My Grandma was never really a swimmer. She lived on a lake, but she never put a bathing suit on and jumped in the water. She might have wadded in the shallow, but my Grandma was not one to jump. She once stepped into a boat and had one foot on the boat and one on the dock and the boat began to float away. If you don’t move quick enough you will do the splits. She never had sea legs. So she ended up in the middle and plopped in the water. She went completely under and all that remained was her wig floating on top. We all laughed but she didn’t find it very funny. Now she is drowning. She is slowly drowning above water. My mom holds the phone up to Grandma’s mouth and I hear what sounds like guttural gurgling, fluid in her lungs from pneumonia. The Chaplain calls it an old person’s friend.
She is 101 years old. A number that if tipped on its side and dunked halfway underwater would reflect so beautifully as a perfect palindrome. She is wadding in the shallow. Not jumping. She is ready. She has talked about death since her 80s when she had a stroke.
My mom called me on the phone Monday and told me that Grandma wasn’t doing well. She had had pneumonia before and pulled out of it. She is a stubborn lady. But I knew something was different this time. My mom’s voice was urgent. I said, “Is this it?” When my brother and his wife had their first son they said, “Is this it?” As in “is it happening?” “Is it coming?” Birth as in death is a process. Grandma is drowning and she will not let go. She was not spiritual. She didn’t believe in an afterlife. I wonder if she will see the light and not go to it because she doesn’t believe it.
I cancelled my trip to Colorado where I was going to ski with my brother Andy and Sara and see their son Klaus. I arrive on Wednesday to Birchrock Corners where hospice and the nurses are caring for her. I knock on the door and my mom and dad are sitting in her room quietly. My dad reads and my mom is surprised to see me. Then I see my grandma in bed. She looks so tiny, wigless and propped. She seems comfortable. Her hands are clenched tightly.
My grandma once decided that she wanted to ride the flume ride at Busch Gardens in Florida with my brother and I when we were kids. It was out of character for her but Andy and I were excited that she wanted to do that ride with us. She tied a rain hat over her head and wig. She clenched the bar in front of her and yelled as the hollowed out log car plunged down the track and into the water.
We are waiting for her to take the flume ride again. It has been two days since I got here and we sit in her room. A singing Chaplain sings. I sing Barges. Mom thinks about the service and Dad talks about WWII and the Nazis. We recount her life. How she came over from Germany as a little girl. She overcame so much including the Great Depression.
She sometimes opens her eyes as if to better see something that she is dreaming about. She is not looking at us. We go home after playing Scrabble and rest deeply. Friday morning we take our time. We eat, clean, do laundry. I shower and shave. We go over to Birchrock at about 11am. There is much commotion. The Chaplain is there. Mom scares off a hospice doctor and his crew. This is happening. My mom believes it even though it is so hard for her. I set up my laptop and begin to type this essay. Mom sits down. The Chaplain begins to sing. Tears well up in my mom as if she knows something before it even happens. The room smells bad today. The fluid from her lungs is green and smells like rotten spinach. Mom, being a woman of science, has seen the foul liquid in a bag at the lab. You can see it gives her nightmares that Grandma has the same thing. Then, my grandma begins to breath heavily. Up to 15 breathes a minute. She is working hard. The flume is climbing to the top of the coaster. Her eyes open wide.
I come over next to her and grab my mom’s hand. My mom grabs Grandma’s tightly balled hand and holds it. It relaxes just enough to let it be held. Then nothing. Then a long breathe and her eyes gently close. This is happening. The flume ride clicks over the top. The Chaplain hums. I put a finger on the center of her forehead. Grandma’s brow wrinkles as if negotiating the situation. A long breathe. Tears, I put my head on her pillow. The flume plunges. A gasp. We say the Lords Prayer. Splash! A smooth clear wave of water envelops us. We float. Then we wait. Nothing. This is it. Nothing. This is it. Goodbye. Love. Now she’s gone.