Edit--Tonite at 9:50 PM, Gramma departed us.
Edit Edit--I've been called upon to write a poem bout Gramma.
I went to see Gramma today at the hospital. She's been sick for a minute but was getting better. Last Thursday, the day I left for ATL, she was taken back to the hospital cause her blood pressure dropped real low.
From last Thursday to now, she quickly deteriorated. When her blood pressure dropped, she was taken to the closest hospital, which unfortunately is one of the worst hospitals in the city. They wouldn't give her the acid reflux medicine cause they didn't prescribe it. She ate, threw up, and refused to eat again. For days she wouldn't eat and the little Ensure liquid meal things weren't helping. Monday she was transferred to another hospital.
When I walked into the room today, I didn't believe the woman I saw lying there was MY gramma. I looked into the other bed to make sure I wasn't overlooking my gramma. I had to face the fact that the small, frail decaying woman is my gramma. Now she has pneumonia and fluid in her lungs. She can't breathe on her own. Even her wig is gone, exposing the cropped white afro she protected for decades. She can't speak, nor will she open her eyes. Her mechanically assisted wheezing made my heart hurt. I went over to her to touch her head and stroke her cheek, wanting to make sure of what I was seeing was real. They say she could still hear, but I couldn't tell cause she can't respond. She's in pain. Her wheezing gets a bit louder and she squirms a bit. Staying in her room was difficult. She has the stench of death. I've experienced this smell before, watching my father's death, a slow death that spanned the course of four years. I attempted to review this year in my mind to determine when she felt like she was ready to die. I couldn't pinpoint why/who/when these feelings occured. Maybe she always had em. Why do the caring, gentle people are allowed to expire, but the cold, callous people are allowed to live forever?
When she decides to take her last breath, I will be almost alone. The only person left to care about what happens to me is my mother, cause no one else is really concerned. Gramma always supported me through whatever I chose to do and made sure to tell others to mind they damn business. Gramma made sure I was never stranded. Gramma made sure we always ate. She's the nucleaus, never to be replaced.
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tracked on July 24, 2005 2:17 PM
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