I was supposed to be in Columbus for Blog Paws this last weekend- two short evenings away, then I would return home to San Diego to resume my regularly scheduled activities. That is what I packed for.
Instead, as I touched down in Chicago for my layover on the way to the conference, my phone started ringing. “Gram isn’t doing so well,” my sister said as I sat on the tarmac. “They don’t think she is going to survive the weekend.”
As we taxied to the gate, the entire plane got to overhear me frantically whispering to her- “Should I come? Should I change my flight? I don’t know what to do!”
My sister put my mother on the phone. “If you come out here right now-” pause- “I’ll kill you. You need to go to your conference.”
So I did, and as you can probably imagine it was actually a really good time. Obviously my concern cast a bit of a pall over the event, and although I’m sure plenty of people assumed my red rimmed eyes were attributable to a little too much pawtinis in the bar it was actually just a combination of sleep deprivation and worry.
By Sunday, I had decided to go to Boston. My grandmother was still with us, though the hospice nurse said things were really winding down. I rushed to her bedside, where she lectured me with a stern “NO CRYING!” and I turned her onto The Deadliest Catch.
My grandmother is an 85 pound steel rod. She’s on enough drugs to tranquilize an elephant, yet she fights the drug induced haze off enough to lecture us on the way we placed the chairs in the room, the angle of the picture on the wall, and her dislike of the little old lady who lives underneath her and bangs her cane on the ceiling every time her great grandkid comes over and makes too much noise.
She sent my mother off to deliver notes to various seniors in the housing complex. Once she heard I was coming, she offered my expertise to a variety of cat owners in the building, so every few hours our peace was punctuated by the squeak, squeak of a walker and a shrill voice saying, “here’s some soup, and oh by the way my Rex is hiding under the bed and won’t come out, do you think you can come take a look?”
The office manager has a beautiful Golden Retriever, Greta, who is a trained service dog. Greta comes to the senior housing complex every day and roams the halls, offering comfort and licks to those who might need it. By Tuesday, I was looking for Greta for a dog fix. I found her in the hall greeting my black sheep uncle who had just surfaced long enough to say goodbye and ask about his inheritance.
“Oh, I need some dog therapy,” I said, and reached for Greta.
She ignored me.
“I could really use a hug,” I said.
She continued to nudge my uncle.
I rubbed her in that one spot that makes all dogs melt into a puddle.
She licked my uncle on the hand and sat on his foot.
Heartbroken, I wandered back into my grandmother’s room and sat by her side. “Greta’s outside,” I said to her resting figure. “Would you like me to bring her in for a visit?”
She moaned a little and grabbed my hand, hard.
“OK,” I said, “I’ll go get her.”
Her eyes snapped open. Her mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear what she said. I leaned my head closer to her.
“no….” she said weakly, then louder, “NO. I hate that stupid dog.”
And that is how I learned that my grandmother is a cat person.
She’s turned into a bit of a legend, my grandmother. Each day the hospice nurse calls and is amazed that she is still alive. Everyone, from her doctors to her nurses to her family to herself, had prepared themselves a whole week ago for her imminent passing.
She’s a tough lady. If anyone can hold themselves to this mortal plane by sheer force of will, it’s her. Her moments of lucidity are getting fewer and further between, and she’s spending several hours a day speaking to someone. We don’t know who. When she smiles and pats the air, we assume it’s great-aunt Sue. When her finger wags and she gets that stern look, it’s probably my grandfather.
I’ve always said that if there are no dogs in heaven, I don’t want to go. I’m not sure what made her decide to hold on here, but I suspect one of her visitors warned her about the dogs and she’s making her husband clear them out before she’ll consider making her entrance.
I have to go home now, to my family who needs me, to my pets who I need. As I headed off to the airport, I sat with her one last time, her body tiny and almost imperceptible under the blankets. I kissed her on the head and said, “I love you.”
She smiled in her sleep, her hand hovering over mine, gently patting it. I think they finally located the cat section.
I’m so sorry. It’s really hard. I lost my grandmother last year and went through much the same thing. I’m glad you came to Columbus, and I hope Cowtown gave you a friendly welcome!
