My grandma passed away last Tuesday. It was about as peaceful as it could be with brain tumors involved. She looked around, took her last breath, and that was it. I wasn’t there. I was painting her, now my, house at the time. I like to think she would want it that way. Mom was there, and I was out bettering the family holdings. She always did like it when her family was industrious.
I don’t know how much of her was still there when she went. Brain diseases don’t just take your life, they take your identity, your soul, before they do. It’s hell to watch, but it might have been a small mercy for her. Death is probably easier to take if most of you is already gone when it happens.
I’ll remember her as a matriarch, the latest in a family line that goes back centuries. When things fell apart, she was the anchor. I learned a lot from that. She was also a hell of a penny-pincher. A lot of that spit-and-duct-tape way of life is a part of mine now, too.
I don’t think its fully hit me yet. I’ve been busy with the house, and staying busy like that puts grief on hold. I don’t like thinking about death on a good day. Seeing it stare me in the face like this fries a lot of my circuits.
The funeral is on Wednesday. It’s going to be rough.