Good News and Bad News
There are a couple of updates I’ve been holding back from you guys — two awesome and one awful.
Let’s start with the good stuff. First of all, I finished my Bird of the Rings drawing for my friend Kim: a female cardinal saying Eowyn’s line, “But no living man am I! You look upon a woman.” She wrote a lovely article about it and posted a picture of her BoTR. Check it out here.
Also, after a few months of trivia hiatus, I am now part of a new trivia team that is absolutely dominating. It started off as an impromptu gathering two weeks ago at the Highball, where my friends Gayatri and Sandeep announced that they’re expecting their first child (congrats again, G and S!). But the place was so crowded, overheated, and raucous that I insisted we go to Mister Tramps the next week, so I could show ‘em how it’s really done.
So we did. And our team, “It’s A Unix System. We Know This”, got second place.
Then this week, with the team name Teamocil, we got first place. FIRST PLACE. At this rate, next week we may receive sainthood.
So that was awesome, even though the pictures from the events (see links above) demonstrate that it’s impossible to photograph me looking like a normal person.
That’s the good news.
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*******
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Last Friday, just as I was leaving work (literally, I had just walked outside and was staring at the fish in the koi pond, thinking about how cute they are), my mother called. My grandmother — who had been put into hospice care the week before that — had taken a turn for the worse. The hospice had called my mom that day, saying my grandmother probably had about a week left.
I asked if I should come home. She said not to, since I’d seen her at my cousin’s wedding in November — and besides, I’d just have to turn around and go back for the funeral.
My grandmother developed Alzheimer’s just over a year ago. She hasn’t wanted to eat in almost as long. A lifelong smoker, now she’s struggling to breathe.
On Saturday, I e-mailed my mom a letter to my grandmother. In it, I briefly reminisced about some of our fun trips together, and about my favorite memories of her. I essentially said good-bye without actually saying good-bye.
Minutes after hitting the send button, my mother called me. She was visiting my grandmother when she got the letter, and had read it to her. Then she told me she was going to put my grandmother on the phone.
Her voice was so hoarse. Only a faint sliver of familiarity was buried in it. She asked about the weather. I told her it was warm, really nice; and that it gave me hope our plants would survive until summer. She laughed. She said she was feeling much better. Then she asked about the weather again. I told her it was lovely.
“I love you, mi hijita,” she said. She rarely says, “I love you.”
I told her that both David and I love her, too.
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*******
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No one lives forever. I’m lucky that I’ve known my grandmother — the woman I’m named after — for this long. But even having 34 years to spend with someone doesn’t make their imminent loss any easier.
Two weeks after I was born, my father left my mother. My grandmother practically helped raise me. I saw her all the time as a kid. I loved her for so many reasons, and not just her fabulous gravity-defying hair. She wasn’t nice to everyone, but she was always incredibly nice to me. She spoke to me as if I was a grown-up. I really appreciated it, since I hated being treated like a kid. I didn’t even like being around other kids.
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My grandmother spent most of her life with my grandfather sticking a camera in her face. I can just hear her telling him immediately after he snapped this picture, "Mario, will you please put the camera down so I can have a moment with my granddaughter! Hijole!"
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While I loved seeing my grandparents all the time as a kid, I know it must’ve been bittersweet for my mother. I can’t imagine how humiliating her life must have been after I was born, suddenly single with a baby. At the time, she was the only divorced member of a devout Catholic family. I know it must’ve been painful for her to ask her parents for help, but I don’t know what we would’ve done without them.
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But when it comes down to it, few people were kind to me when I was young. My grandmother was one of them. I will never forget that.
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I moved back to Texas in 2001 — 6 years after leaving the state for college and work — so I could be near my family, including my grandparents. And though I gave up some good opportunities when I moved back, I don’t regret it. I would’ve regretted far more living my adulthood away from them.
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The next few weeks are going to be really brutal.
I don’t know what else to say, so I’ll just encourage you to read this post I wrote when I visited my grandparents last February. It explains what’s going on in my head a lot better than I can tonight.
Copyright 2012, Sarah Rodriguez Pratt. All rights reserved.
Sarah,
I don’t really know you, at least not beyond a few interactions on twitter. But I feel for you as you go through this difficult loss. There is a lot of similarity to your story and mine – and there’s a lot that is different. But when I read “mi hijita”, I could hear my grandmother’s voice, and my heart broke for you.
You are in my thoughts, and I’m sending you a hug with this comment…
~ Reese M.
MissBookishGirl on twitter
Oh Reese, that was so kind of you. Thank you. I really appreciate it, and I’m sending a hug right back!
Sarah,
I’m so sorry for your loss. My Grandma had Alzheimer’s, she was my favourite person. There are some similarities in our stories, and my heart really goes out to you. I like to think that when people we love die, they take up residence in our hearts. Your Grandma will be with you forever.
And your photos are beautiful, especially the first and the last.
Be good to yourself,
Lorna
Thanks for your comment, Lorna. I appreciate your kind words and thoughts. And I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother. But as awful as this is to go through, it helps knowing others have gone through it, too.
As for the photos: the last one was taken by a professional wedding photographer, and the first was taken by my grandfather, a doctor / amateur photographer. When I was growing up, it was annoying to have my grandfather taking pictures everywhere we went; but now I’m so glad we have those pictures.
I’m really sorry to hear about your grandmother. I had a very close relationship with my grandparents, and it was hard to lose them, but I have to say Lorna is right, they really don’t leave you. Memories are living things, and they’re a lot more powerful than people tend to give them credit for.
My thoughts are with.
Matt
i fail at completeing sentences
But you succeed at awesomeness and kindness. Seriously, for a second, I thought, “That’s funny. My friends in high school always used to say, ‘I’m going with’ or ‘Are you coming with?’ I guess that kind of saying is coming back.”
Well, it’s official. We’re bringing it back.
Hope you’re holding up all right. The interweb is lacking without your words.
This comment made my day. Thank you.
I’m…all right. I’ve stopped crying to the point where I can put on eyeliner again. (This is not a joke.)
This has all been a lot rougher than I ever anticipated. My grandmother lived a long life, and I got to spend a lot of time with her in my youth; but the whole experience — from seeing only one picture frame on her nightstand, holding two pictures of me; to seeing her in a casket, in the suit she wore to my wedding — has been incredibly painful. (My mother always said I was my grandmother’s favorite, but I refused to believe it.) Adding to this was a horrible fight another family member dragged me into just before the burial, leaving me so hurt and furious that my husband and I left before the wake.
I feel like my skin has been ripped off and I need to grow it back, but I don’t want to do that in public. I feel an overwhelming need to protect myself right now. I’m trying to write down the whole experience (for me, not for public consumption); I’ve got almost 15,000 words but I don’t feel much better yet.
I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Thanks again for the concern. You are awesome, and I am very fortunate to have friends like you.