Well.
So, my Oma is dying.
She has pneumonia and a blood clot in her lung. One of her lungs wasn't filling, and I guess that was why! She's been taken off her medication, I'm told, and they're just giving her morphine now while her organs shut down.
Realistically, this is probably the best thing for her. After all, she never wanted to be an amputee (she'd told dad before the alzheimers) and I don't think she'd want to keep on going not knowing who she is or who we are. I did get to see her before I went to the states, though, and tell her I was getting married, and that I'd graduated school. I know it's stupid, but I felt good that I got to tell her, and that she was lucid enough to understand that.
Oma was a grouch, and she could be a bear or a dragon. But she also did awesome things with Jenn and I. I remember her watching our stupid kid shows with us all the time, no matter how much she wanted to gouge her eyes out. She did arts and crafts with us, and while I don't remember everything she did, I do remember that she took coffee filters and pipe cleaners, and we coloured the filters with food dye and made flowers. And that she always kept the pool clean for us so we could go swimming. And that the house was always spick and span because Oma cleaned it from top to bottom every day. She used to whistle (a weird, soft, kind of song) whenever she was puttering around the house, and she patiently listened to all of us play the piano badly.
Near the end, before we *knew* she had Alzheimers, she had gotten a little mean. She got extra critical. She could harass you over things she shouldn't have. She got a little more open about being a little racist. But, I think that isn't the Oma I'll remember. I'll remember the one who sat with me for hours because as a kid, while I loved my dad, I didn't understand his quiet way, and felt more at ease with her, even if it meant she couldn't watch MASH or Matlock. All of her great cooking, making us bacon and french fries while we watched Duck Tales, the hours she spent watching us while we played in the pool, the pretty lilies and roses that she grew, the story of how birds got their colours, the greyhound we adopted.
I wish I wasn't in America, so I could have seen her one more time. And I wish that I could have given her one massage. I don't know if she would have even liked it, honestly. But, there you go.
I hope that Oma will be at peace.
She has pneumonia and a blood clot in her lung. One of her lungs wasn't filling, and I guess that was why! She's been taken off her medication, I'm told, and they're just giving her morphine now while her organs shut down.
Realistically, this is probably the best thing for her. After all, she never wanted to be an amputee (she'd told dad before the alzheimers) and I don't think she'd want to keep on going not knowing who she is or who we are. I did get to see her before I went to the states, though, and tell her I was getting married, and that I'd graduated school. I know it's stupid, but I felt good that I got to tell her, and that she was lucid enough to understand that.
Oma was a grouch, and she could be a bear or a dragon. But she also did awesome things with Jenn and I. I remember her watching our stupid kid shows with us all the time, no matter how much she wanted to gouge her eyes out. She did arts and crafts with us, and while I don't remember everything she did, I do remember that she took coffee filters and pipe cleaners, and we coloured the filters with food dye and made flowers. And that she always kept the pool clean for us so we could go swimming. And that the house was always spick and span because Oma cleaned it from top to bottom every day. She used to whistle (a weird, soft, kind of song) whenever she was puttering around the house, and she patiently listened to all of us play the piano badly.
Near the end, before we *knew* she had Alzheimers, she had gotten a little mean. She got extra critical. She could harass you over things she shouldn't have. She got a little more open about being a little racist. But, I think that isn't the Oma I'll remember. I'll remember the one who sat with me for hours because as a kid, while I loved my dad, I didn't understand his quiet way, and felt more at ease with her, even if it meant she couldn't watch MASH or Matlock. All of her great cooking, making us bacon and french fries while we watched Duck Tales, the hours she spent watching us while we played in the pool, the pretty lilies and roses that she grew, the story of how birds got their colours, the greyhound we adopted.
I wish I wasn't in America, so I could have seen her one more time. And I wish that I could have given her one massage. I don't know if she would have even liked it, honestly. But, there you go.
I hope that Oma will be at peace.