1.30.2011

Reflection on a Body in Decline



*

One of life's fairest gifts is the unexpected generosity of those who have no obligation to us.

Many of y'all has sent Aunty some dear an' treasured messages, left encouragin' an comfortin' comments after these posts about Granny...I'se very touched. Y'all share yore own losses, meditations, insights... an' link yore experience to mine, such that I feel a special connection to folks whose faces I do not know, though I would know yore hearts. Much family comes an goes, yet yore kind words often find me at moments of a lonely vigil. Thank y'all from the bottom of mah heart.

Granny has once again confounded the doctors: She breathes on her own, her weak heart perceivin' thar's somethin' yet it must beat for, something that draws nearer on the horizon.



She has been moved back to her nursing home whar' she is still coherent --when she is awake, mayhap five or so minutes of each few hours. She is pearly pink, a little ole' lady rag doll, propped up on mounds of pillows to ease her ragged breathing. Deep in sleep, she will squeeze yore fingers iffin' ya lean down to whisper a prayer above her snowy hair, or trace the sign of the cross on her forehead. Though she remains motionless for hours, some mystery of awareness lies lightly upon her ravaged body. When night lengthens, I let go of her hand an' tiptoe to the door, an' she rouses to remind me to be careful drivin' in the dark-- ever the Mama mindful of her chicks.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Tonight, a passel of clan chillen's crowded into Granny's room. Happy voices fought fer a chance to tell Granny of their latest escapades. Her own voice, weak an' breathy, "ah-ha-ed" an' cooed over every detail. If her head sank back against the pillows an her eyes fluttered closed, a smile remained. Their chatter continued on...moved in a ring around her, the young sprigs content to be in her presence an' each other's. Physically an' symbolically, she lay at the center of their vibrant life, their sturdy bodies pulsing wif' some of her own blood.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Life Sciences class, circa a-long-time-ago: "What is the definition of life? Anyone? Think now, it's not that hard. The definition of life is?...Something that can die."


* * * * * * * * * * * *

I knows, of course, that ain't none of us expectin' to escape the loss of those we love. As sure as the sun sets westward, each of us be knowin' that we will see death come, an yet...despite our knowin' it, each generation still mourns an' grieves as if death happens fer the first time when it be one of our own.



Hamlet unnerstood that:

Hamlet's Mama: "Thou knowest 'tis common, all that lives must die
passing through nature to eternity."

Hamlet: "Aye Madam, 'tis common."

Mama: If it be, why seems it so particular to thee?


Ah...yes, 'tis very particular.


We lose parents, spouses, friends, brothers an' sisters, an' perhaps most grievously, a chile'. We "expect" to see death, but what we doan expect is how we will respond. Can it be that the process of journeying alongside a dying loved one is never a universal experience, but intensely personal? If fallin' in love is a universal human experience, each pair that falls in love still surrender themselves in a personal journey. So, I see, it is wif' death, too. Death is very personal.



This journey claims its own path. I'se learnt through these months that Granny's dying renders mah own life more alive: Each moment is ripe with a particular beauty that I would miss, that I would ignore as if they were infinite, unless her death wuz heah, hoverin' over us, to show me how fragile, how exquisitely balanced each moment is. I exit the nursing facility, breathing shallowly to limit mah intake of its illness saturated, antiseptic rinsed air, then, push open the door an' gasp like a drowning woman. Inhale, exhale.

Outside, the sweet, lake scented fragrance fills mah lungs an' I am aware of my breath....an' life.
Pneuma. How effortlessly I breathe! Is it not inspiring? Literally? To expire is to die. Pneuma/ spirit/ wind/ ruah/ breath. I recall the pulmonologist's hushed voice:
"Even after the heart stops beating, the body takes one last breath."

** ** ** ** **
Dignity. Granny is rolled an' propped on her side, otherwise bedsores burrow into her defenseless flesh. An hour passes, her body is turned again, shoved to one side as pads are rolled up, snatched out from under the inert flesh an 'new pads tucked under the raw, scarlet skin on her back. An ointment is uncapped, the nurse's green gloved hand smears the white salve across the landscape of her red blistered waistline. Pulled back to the center of the bed, her body is resettled by the aides. They push marshmallow pillows under her elbows. "Please, straighten my feet," Granny whispers.

