They say a parent isnt supposed to bury her child. we come into this world small, defenseless, unable to take care of ourselves. A lot of the times it's just you and mama. She literally holds you and nurses you through life.
And sum of us leave here the same way.
Monday, March 30,my grandmother did the strongest thing I've seen anybody do: she sat by her daughter's side, held her hand and watched her die.
I got the call from my cousin at about 4 p.m. "I need a ride to my grandma's house cuz they giving her two hours to live." I called my mother to let her know that her sister was hanging in the balance. And she told me to call their mother, my granny, because she wasn't sure if she knew yet.
How do you call a mother and tell her her child is about to die? But I did it. I picked her and another aunt up and took them to the house where Auntie Deborah was. And Granny, 75, mother of 6, walked in that house, pulled up a chair, held Auntie's hand, 56, a mother of 12, and talked to her baby for the few hours it took her to transition out of this life.
"Deborah? I'm here. IT's your mother. And your kids are here...all your daughters....your sons....your grandbabies. We're here, Deborah. And we love you. You're my firstborn. DO you know that?? My firstborn. I was so happy when I had you..."
We got the diagnosis just a few short months ago: terminal cancer. It started with brain tumors, then lymph nodes in her chest and on the top of her spine. And even chemotherapy perverted itself and decided to aggravate the situation, instead of being the healing force it usually is. Less than two weeks ago the family decided to stop the radiation. And in a few days Auntie's body started to shut down.
Some ppl say "I dont do hospitals..." or "I dont do funerals." For someone you love, who was always full of life, chatty, fun, loving, and seemingly ageless - to see them literally fading before your eyes - unable to speak, eat, or really see you, eyes sunken in, cannot even drink water or she'll choke, cannot move her body by her own will, finding it hard to breathe even with oxygen tubes inside of her...that's tough.
But granny sat there by her side. And she was there as much as she could be through auntie's entire struggle. Granny lost her firstborn son in May 2006. And her mother February 2007. You ask yourself how much pain can a person take.
We spoke in whispered tones and tried not to make much noise. "Too many people will excite her," auntie's daughters said, "And she'll start having trouble breathing." A cane fell to the floor and clanked real loud. Auntie jumped a little bit, and for us all it was a small victory that meant she was still with us.
"You hear that Deborah, dont you?" Granny asked her, smiling. Then to the rest of us without turning around, "Put that thang up!"
At one point, a cross-dressed man walked in. I dont know how Granny saw it, but you know how mothers are - eyes in the back of their head. "What the hell is that?" she said softly. Then, "Yall please get out of here and let my baby have some peace."
The nurse said for everyone to clear out except immediate family. I started to leave, but my cousin said, "We want all the kids and friends out so she can have a peaceful transition. But, Dria dont you move."
I stood beside Granny and put my hand on her shoulder, trying to see if she was OK. She clearly didn't need me. She was much stronger than I was anyhow. When I first got there I held Auntie's hand. It was warm, and I could feel her holding my hand as well....but as the day went on, it got colder and clammy. I felt her jerk and twitch as she gasped to try to breathe. "You have to talk her through it," her kids said. "She gets nervous when she doesnt hear anybody talking to her."
I couldn't hold back my tears, but granny? No tears to be found. How could she comfort Auntie if she wasn't together herself. People streamed in all day to get one last look, but Granny never took her attention off Auntie.
The nurse needed all 12 of Auntie's kids to consent to not performing CPR when auntie stopped breathing. She had 11 signatures, but it would be a challenge to get the last one. They called my cousin in jail and asked him to consent - but he hadn't even known his mother was sick...what a way to find out. Granny is the only one who talks to him regularly, despite all his siblings and everybody else in our fam. She sends birthday cards and a little money from her fixed income every month...but she hadn't quite figured out how to tell him this. He was upset, but he said OK, he didnt want her to suffer anymore. So after they hung up, we all went back to waiting.
People broke down all around us. Many went outside to cry because they didnt want to do it around Auntie. My sister and I eventually left. A while after we did, they put a sheet over her and called the funeral home. We come here naked, then get clothed and wrapped in blankets. She left here in a bag, carried by her sons. My other aunt spent the night at Granny's, so she wouldnt be alone. But honestly, Granny was better than the rest of us.
We like to ask God for miracles. We read scriptures like, "By HIS stripes we are healed." We hear of how so-and-so's cancer went into remission and hope our loved one will fight through and beat their situation as well. But sometimes instead God will just offer us the Serenity to accept the things we cannot change. Sometimes we will look at our toughest trial and find that we
somehow had the peace to get through it.
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