Okay, there is a whistle involved, but that isn’t the main purpose of this post. I just need to sort of articulate my feelings a little and I know others here have gone through things like this in the past.
I knew my grandmother was doing poorly, but I had no idea how poorly she was doing until Thursday when my mother told me my brother was at the end of his rope caring for her. Her home is in southern Califonia and my brother came to visit while on his epic road trip, then ended up staying, as he was the one capable and responsible adult around who could make sure our grandmother ate and drank. At all.
So, that went for a week, including a trip to the hospital to get an IV and hydrate her a little. Then, my mom tells me Seann has reached his limit. I asked if there was some way to get me down there and she used her airline miles to fly me to California. I arrived at 9:15 Saturday morning and was at her bedside by 9:40. Seann really was beat. He’s been doing all-day, all-night shifts with her. She was completely blind for the last few weeks, so she was afraid to be alone for any time at all.
All-told, she said only a few words from the time I got here. She said “water” once and I gave her as much as she wanted, she said my name when I came in the door and told her who was here, and she twice called out “help me” which my brother is sure was her calling on God.
I played my low-D whistle for her for about 45 minutes this afternoon. She was quiet the whole time. I told her about the tunes I was playing and what they made me think of. By the end of that time, she was dead. I wasn’t really sure she was dead, thinking that she might be sleeping or in a stupor (morphine for the pain of her tumor), but I think I knew inside that she was dead.
I’m really glad that I was able to say goodbye to her and that the last thing she heard was me sharing my love of music with her.
This is the first time I have experienced death close-up. I had a friend who killed himself in high-school, but that is totally different. However, in both cases, it got me to thinking that many of the novelists who write about death don’t know what they are writing about. I keep seeing death presented as either an adversary with whom to do noble battle or as a kind and dignified end to a life. But death strips away our attempts at dignity. Death is dispassionate, certainly not noble, and I really don’t know about kindness.
I didn’t keep the close relationship with her that I should have, but I won’t beat myself up about it. I thank God that I could say goodbye to her and that I could do something for her other than sit and feel useless. I suspect that I will be playing slow airs on that whistle for a while. Seems almost wrong to play anything fast right after using it this way. I’m so glad I brought it along. I had only expected to use it for filling in the times when I didn’t know what to talk about.
There isn’t really any point to this other than to get a couple of thoughts off my chest. I am fine emotionally, as she was ready to die. I probably won’t be checking back in for a few days, maybe not until I get back to Alaska. I hope that anyone else here who has to deal with this is ready for it.
Good night.
-Patrick