This is probably my most intimate, private, real
Sunday Confession yet, but I'm okay with sharing my experience because I want to talk about my Nonna. Her great grandchildren are still learning some Italian from those of us who outlived her, and they hear loads of stories about her. The following is one story, though, that is bittersweet. I have talked about most of the contents of this post with my family already. We all miss my grandmother, but I might have taken her passing the hardest.
I think I'm done, but I've come to the realization before that I'm just not done yet.
Every time I think I've let go, something sets me off again.
My Nonna died over a year ago. I'm not done mourning yet. I don't know if I'll ever be.
I watched a movie earlier this month in which a family was bidding farewell to a girl who was on her death bed and couldn't speak. I handled it well up until the very end when they said it was important to say goodbye, and to let her know that it was okay to die. Well, I lost it.
I moved out of my parents' house shortly after my Nonna died. I said that I moved out because I needed my own space, and so did they. They were encroaching on my space with all of the stuff they had to sort through from Nonna's and the renovation. If I am being honest, though, with myself and all of you, the real reason I had to get out of the house is because I couldn't stand to be around my mother every day so soon after losing Nonna. I feel bad saying so, but I had been harboring some anger towards her. Maybe anger is the wrong word, but I would look at her and see this strong woman whom I had seen at her weakest point, on the saddest day imaginable. The feeling associated with watching her wait for her mother, my Nonna, to die was stuck in the forefront of my mind.
When my Nonna was sick, it was my Aunt's job to keep her paperwork in order, track Nonna's ever-changing list of medications and ailments, and keep her fed. My mother helped when she could, but just couldn't handle seeing her mother ill so she never visited for very long. In general, my Aunt was there for a few minutes as well, maybe an hour, and would mostly talk to doctors, nurses, and administrators. My mother came by to help where and when she could, similarly mostly talking to doctors, nurses, and administrators. That's the way they coped, by keeping her better. That was very important. I was angry, though, that they never stayed and spent a lot of quality time with their mother. In retrospect, that was wrong of me to be so upset. There was a bit of a duality to the situation; I was also glad for the times when they left me there to just hang out with Nonna, and glad that they dealt with the doctors and nurses so that I didn't have to most of the time. Regardless of the good times I spent with my grandmother, I couldn't shake the feeling of anger toward my Aunt and my mother's way of interacting with my Nonna until a long while after she passed.
My anger probably stemmed from the fact that the rest of my family would talk about how ill Nonna was, and about dementia and stuff. Sometimes I acted as though I was in denial, but I knew she wouldn't be around forever, and I was generally okay with death. I was more concerned with life. So, I would read to my Nonna and pray in Italian. When I thought she wasn't listening to me any longer, I would trail off, but she would perk up and ask me why I had stopped. She comprehended more than I did sometimes, actually. Sure, she had forgetful moments, and we had to keep her in line about the day of the week, but she was present. Nonna never got to a point where she didn't know who the current president was or who we were. She just didn't remember that she had told me something earlier that day already or taken her medications and stuff. Maybe my family was trying to be realistic, and I saw that as pessimistic because I just try to look at everything in a positive way. That can be frustrating to some people, especially if they are trying to prepare for death.
Either way, my Nonna's last day on Earth was the worst day of my life, to date. I couldn't handle it. Mostly, I couldn't handle my mother crying and telling her mother that it was okay to let go. Incessantly. All day. Apparently the doctor had put the idea in her head that telling Nonna that it was okay to let go was a good thing, but I hated it.
I hope that my children don't tell me "it's okay" [to die]. I've known ever since I was a child that it would be okay to die. Death doesn't scare me. It would piss me off more than anything to have my children gather around when I can't communicate back to tell me that it would be okay if I kicked the bucket that day!
I didn't have the energy to do more than protest once or twice, so I sat there miserably saying nothing for most of the day. I was a wreck myself. I actually crawled into my Nonna's bed with her at one point, curling up next to her in the hospital bed, holding her nearly limp hand. Nonna had her gaze fixed on the wall/ceiling, and she needed help breathing because of the drugs they had her on to help ease her passing. It was painful to watch. My mother told me that Nonna saw her grandmother that morning, so it probably wouldn't be long before she joined her.
Nonna hung on longer than most of the family thought she would. I swear, she was a totally different person around me than with anyone else, too. One time, months after Nonna was in the ICU recovering from resuscitation, and probably 6 months to a year before she died, she was hospitalized for something or other that caused doctors much concern. Her internal body temperature became very cold and the family had all but decided that they were ready to let her die. At the time, I thought that they were cold and rude to speak so openly about my Nonna's condition like that. If I ever get sick, I hope nobody talks about putting me on hospice or whatever without including me in some conversation about it first. But, they did, and she knew it.
Nonna didn't want to be a vegetable. We had talked about it when she was well. I don't know if anyone else ever asked her, but we were close like that, Nonna and I. She didn't want to be artificially kept alive. She was a wise, spunky woman. But, she wasn't ready to go yet at that time, even if nobody else knew it yet.
When everyone was gathered around her room talking, she was still as a corpse, but once the last straggler left, she nearly jumped out of bed and began planning her escape. I remember her saying "Cait-a-lynn, they're-a-gonna kill me! Let's get outta here." If I wasn't there, she would've fallen flat on her face with those muscle engagement things strapped around her ankles. She was determined to escape.
On her last day, Nonna wasn't really there until everyone else was gone. You could tell by her fixed gaze, and just her overall energy of the room. She couldn't speak with the breathing tube in her mouth, but shortly before I left, she became aware, probably for the last time. She looked up at me and told me that she loved me [with her eyes]. She was a little manic and scared, but I just told her that it was okay. I couldn't tell her that it was okay to die like my mother and my Aunt had been saying all day, but she knew what I meant.
She lived a wonderful life, my Nonna. At the end, Nonna didn't leave behind much in this world but her children, grandchildren, and great grand children. She did a wonderful job raising each of us, though, and I'm sure she smiles at us every day. I miss her, but as the cycle of life continues, I will meet her again one day when it's time for me to go. Until then, I'm going to use my time on this earth to spread the Love and Laughter that she filled my heart with.
Ciao, bella!
