it is meant to be right now. The staff here at her supportive care home have been empathetic, compassionate, knowledgeable and truly outstanding. They have honoured our wish to keep her here in what has become her home since January and a place she now loves and feels comfortable and safe in. Pictures of her family surround her and she rests in her own bed, with a blue blanket with pink ties, made by my Great Grandma, gently around her little body, wrapping her in memories and love. 

The RN has been up to sit with us and tell us what to expect and sure enough, we now watch it happen. It is not her dying that has me feeling such heaviness in my heart tonight, I know it is her time and I know she is ok. It is this helplessness that I feel as I watch her. We can help with any discomfort but I cannot help her let go. Her body is dying but her mind seems to be moving in and out of two worlds right now and I cannot help her with that. 

My Uncle, her son, comes tomorrow and I wonder if this is what she waits for? She has some dementia so it is difficult to know how aware she is right now. We explain what is happening to her body and she says, “really”? I take comfort in the words of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, who said,  “I say to people who care for people who are dying, if you really love that person and want to help them, be with them when their end comes close. Sit with them - you don't even have to talk. You don't have to do anything but really be there with them”.

So we sit and play her favorite church hymns quietly in the background letting her know that we are here, with her until the end.