June 21st, the longest day of 2019.

Probably one of the best days my family had was when all my Gram's grand-kids and great-grands all got together to spend time just for Gram. Each of us shared a different story with her. We all called her different things but in anything she mailed to us, she always signed 'GrandMom'. She was resting so we all sort of poured into the room and her face lit up at the surprise. She was always so so proud that SHE made four generations. We talked about summers up north, our childhood pranks, our favorite things that she liked to cook. We filled the room actully, as the night went on; she smiled as each face she loved the most strolled in and joined the conversation. I think we all stayed there hours. It was hot because of how many of us were in the room. I liked that the heat in the room was generated by love. She was not feeling her best, but one thing I could always count on is being able to make my 'G' laugh. There were so many 'I love yous' and 'remember whens' that she may have been the only one not crying. Every few seconds there was a pause in the conversation. She would in those long seconds just mouth 'I love you all'. After awhile, I asked her, "since we are all here, what'say you make a quick pain of lasagna?"She laughed aloud at that. Near midnight the great grands started to make their trips home, her 3 grandchildren terried a bit. It was such a beautiful evening.

My Grandmom entered home hospice at my aunt's house as may was turning to June. Everyday I looked over her as she did me when I was the one in diapers and unable to walk. Once the hospice bed came, she never left the cozy spare room at my aunt's house.

of the first line of her grandchild, I am the youngest- and we had a special bond my whole life. I knew every facial expression, every sound, every movement from 42 years of studying this woman I loved so very deeply. As time went on, daily a nurse or social worker would come to deliver and check on my aunt and I as well as G. By this time, she would not take medication from anyone but me. She always knew she could trust me, I always did things for her no one ever thought to, I challenged her and pranked her regularly and no matter the outcome she loved it. My Aunt's gated community was having an event, as she was back and forth the distraction was good for her and the sound of people and talking and laughing spilled enough in the room I sat with my Grandmom. Everynight I slept with her until the hospice bed came, and I would lay on the floor next to the bed. The nurse showed up this morning to aide with bathing and other issues death brings. I heard my aunt weeping with the social worker. The nurse came in with a bathing kit and a few other items. We spoke for a minute and I looked at the nurse whose eyes were glassy like mine; I just shoke my head a bit as to say no... and followed it with "I know she will be going home tonight, let's not add to her pain.' Tears ran down both our faces and she embraced me in a hug that felt real and meaningful. After she left, I annointed Gram's feet, I rubbed her legs, ans as I did when I was a child I filed her nails perfectly, I told her every story that we shared; just her and I. I sang every hymn she loved over and over. Everyone had come to share a beautiful gathering of all the grand and great-grands and I talked to her about that. My ex-husband who is still very much her grandson, too came over to see her and pray with her- her last full and loud words, she gave to him. She looked up and saw him- her eyes lit with love and she said "Oh Al, I love you". As evening turned past sunlight, I played her some of her favorite big band music, read to her from the Bible, she couldn't talk so I had to watch every flicker, every gesture, every indication of fear or sadness- I met with love and reassuring. A few more hours went by, like every day over the last 20 years, I told her it was time to take her eye drops and hey brow raised as if to acknowledge yes, she knew her routine. I am not sure she knew she was actively dying. Her three children and daughter in law stood in the hallways coming in now and again for a moment at a time.

At some point her body started preparing for death, but her mind... 100% there. Her oxygen machine made the room so hot. I gathered what I knew would be her last dose of medication, and had someone bring me a popsicle Gram liked. I wet her mouth and she, knowing it was her favorite took a taste; when asked "...is it good?'. Brow went up; this time a small head nod as well. I kissed her forehead and told her she was such a good girl and I was so thankful for her. I had to then put a patch on her arm, fully knowing what was next. One more dose of medication- and not much longer her physical body started shutting down. Her body shook, she turned her face to me and I saw the look of confusion and fear as she was unable to control her age and the cancer taking her from me. It was evening now and never having seen this before- her 3 children gathered in the living room to call the emergency hospice nurse. I heard my husband puking in the bathroom. Just outside of the bedroom was my beautiful Aunt who was 11 years into her own fight with cancer- watching this, not as a spectator but absorbing what death looks like... and with love, they had shared a wonderful relationship for so many years daily. I looked up and saw horror on her face so to try and shield her from it, I lowered the bed rail and pulled this woman who on almost all accounts raised me aginst my chest and held her tight as I started to sing "... there is a name I love to hear, I love to hear its glory- it sounds like music in my ears... Oh how I love Jesus...". At the last words her eyes turned to me and then upward and as her body convulsed and fought she saw something, smiled- and left me. My beloved aunt watched every terrible moment of it- her hands covering her mouth in fear and what looked like terror. She has no idea a year from that day I would be with her, in her home... repeating this story, only so much uglier.

I felt her leave me. I felt her leave the room. I hollared out to her 'MOM' and her children ran to the room. I think my biological mother thought I was calling out to him (he is transgender). I never said anything differently because there was already enough pain and hurt filling the room, the house, the world. Her children, 71, 69, and 60 all came and her oldest child still had the phone in hand. They missed it- all but Vicky.

Everyone fell to their knees, my uncle sobbing- and Gram took what seemed like a breath and everyone sort of froze. I had forgotten to turn off her oxygen and it filled her lungs one more time before I turned it off and just shook my head, sorry that I was so thoughless in accidentally giving him hope. I heard my only cousin in her sweet voice sadly in a waivering tone sinply say, "Oh Gram" as she touched her arm, still warm... still physically there... but just- still. After a bit, her children went to make the calls needed. I cleaned her, and dressed her in her favorite pajamas so she did not have to leave the house in a t-shirt and diaper. I sat with her until a knock at the door in the middle of the night- kissed her forehead and held my Betty's hand one last moment to pray. As hospice and funeral staff were at the house doing their job- everyone sort of 'trying to take it all in'- I could hear my Aunt Vick talking to the hospice social worker on what she had seen and she was asking the social worker if she knew 'what dying felt like' her face still like I saw it in the doorway.