I adjust the blinds so that the day dances on the ceiling. It is enough light for me to read, dark enough for Granny to be undisturbed. Mah book lies in mah lap an' I look at her body. Her feet are held upright in aqua plaid foam boots, yet another pillow under them so that the heels have no pressure. Them high arches is still apparent, though the ligaments, unused now, is contractin' the foot on the right into a painful cramp. Such tiny feet.

As chillen' we clamored to play dress-up in Granny's shoes. Her feet be so small that a 9 year ole sapling girl could wear her heels. How we sashayed to an' fro in front of the hall mirror, mimicking the dance moves we seen when Granny an Pappy Cracker "cut the rug." Granny an' Pappy wuz in their mid 20s when Elvis became a national sensation. I look at them foam booties now, but I'se hearin' Granny's feet stompin' to
"Ya' can burn mah house, ya' can steal mah car, drink mah liquor from an' ole fruit jar, do anythang that ya wanna' do, but uh- uh honey, lay offa mah shoes, Doan't 'cha step on mah blue suede shoes!"

The skin on Granny's arms is a purpled mosaic of ole' an new bruises. I cringe when I see a new infiltration from the IV--her skin is so thin an' worn, so too are the veins on the inside. These infiltrations cannot be helped, the veins simply woan't hold fer long. I gently rest mah hand over her arm, a reminder to keep still 'til we can git thangs back together...but we know I'se really holdin' on to her to comfort us both as we make this pilgrimage. I can only go part way wif' her. One day now, she will turn loose an finish the last stretch on her own.




The nurse winces as she makes a third attempt to insert a new line. Every vein has been tapped, an' I'se prayin' that we ain't gotta do a picc line again to git blood fer the tests--last year we had even a picc line go bad. She lies heah in need of a decent vein; Where can we get a clean insert? An' somewhar' beyond the window, on the streets a few blocks away, an addict asks hisself the same question.

Granny went to school fer her Master's degree after her chillen's all growed up. She chose a nurturin' profession which can be thankless unless youse got a stout strong heart. Granny wuz fond of the Starfish Analogy, "I cain't save all the starfish that wash up on the beach, but each one I return to the sea is one more that lives." Many an addict wif' track scarred arms an' fibrotic an' leukodermic veins can thank Granny today that they's clean (er) compared to the lives they once led. Other patients were put back to work after dreadful illness or accidents that left behind amputated limbs or partial paralysis.



Her mottled bruises is made darker by the afternoon shadows, an her fingers move over the nap of the thin blanket as she sleeps. It's as if she were feelin' the fabric, testin' its quality. She wuz a fine needlewoman. We had custom designed party dresses, an' our dolls wore enchanting beaded gowns or embroidered coats. Costumes for the school play? Of course; Granny turned out Robin Hoods, Tinkerbelles, Little Women...all in week's time.

"Mama... sip. Take a sip of water. Mama?
Mama, wake up. Thas' it, please take a sip."

Her haid sinks back into the pillows. Her lips move, no sound comes to mah ear. But I know she is thankin' me.

I stand over her broken, waning body. Looking down on it I am suddenly jolted by the reality before me. This body is all used up. Spent. Hardly any part of it functions. This body is ebbing away. And yet.....Because of
this very body, this exact, unique body, mah body has life. Part of me lies there. No, wait; part of her is still whole--in me.

The shock of it widens; involuntarily mah hand flies to cover mah mouth--mah eyes sweep from her white haid to the booties on her feet: This purpled, bruised, inflamed, strugglin' flesh is the source of mah flesh. This body gave life to mah brothers an' sisters, an through her chillen, Granny's body gave life to a tribe of granchillen' who in they own turn will have babies whose flesh will carry Granny's flesh onward in all that they do, for good or for naught, they carry with them
this body that gave them life. She din't hold back, but loved wif' abandon. Because she "spent" her body, poured out her essence on us'uns, an' her physical an' emotional efforts on many others, she herself is now used up.

