mema

My grandmother is dying and I have to watch. I haven't written anything on here in almost 3 1/2 years. I've gone from a mother of one to a mother of two. Life has changed in some amazing ways. But as always, life has a way of reminding you that it can all be over in a blink. Mema has always been the "cool" grandma. She was 48 when I was born, although I've always thought of her as old. It's amazing how "old" changes the older I get. She always had her hair done, always had her nails done, was always up for a good time. I could always say anything to her; I never had to censor myself. Mema is also the only Italian woman of her generation who married an Italian man who cooked for her, which I think led to a chain of my mother and then me finding similar, (almost) one-of-a-kind men. My grandfather did everything for her, was one of the best men on Earth. When he died, it really rocked her world. She had never been alone before, had never taken care of herself, and it was very difficult for her to transition. In a way, I think she never really did. But she has persevered through the eight years since, through the highs and the lows, and now comes the lowest of lows. Hospice. Brain tumor, blood clots. All things that perhaps a younger person might have been able to fight off. Doctors would have pushed for surgery and the battle would have begun to save her life. But now... at eighty-one years old, it would most likely be a fight she wouldn't win and the end of her life would be filled with a painful surgery and much suffering. So the decision was made to let her live out her remaining days, weeks, months at a beautiful facility, with nice people who are taking care of her while we sit and watch and feel helpless. Everyone in the place is waiting for someone to die. Not exactly Disney World. She can still communicate a bit but most of her speech is gibberish. I don't know how much she understands but I think it's more than we know. The only words that she can continually express are, "I love you." It's strange and beautiful that the most important words a person can say, will ever say, can still pass clearly to our ears, no matter what is going on in her brain. She's depressed and embarrassed and sad but she still loves us and I know, that when her bed finally lays empty, whenever that may be, that she'll love us from wherever she has gone. And I know Papa will be waiting for her there with a smile and an apron tied around his waist. "Dinner's getting cold, Ro."