The last time I saw my grandmother, she lay rigid, a thin sheet pulled to her chin, her gray hair swept away from her face, her ninety-three-year-old skin smooth like porcelain. She had been a beautiful woman once—movie star caliber. Now, she was a fraction of her former size—her body skeletal—withered, birdlike. She lay waiting, her mouth and eyes half open as if she was about to say something.
But we were too late.
Her life stopped in the middle of—a breath, a thought, or maybe it was a dream.
I suppose that’s the way it has to end, that something must remain unfinished even for those lucky enough to have lived a long time.
Hers wasn’t a violent death, but she looked a bit surprised as though she couldn’t believe her days were over.
And the living couldn’t believe it either.
You’ll have to bury her someday, my mom used to say. She’ll outlive me.
But the natural order of life held fast.
A call had come in the morning, saying that my grandmother was ailing—but this report had been received many times before. My mother told the nursing home she would stop by after work. It was hard to believe this day would be different.
But it was.
The nurse’s aide said my grandmother didn’t die alone, that she’d stayed with my grandmother in her final moments.
Mama, I’m sorry, my mother said through tears. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.
I studied my grandmother’s body. Her person remained, but her essence had left. And this gave me comfort.
She had found her way out.
The mumblings of the other residents echoed from the hallway. The nurse pulled the curtain. The air, heavy with the scent of medicine and urine, made this momentous event feel so ordinary. A small radio played on her bedside table. The husband of my grandmother’s roommate excused himself as he entered. He just needed to put his wife’s hat in her closet.
The living had to keep living, putting hats away, and finishing their Sunday visits.
My sister and I looked at each other. So this is how it ends. No trumpets blare. No crowds gather.
The nurse gave us bags to pack what remained of my grandmother’s stuff. She hadn’t taken anything with her to wherever she’d gone.
Or had she?
Perhaps she’d carried her memories. Her hopes. Her dreams.
And what had she left behind? Plastic mirrors. Polyester pants. And purple scarves. The few remnants of what had once been a full life. All of which we bundled in trash bags for Goodwill.
No.
She left more.
Her paintings.
Her poetry.
Her students.
My grandmother was a complicated woman, but she tried to put her light in the world. Born in 1923, she was ahead of her time. She married young and gave birth to my mother at age nineteen. But unlike many women of her generation, she returned to college, earned her Master’s Degree, and sixty credits toward her PhD. She taught English for many years and toiled at her art in her basement studio. At age eighty-six, she self-published a book of poetry with photographs of her paintings.
At her memorial service, I read a poem from her book (I’ve pasted it below). Though she wrote it in 1958, it reads like the musings of a modern day mommy blogger. In her final years, her mind played tricks on her. I’m not sure she understood that I too had gone back to school and had received my Master’s Degree, that I’d written a novel, and that I’d started my blog.
It’s sad that a person’s mind can be stolen from her. Dementia is not a fair disease. It doesn’t play by any rules. It’s hard on the patient and harder on the family members.
I like to imagine that my grandmother has found my grandfather out there in the ether. They’ve hooked up with my paternal grandmother (they’d become good friends as they’d aged). Maybe they’re painting together. Or playing Gin Rummy. Perhaps they’re enjoying a cold coca cola. The football game is on the TV. And my grandfather is relishing in a Philadelphia Eagles’ victory.
But who really knows what happens?
We can all hope for is a little more of this beautiful life.
And.
To do things over when a mistake has been made. To say I love you. To paint, to draw, to dance, to run. To write. To live in the present. To finish as much as we can. To shine light where it’s dark.
My grandmother has gone.
Oh, but she left something else.
Us.
She left us, too.
***
***
In Memoriam
Evelyn Chubb
1923-2016
My Teenage Daughter
My teenage daughter thinks I’m such fun,
That is, until some work must be done,
Then grimacing wildly, she calls me unfair,
“You give me too many burdens to bear.”
How slowly the vacuum moves on its way,
In her struggle to still hear the radio play,
Above the din, she makes a mad dash,
Is there by the phone, quick as a flash.
How long she may talk, fades completely from mind,
A half-hour later she’s still deeply entwined,
We finally rule her to “ten-minute” talks,
Rebelling her plight, out the back door she walks.
Returning transformed, I can tell by her smile,
That the boy down the street made her walk so worthwhile;
The greatest grievance she gives me by far,
Is the time I’m kept waiting while chauffeuring her car,
I drop her off her and pick her up there
As she blithely departs with nary a care.
Still, in counting the joys she brings me each day,
Then tells me she loves me in her sweet, special way,
I think of her faults, how meager they seem,
For in facing the facts, my daughter’s a Dream.
With a glance in the mirror to survey this gray hair,
It reminds me what fun we had putting it there.
(My grandmother painted this picture of my mother as a teenager along with their beloved dog Lollipop)
This blog was republished on Her View From Home.
***
As summer comes to a close, I thought you’d enjoy a light meal for Sunday dinner. Try this unique take on a Roasted Chicken Caesar Salad from Southern Living. Click here.
(photo by Southern Living)
Your grandmother would be so proud that she left a granddaughter who writes so beautifully. Watching a loved one who is suffering from dementia is so sad. With every visit I would hold my breath and try to get through the visit without breaking down in tears but I never could walk out the door without crying. What I have learned is to enjoy every minute of life while you still can think and feel real emotions. I am keenly aware that dementia can attack at any time but thank goodness today I am alive and my brain is working just perfectly.