But her story doan end wif' a broken, spent an' bruised body. Her life, in however small a measure, will live on in those she conceived an' bore, an' loved an' served.

46 comments:

Sharon Rudd said...

Oh, Aunty. How you managed to write this while living it just amazes me. My heart goes out to you and Granny, as tears well in my eyes. She should be oh so proud. In you she has a fine legacy, who tells her tale proudly.

xoxo, eggy

moi said...

I have never had to shepherd (as Boxer so perfectly puts it) a loved one through old age or sickness on to death. All my loses were sudden ones, and so reading your words gives me hope that eventually I'll be able to do it with my step dad.

When my mother died, and we had her viewing, the first words out of my mouth were: "Where did she go?" I do not understand how a creature can be alive one moment and not the next. I know how death works, of course, from a physiological point of view. But there's more than physiology to life. What happened to that "spark?" I remember being very angry that I couldn't snatch it back for my mother.

You and your family are giving your mom a great gift, but I know it comes at a cost. You've written about it beautifully, and I hope that gives you comfort as well. Peace to you, your mom, and all of your loved ones.

fishy said...

Ahhhh Belle,
this is a fine love letter to your Mama. Y'all are in my prayers.

Jenny said...

Grief IS a lonely journey, I can't agree more and you put it perfectly.

Reading this post was also a huge comfort to me and I hope it comforted you by writing it. It's just beautiful and made me tear up.

Watching a life vanish before your eyes is not for the weak, but by going through the process we find strength.

Bless you Aunty. Bless your Mama and the beautiful legacy she's leaving behind.

R.Powers said...

Damn.
That was powerful, Aunty.
Thinking of you and your family.

chickory said...

simply gorgeous. I identify with much of what you see. And i too reflected on my mom's strength and fortitude, and the goodness she shined upon me. My mom told me some very sweet things this trip. she said "look at me. i want you to know something. ..and then she told me what kind of daughter i had been. i cannot tell you what those words are they are so precious if I say them out loud im scared they will evaporate.

Bless you aunty for this sweet valentine to life and death and all that was in between. xoxox

Caroline said...

What timelessly eloquent words.
Peace be with you.

Anonymous said...

Interesting, Hamlet and Elvis in the same story.

Peace to you, Auntie.

P.S. That Granny is quite a woman.

darkfoam said...

what a gorgeous heartfelt post. this waiting for the passing of our parents, this sad and lonely right of passage we go through as adult children is a lonely time. i found it to be scary as well. i was scared of witnessing the end. but witness it i did. my heart goes out to your and your family.

ps: i simply love the hand photo.
xxx

Karl said...

Afternoon Aunty Belle,

Beautifully written. Please don't take this wrong, but I envy your position. That granny is aware and sharp of mind is such a blessing. To be able to express and have her understand the respect that she so rightly deserves will give you closure. My father was in a coma when I arrived and I had no final word with him. Nor shall I have any understanding with my mother for she will long outlive her mind. Thus the reason for my envy.

Peace to you my friend and Godspeed to granny, please let her know she is touched us all.

Kymical Reactions said...

Anutie,

I heart you very much, and you are a very special person to so many. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family and I pray peace finds you soon.

x.

boneman said...

sorry for your pains, Auntie.

Bravo to the fighter!

Milk River Madman said...

Aunty, I can't say anything that hasn't already been said. Know that you and yours are in my prayers.

Pam said...

Aunty, I read this last night and was too moved to comment right away. Came back and re-read this evening and am still moved beyond words. You are given some very precious time here and it is indeed a gift. Enjoy and treasure this time. As difficult as it is, still it is easier than when they pass on. God bless. And Chickory too, I know she is going through it as well.

Aunty Belle said...

Eggy

Thanky--Granny Cracker is a hoot-sure wish't ya coulda known her.

Moi,
I hope ya do have this time wif' step-daddy. It is transformative
--for us, not them. Thanky fer them kind words--writin' it on the blog is one means of keepin a journal thas' edited fer purpose--not jes' the jumble of emotions that jangle yore nerves at wee hours. Sorry about the loss of yore own Mama.

