passing on
You know at times like these I'd think back to the short story "The old phone" and remember, there are other worlds to sing in. And then I'd like to think that she's watching over us from the other world, still a part yet not really a part, influencing our lives at a distance.
My sisters said that as she lay on her deathbed she looked really peaceful and happy. That she looked as if she's just simply sleeping, as if you could feel her every breath, and expect her to wake up all of a sudden.
It doesn't hurt so much now, in fact I don't really think it hurts much in the traditional sense, since I sort of have been expecting something like this to happen sooner or later, what with internal bleeding and intestinal lacerations and copious amounts of bleeding. A part of me even selfishly hoped that she could hold on until the RCO and I'd get to skip it. I'm not proud to have thought that, but anyway it didn't really come as a shock. It just......makes you all hollow inside and make you realize that you won't get to hear her complaints again, not feel irritated at her smoking, not be pressed into massaging her constantly aching stomach....
It's as if a whole history with her just got relegated into the past. That it's now a had been, a was, that you can get used to the ritual of greeting her when you come home, and then now when you think about it she's no longer there for you to greet, that you can get used to her following you on the car to camp, seeing as how those were the scarce occasions where she could get out of the confining spaces of the house.
I must say, though, that she had a good life. A long life. A life which one can look back and be satisfied at. I think if I were to reach the end of the road, and look back, and see my grandchildren so filial as to take shifts accompanying me during my hospital stints, or to look down the long line of children and grandchildren and greatgrandchildren, or to know that at least some people have cried at my passing, some people are missing me......
It would have been a fulfilling life.
Which is why I, and many other relatives, are outraged at the decision made (no less) by her eldest son, not to hold a proper, grand funeral. Do you honestly want to lie down on your deathbed and have your sons coldly deciding to hold a small funeral to save money and so get more money through inheritance, or have your daughter-in-law cutting corners because of some petty strife that existed before? Come on. It amazes me no-end how immature some elderly people are. She has more than 10 great-grandchildren, for goodness' sakes. How many people can hold to that claim? How many people can remain lucid for 93 years all the way to the end, and have countless people shedding tears at their passing?
But it doesn't matter so much. The (extended) family, the people, the hollowed out niches in our hearts that contains her memory, that's more important than a petty squabble over how grand a funeral is.
In retrospect I feel a slight tinge of regret at not having been able to see her face after she's left, but I think my last meeting with her just not 3 days past, where she was still awake and able to flinch and complain and argue, may be easier where vestiges of that little lovable irritable grandmother can remain in my heart.
My sisters said that as she lay on her deathbed she looked really peaceful and happy. That she looked as if she's just simply sleeping, as if you could feel her every breath, and expect her to wake up all of a sudden.
It doesn't hurt so much now, in fact I don't really think it hurts much in the traditional sense, since I sort of have been expecting something like this to happen sooner or later, what with internal bleeding and intestinal lacerations and copious amounts of bleeding. A part of me even selfishly hoped that she could hold on until the RCO and I'd get to skip it. I'm not proud to have thought that, but anyway it didn't really come as a shock. It just......makes you all hollow inside and make you realize that you won't get to hear her complaints again, not feel irritated at her smoking, not be pressed into massaging her constantly aching stomach....
It's as if a whole history with her just got relegated into the past. That it's now a had been, a was, that you can get used to the ritual of greeting her when you come home, and then now when you think about it she's no longer there for you to greet, that you can get used to her following you on the car to camp, seeing as how those were the scarce occasions where she could get out of the confining spaces of the house.
I must say, though, that she had a good life. A long life. A life which one can look back and be satisfied at. I think if I were to reach the end of the road, and look back, and see my grandchildren so filial as to take shifts accompanying me during my hospital stints, or to look down the long line of children and grandchildren and greatgrandchildren, or to know that at least some people have cried at my passing, some people are missing me......
It would have been a fulfilling life.
Which is why I, and many other relatives, are outraged at the decision made (no less) by her eldest son, not to hold a proper, grand funeral. Do you honestly want to lie down on your deathbed and have your sons coldly deciding to hold a small funeral to save money and so get more money through inheritance, or have your daughter-in-law cutting corners because of some petty strife that existed before? Come on. It amazes me no-end how immature some elderly people are. She has more than 10 great-grandchildren, for goodness' sakes. How many people can hold to that claim? How many people can remain lucid for 93 years all the way to the end, and have countless people shedding tears at their passing?
But it doesn't matter so much. The (extended) family, the people, the hollowed out niches in our hearts that contains her memory, that's more important than a petty squabble over how grand a funeral is.
In retrospect I feel a slight tinge of regret at not having been able to see her face after she's left, but I think my last meeting with her just not 3 days past, where she was still awake and able to flinch and complain and argue, may be easier where vestiges of that little lovable irritable grandmother can remain in my heart.
posted by Endolori | 10:38 PM
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