You were such a good daughter to Grandmom. I know the last couple of years were hard as you had to bear much of this burden alone being an only child. I am so glad that you are healthy and fully engaged in life. You are a wonderful example to your children and grandchildren.
Thank you, Troy! That’s my hope: to bring the reader into the scene, to make him feel like like he is there.
Lovely article, I remember your grandmother. I would see her at various times in Oley. We didn’t know each other, I never knew she was so accomplished. Thank you for letting me know this.
Thank you, Diane.
Beautiful tribute to your beautiful grandmother. It’s clear that you are continuing her passions and gifts. She would be very proud of your writing!!!!!!
Thank you, Darla. My family is full of frustrated artists.
Such a beautiful memorial!
Thank you for reading, Belinda!
Heather, this really tugs at my heart💗.Our mother is in a nursing facility with late stage Alzheimer’s.Your writing is eloquent. Thank you!
Thank you, Lynn. I know how hard it can be to watch a family member suffer with Alzheimer’s. My love to you and your gang.
Heather, I lost both my parents too soon as well as both my grandmother’s. It is so heart wrenching to watch someone you love and admire your whole life wither away in front of you and there is nothing you can do. Prayers to you and your family as well as Hugs to your Heart! Keep writing about “REAL LIFE”
Thanks, Karen. My condolences to you, too.
Heather, I didn’t realized Evelyn had passed. She was a beautiful soul indeed, as all the Christie’s seem to be. My condolences to all , especially Suzie. It is a true to gift to able to write and memorialize her the way you did. Yes, she was so very beautiful, and I never saw her young, but I could see her spirit and compassion and her sweet expression to her grandkids, always loving. That is the only way I knew Evelyn, but you have just made me feel like I now know a bigger piece of her. God Bless her sweet soul.
Kathy, thank you for sharing such a kind and loving message. I will make sure my mother knows you’re thinking about her. All the best to your clan.
What a beautiful tribute Heather.
Thank you, Sue! I am glad I am able to share my grandmother’s art and writing with the world. I wonder what she would think of “being on the internet!”
Beautiful testimony to a life.
Thanks, Lisa! This means a lot coming from you.
Beautiful tribute to your grandmother. I had the pleasure of getting to know her through joint Bible school between Christ Lutheran Church and Salem UCC when your family lived in Oley. She was a lovely spirited woman with many talents. Must also tell you, I was so thrilled to be able to purchase one of her signed paintings through Ebay a few years ago. It now hangs in our stone farmhouse on Covered Bridge Road and I think of her often.
Joy, thank you for sharing your thoughts about my grandmother. I am thrilled to know that you have one of her paintings.
Excellent Heather! I got choked up.Keep it up, you are getting better all the time.
Thanks, Jamie. This means a lot coming from you!
Beautiful share. My grandmother just turned 93 she suffers from Alzhimers. I am the main care giver and it is challenging she didn’t have the awesome experiences you grandma did but what I have learned from her is strength. Women have a strength some don’t give credit. Her work is beautiful glad you have so much to cherish.
Thank you for your kind thoughts, Mari. Alzheimer’s disease is so hard on the family. I am sorry that you are having to witness your grandmother suffer. May your memories of who your grandmother used to be comfort you in this difficult time.
I remember meeting your grandmother at several Nicki and Rich events and she was beautiful inside and out. I am sorry for your loss. My own grandmother was a poet and taught at Temple and I am pleased to have her prose with which to remember her.
Thank you, Sharon. It is lovely that your grandmother’s poems remain for you to enjoy. Thanks for reading.
Condolences. ='(
Moving post. You do make us feel as if we are there. Your grandmother sounded like a wonderful woman.
Thanks, Sheila. So much of our experience is grounded in place. I try to bring that element into my writing.
Loved this Blog- You are a wonderful writer. I never met your grandmother, but reading this made me seem like I knew her. I bet she was a great woman!
Thank you, Denise!
So I must admit that life is going 100 miles a minute these days. There isn’t enough hours in a day to get everything done. But I’m happy that I took time out to read your article. I’m so proud of my cousin! You made me stop to think that life is precious and I need to slow down to enjoy my family. Love you!
Chrissy, Thank you for reading. Your kind words made my day. Much love to you and your crew.
Beautiful!!
Thank you, Chris!
Oh, my! I put off reading this as I was dealing with other issues. I am so glad I waited to open this with a clear head. I agree with Troy. I felt as if I were there not as a visitor, but as a member of the family. I am sure that she is quite proud of you. This whole family is quite amazing. Please tell Sue she’s appears sharp as a tack!
Peace be with all of you.
Thank you, Geri! I hope all is well. I do appreciate your continued kindness and support. I’ll tell Sue Sue. Much love to you.
So happy to have come upon your blog in my research, as I would love to someday start one myself. You are an inspiration! I love the story of your grandma, as I lost my grandma not too long ago at 98 and she was my favorite person in this world. I also love the line in your grandmother’s poem…”With a glance in the mirror to survey this gray hair, It reminds me what fun we had putting it there.” I am going to carry that with me as I parent my 15, 12 and 11 year old and get nostalgic for days gone by. I also love the green lego and can so relate. I love finding those treasures that serve as our reminders. Can’t wait to read more…thank you!
Leslie, thank you for your kind endorsement. My sympathies about your grandmother. As the mother of teenagers, I realize how fast “this parenting time” is flying and it makes me panic occasionally. I can’t believe I have children on the cusp of adulthood. I still feel like a kid myself.