Hi Dr V, i just started reading….firstly, i’m very sorry to hear about your grandmother…i hope you’re ok and i’m glad to hear she’s a tough cookie! i can understand the ‘dog therapy’ …only for me it would definately be ‘cat therapy’ (i’m about the maddest cat lady ever). i’m really enjoying your blog and feel free to throw in some more pics of Apollo if he obliges (we all know what cats are like, though)…Liz
My heart goes out to you and your family.
I think you held up amazingly well, DrV. You did all the right things here, and I wish your grandmother and family peace. And don’t feel too hurt – maybe Greta was doing some therapy work… ;-D
I’m so sorry for your loss. I lost my grandmother this year as well. đ
I’m so sorry J. I’m glad you were able to do both trips and are now able to enjoy your immediate family without wondering “what if?”.
This is a beautiful post. It’s so clear how much you loved your grandmother, and I’m so glad you could be there with her. I’m sure she wanted you to have fun at the conference, too, and she held on just for you. đ
Maybe I’m slightly biased as a cat person, but she sounds like a sweet, sweet person. So sorry for you loss. {{hugs}}
I’m very sorry. I can tell you really love your grandma. I sometimes envy people who had the chance to know their grandparents before they passed. My mom’s parents died before I was born, and my mom and dad got divorced when I was young so my dad’s parents didn’t really… communicate with us. Dad’s kind of a black sheep, and they never liked my mom, so the offspring got largely ignored.
My grandpa died a couple years ago, broken hip. My grandma passed just this past year, and I did get to see her a few times before she died. I’m sad I didn’t get to know her better because she seemed like a really nice lady.
The closest thing I had to grandparents was my grandpa George who was my mom’s mother’s ex-boyfriend. He stayed with my family through thick and thin, despite being cast aside by her. He was a truck driver, and he did all of North America. He’d always stop in Calgary on his way back from the states, and we’d go meet him at the Husky restaurant. He’d have these strange American candy bars and toys from all over for us. He was a giant of a man, 6’6″ and well over 250lbs, solid, but he was the kindest and gentlest soul I’ve ever known. He loved us, and we loved him just as much.
He passed away the same week I got hit by a car when I was 11, and my parents kept it from me for weeks because they thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Too much shock to the system, or something. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of grandpa George, not with sorrow for the loss of him, but with joy for the memories of him. Every time I look out at the ocean, I can smell his aftershave and hear him telling me about the different boats that sail by. I treasure those moments.
I wish your family the best, and I hope you have wonderful memories too.
I’m so sorry for the news but am glad that you got to see her. I’m also very glad that you were able to make it to BlogPaws because your presence was such an inspiration to so many people and the #BeTheChange movement would not be the same had you not been there. I know your grandma has a lot to be proud of in you!
And I thought my fear of flying was a challenge. Kudos to you for taking the detour. I’m sure you’ll always be happy you did…
Thanks for sharing this touching story about your grandma. I’m glad you went to BlogPaws because the world will be a better place because of it. And I’m glad you went to see your grandma because your heart will be at peace when she does make the transition. Bless you! Keeping you and your family in my thoughts.
I’m so sorry, Dr. V.
My Sincere condolences Dr V for your loss. Its wonderful that you got the chance to see her one last time.
OH god, I’m trying not to cry so hard right now. I really have to stop reading your blog at work. /big hug
Go home, love your husband, love your kids, and love on your dogs. It hurts to lose someone you love, but at least you have people (and dogs) who you can lean on (and cry on). I hope your babies fawn over you more than that silly Greta.
Dr V, I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m happy though that you got a chance to say goodbye, your grandmother sounds like a lovely and inspirational person (definitely see who you take after!)
Big hugs to you and tell Brody the master criminal he needs to go have a chat with that Greta
<3
Pru and I want to pass out condolences and hugs to you and your family. Pru would dispense the slobber, but I told her to refrain for a bit. I am very sorry your grandmother passed, but it’s a comfort to know that it was pain free. I am sure she found a peaceful plot of heaven that is covered in cats and not a trace of dog hair.
I already e-mail you but leaving a comment for the cause. I’ve updated by blog as well with what we are doing. xo