Fishy,
heh--well, Granny herself sent us many a love letter. Thanky.

Boxer-Babe,

sigh...it is a process, as ya know from all ya' has been through yoreself. Does ya reckon a sudden unexpected death would be any easier? I have nothing to compare it to,so I jes' cain't say. But I is glad that we's had this time of "process" even though thar's probably no such thang as really bein' prepared. Folks tell me no matter how much ya know it's comin' the real comin' shocks ya.

FC!

How is yore own Mama doin' Good Sir? Thanky fer the warm thoughts.

Aunty Belle said...

Chick9

Well, chile' wif' yore own Mama so sick, youse the dearest to stop in heah an' spare a word fer me. I does know what ya mean--that ya cain't saay them special words out loud or they might vaporize--hold 'em in yore heart.

Caroline,

thanks so much--peace is part of the blessin of the longer process--ya git peaceful wif the inevitability of it all.

Anon,
she was!! Cain't hep but think how much she woulda loved havin' a blog had the innernets been available when she wuz mah age.

Foamy,

perfect phrase: Adult children. We play the adult, but some part of us still is the child.A child losin' they Mama. The odd thang is how motherly she can be--that she doan want me to suffer all this but she cain't do a thang 'bout it. Has to lived, as ya know so well.

An' of course, Foamy dear, ya KNOW I cribbed that photo from yore own wonderful post when yore Mama joined the saints.

Karl,
oh no! I'se heartbroken that yore Mama's personality an' memory ain't still part of yore time together. AN' real sorry ya' had no last few words wif' yore Dad. THas' true fer Uncle too--his Daddy were in a coma. Never woke up. That hurts. Thanky, I does recognize that this is a treasured time we's so fortunate to have.

Kymmie!

Sweetie, jes' thinkin' of ya an yore new wee one brightens thangs up--new life is a sign of the hope fer the future. I'se so grateful fer yore prayers. Snuggle up wif' Hubby this week--doan let the cold weather git a grip on ya.

Boney,

Granny C is a heck of a fighter! Thanky.

Milk River Madman,

Prayers is sayin' PLENTY --thanky sir, I does appreciate your care.

PamOKC

thank ya so much. The writin' is a solace--I kinda wish all y'all could know this sassy an' fun lady I'se privileged to call "Mama". I can see what this journey we's makin' is costin' her --I mean, Pam, can ya imagine watchin' Kymmie, watch her Mama die?
You'd wanna spare her but she wouln't wanna be spared,ya know?

Joanna Cake said...

Beautiful words, Aunty, but I have to echo Karl - we lost our lady to Alzheimers so many years before but her body lived on and in the final days we cared for someone who did not even know who we were.

And what made it almost worse - it was the inner strength that underpinned all the actions of her younger days which kept her here on this mortal coil, fighting for every breath to keep that physical body alive when her mental faculties had all gone.

I like that phrase 'shepherding' because that's what it was. We kept her body company through those final hours and watched her pass peacefully away.

But in those last few moments, we saw her spirit through the agitated movement of her eyes. Looking beyond us to what lay ahead, she visibly relaxed and accepted the future - whatever that may be.

Just be aware of the aftermath as a carer - the stress of drawing on every ounce of your own inner energy can have some physical consequences so make sure that you look after yourself as well.

Sending virtual hugs and energy xx

Aunty Belle said...

Cakey-Pie Chile'!

Thanky fer yore visit an' the dear words. I'se sorry fer yore own loss, Sweet Pea. How difficult it had to have been--but it do reinforce mah own awareness of how blessed be Granny to keep her mind despite her body betrayin' her at every turn.

I really do appreciate an' take encouragement from yore message.

LaDivaCucina said...

I dreamed my dad was in a coffin the other night and I wasn't able to view his body before he died. I was highly upset when I woke but I realized it was just a dream. I called him and told him I loved him, while I still can. I dread the day he is no longer able to care for himself and his body fails him. You've been going through this with Granny for quite a while and your strength to deal with it all amazes me. But I guess you have to do what you have to do. Thanks for sharing your most personal time with your mum. My heart is with yours.

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