The Relationship Chronicles: My Grandmother Presh, Part 3

Posted on December 17, 2009 with 6 Comments

Read Part 1 and Part 2 first.

Presh passed away two weeks ago in what was without a doubt the single hardest moment of my life.  When she was admitted to the hospital, we’d thought it was just going to be for a few minor things, but quickly it took a turn for the worse.  I’d been making an effort lately – trying to bring the fun to her.  I was determined to get over the fact I was mad at her body, frustrated she couldn’t keep up the spirit she’d once had.  I’d brought her puppies and was bringing her a dinner party when she ended up in the hospital.

I don’t know why, but as I drove to the hospital on Saturday night, I knew that this was it.  And that night I never left her side.  She couldn’t speak but I think she could hear me as I whispered what she’d shared with me, as I cried into her hand and as I did the last thing I could for her in telling her to go when she was ready.  Her eyes would find me in that room, and thodugh I could see the fear, I could also see the love.  Through that night, we revisited our life together, and I held her hand tightly. She would wake up about every couple of hours as the pain medication wore off and I would ring the nurse, certain that we had to make her feel better, that I had to make her feel better – certain that it was my turn to show her I could take care of her.

Monday, she was still hanging on and I was breaking down.  Suddenly, in a rare turn of events, I was left alone.  I knew she would never wake up again and I knew that I was going forward without her.  I felt desperately alone and wanted so badly for this not to be it – not to be the moment I’d dreaded for years.  I sat back in the chair and softly sang to her the Northwest Passage song, and somehow in that moment, I knew that she hadn’t left me alone. This was her last lesson to me: I could make it on my own, but I would always have a part of her in my sister and mom. She’d shared with me what she knew, taught me what she could and loved me in a way that could never be duplicated.  As I finished singing, I told her it was ok, that while I wouldn’t be with her, I’d have my mom and my sister, and we would watch out for each other.  I told her it was ok, that I would be ok, to wait just one more hour for my cousin Jaime and then to go – and for the first time ever, she listened to me without one of us being sarcastic.

Keitha White (June 17 1925-Nov 30 2009)