I experienced the first personal death in my life this week. My grandmother hasn't been well for the past few years. She'd been hanging on to her independence, fighting tooth and nail for every single personal freedom she could keep. Finally last summer, her care got to be more than my aunt (her oldest child) could provide for her at home and she was placed in a nursing facility. My grandmother (who bought a golf cart when her license got taken away and proceeded to drive, crash, and keep driving said cart until it pretty much fell apart) did not approve of this decision and thought she'd get better and go home. After time passed and she needed more and more help, she eventually accepted that she was there to stay. She got pneumonia a couple weeks ago and never recovered.
I was hindered every time I planned to go see her. Usually the cause was work or my family's health. Once Dano would get healthy, Lilah would relapse. When it became more apparent I wouldn't be likely to make it before she died, I called to try to talk to her. My cousins warned me that it took a lot of strength for her to talk, and she faded in and out of consciousness. They held the phone to her ear and told her who it was. "Hi, Grandma. I love you. You're on my mind all the time and I'm trying hard to get out to see you."
"Hi, honey. I love you. I love you." I choked up a little bit, and Lilah grabbed the phone out of my hand.
"Lilah's here too, Grandma. She says hello. Say hello, Li."
"I love you! Bye bye, Grandma. I love you." My cousin came back on the line and said she had faded back to sleep again. After I got off the phone, the the reality of the conversation hit me on two fronts. The first - that was plausibly the last conversation I would ever have with the only grandmother I have ever known. The second - what had gotten into Lilah Rose? She has only ever called Dano's mother "Grannie Annie". She met my grandma one time when she was 2 months old and hasn't seen her since. I have only talked to her on the phone. I got the weirdest feeling that Lilah knew more about the situation than I gave her credit for.
The funeral was today, and for reasons that don't need to go beyond my father just being who he is, I was the only member of my family to attend. None of my siblings or parents came. My father (after much coaxing) came up to see her, spent the day Sunday (mostly on his phone from various accounts I've been given) and left Monday. She died Tuesday morning and he couldn't spare the time from work (being self employed) to stay for the funeral. None of my cousins or aunts would ever say anything, but I felt a lot of weight on my shoulders being the only one from my family in attendance. Being introduced by my aunt with "This is my brother's oldest and her family," I felt like an unspoken question hung in the air.
"Well then? Where is your brother?"
During the service (for which we arrived 15 minutes late, due to an overturned semi on 96), we stood in the lobby and listened in case Lilah made noise. She insisted on bringing in Moo, Baa, Lalala. It's one of her favorite board books, and it didn't occur to me right away that my grandma had been the one to give her the book. I can chalk it up to one of the baby's other peculiarities in knowing more than she should, I suppose. I half-listened to the service about the departed being at peace, but mostly poured over the bulletin board with photos from Grandma's life, her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I saw photos of my dad with his family, my dad with us kids, my dad with me. I saw one of my grandma holding Lilah at 2 months old and a huge sob got caught in my throat.
We didn't get to know her well as kids because my mother didn't like her (did my mother like anyone?) and kept us from really interacting with her with at any opportunity she got. As an adult, I had gotten to know her as a loving, kind, strong-willed woman who loved her family. Loved me. Loved my daughter. I looked at those photos and felt regret and anger at what could have been. I looked around at my 5 adult cousins with their families all being strong for each other and their mother. I felt that sick feeling of abandonment that made each "This is Shelly's daughter" more of a slap in the face. It was the same feeling I had when I was in labor with Lilah. I had shrugged off the role of daughter years ago. In reality, it was less shrugged off and more ripped and torn off shred by shred like the dead skin after a sunburn. Sure, the skin underneath is tender and not mature enough to be exposed. Sure, it hurt like hell and sometimes bled. But it was dead and needed to be removed instead of hanging there, a complete mockery of what it represented. What was healthy had been burned until it died. No point in pretending. So to re-assume that role for today was angering and hurtful at times.
My emotions reached a boiling point as my grandmother was loaded into the hearse. Dano's hand had been on my shoulder the whole time. I couldn't tell if it was to comfort me, or if it was a silent reminder that no matter how broken I was, he was holding me together. At that moment, Lilah nuzzled into my neck and said, "Mama." Just to say it. Then she growled, "I love you!" I laughed even though my eyes were swimming. She reminded me of many vital facts all at once. Daughter wasn't a dirty word anymore. It was a benediction. My daughter was 25 pounds of redemption on two chubby, ever-moving legs. She was atonement personified. From the moment of her birth, she was healing the wounds in my soul that my parents heedlessly and repeatedly clawed open. It wasn't her job. They had nothing to do with her. But even now, she's sitting on my chest with crazy blonde hair and a yellow nightgown with green frogs. She's watching Despicable Me, but every now and then she'll lean her face down and say "Kiiiiiss!" and press her little lips to mine. Or come close and say, "Come here!" and give me a hug. These moment are the emotional equivalent to my soul giving my parents the finger. My daughter is a formula for healing that those horrible, selfish people will never get their talons into. She's everything that matters summed up in two words - Lilah Rose.
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