And So It Goes-November 17, 2009, 7:10 PM

You know,when I was a child I sometimes agonized over how to salute my Grandmother when I wrote to her. Was it spelled “Grammy” or “Grammi”. Eventually I settled on “Grammy”, which was a comfort.

A dying is weird to see. You witness the torturous throes in that struggle with the mysterious progression towards the precipice. They are surprising slight, but you really can sense the chaos taking place within that body and that soul.

It is most remarkable – to me – in it’s resemblance to the labor in giving birth. Relentless, consuming. A unique, inescapable pain that finds it’s final release and then is forgotten.

The difference is, of course that this “forgetting” is forever. And ever.

Sad, shuddering breaths.
In Dickens “Bleak House” there is a poor, misbegotten little fellow, Jo. Jo began to die, and Dickens wrote: “For the cart so hard to draw, is near it’s journey’s end. and drags over stony ground. All around the clock, it labors up the broken steeps, shattered and worn.”

Yes, it is like that.

After she died, the weirdest thing. I sat next to her bed, kind of bent over, and the edge of my spectacle lens caused an unexpected effect which was both disturbing and comforting. She seemed to be breathing lightly. Oh, it was actually my body moving as I breathed, and the weird edge of my rimless eyeglass lens that caused the illusion, and to make the phenomenon complete, the boarder in the next bed over was snoring – my Grandmother had always snored – and breathed. She never will anymore. But for a few minutes she was “still there” with me, like a little secret just between the two of us. I turned my head and the illusion ended. Nothing lasts forever.

The peace she will find now will surely be worth this journey.
Go gently Grammy. Farewell.

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~ by ladysforest on November 18, 2009.

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